A moan escapes me as he finds exactly the right spot, circling it with maddening precision. My arms threaten to give out, but I force them to hold me up.
"Ridge, please," I gasp, rocking against his hand.
"Not yet." He leans forward, his chest pressing against my back as his lips find my ear. "I want to take my time with you this time. I want to inspect every inch of you."
I hear fabric rustling, then the distinctive sound of a zipper. My body tenses in anticipation.
His hand returns to my hip, gripping firmly. The blunt head of his cock presses against me, pausing at my entrance.
That’s when everything becomes clear. This isn’t him scratching an itch and re-drawing the line afterward. This is him choosing to cross it.
The danger isn’t the pleasure. It’s the intention behind it.
I press back into him anyway, accepting what that means. His breath leaves him against my neck, low and controlled, as he closes the distance between us.
There’s no pretending after this.
TWENTY-TWO
Ridge
The Execution of Governor Claiborne’s Conspirators: In 1807, a group of conspirators dissatisfied with Governor William C.C. Claiborne’s administration plotted to assassinate him, threatening the fragile stability of Louisiana’s early American governance. The plot was uncovered, leading to the arrest, trial, and execution of those involved. This event highlighted the political tensions of the time and the harsh consequences for targeting public figures in the foundational years of Louisiana.
The chatteron the other side of the door cuts off the second I open it. The conference room goes still.
Wells sits at the far end of the table, his laptop casting a muted blue glow across the polished wood. Gabe is angled toward him, broad shoulders turned halfway in his chair, like he was mid-thought and stopped the moment I entered.
Vin’s fingers tap against the table like a hammer. I cantell immediately he’s restless and ready for action, over the talk.
I take my seat. “We need to make some decisions. I want to share everything I’ve learned, and everyone will get to weigh in on where we go from here.”
Wells looks up, the reflection of his screen catching in his glasses. He only wears them when he is buried in numbers or timelines, when precision matters. It lends him an authority he doesn’t need but carries well.
There’s no confusion about why we are all here. But I want to be clear that I’m not making decisions in a vacuum. I may have stepped into the lead, but we are all doing this.
Gabe leans back slightly, his presence filling the space without effort. He isn’t blood, but he is family in every way that counts. He has been in this long enough to know when things shift from management to consequence.
And in a way, he’s here in Reeves’s place, since he hasn’t been able to get leave yet.
This isn’t about appearances. It’s about consequences.
Vin sits closer to my end of the table. His fingers haven’t stopped moving since I walked in.
I let my eyes move around the room once before I speak again. I give a brief rundown and let Wells fill in the gaps.
I walk them through what we have, not every detail, but enough that no one’s guessing. The photos from my father’s desk. Iggy’s identification. Vin’s confirmation. Wells fills in dates and numbers where they matter. By the time I finish, the shape of it is clear.
“The Duvalls have always been small,” I say. “Not irrelevant, just operating at a different scale. We handled the infrastructure. They rented capacity when they needed it and disappeared when they didn’t. Our businesses didn’toverlap enough to matter, and as long as that stayed true, the system worked.”
I watch faces as I talk. Wells stays still, and Gabe’s jaw tightens while Vin’s fingers finally slow.
“That changed Thursday, October twelfth.”
I don’t embellish it. The date carries its own weight.
“They were never positioned to challenge us directly before then,” I continue. “I don’t know what made them think this would hold, but they must have believed the misdirection would buy them time. For a while, it did.”
I let the silence sit long enough to register.
