Chapter Nine
Protectors
Jack drained the last of his bourbon and moved to the dressing room, where his evening clothes had been laid out with customary precision. Loosening his collar, he methodically opened his shirt and tossed it aside.
Lean muscle wrapped his frame, the result of discipline rather than conceit. Violence contained in stillness. A predator groomed as prey to move in silence.
His gaze avoided the mirror, not needing to see the battle scars in order to remember the wars he’d won any more than he needed vanity to validate his security.
He pulled on a crisp, fresh shirt just as there was a knock at the door. He took his time fastening the buttons before emerging from the dressing room and answering, “Come.”
Stone Volkov entered the suite like a force of nature, crossing the threshold with the easy confidence of a man who owned every inch of the ground beneath his feet. “J, Nick said you were getting settled.” He was the secondborn of the three brothers, and by far the most attentive to detail. “Need anything?”
“Just finishing up.”
Stone leaned a broad shoulder against the wall, his intense green eyes sweeping the room before settling on Jack. “The room’s to your liking?”
“Room’s great.” Jack reached for his vest, shrugging into the charcoal wool and fastening the buttons with practiced efficiency. “Everything’s exceptional, as always.”
“Ash insisted on some upgrades. Something about thread counts and ambient lighting.” Stone stretched his arms with the casual grace of a wild bear slowly waking. “That’s his territory. His and Marigold’s.”
Jack grinned, still processing the shock that the three bears were finally settling down. “Good to hear you’re all getting along.”
Stone’s expression softened. “She’s tucked away for the weekend.” His mouth curved into a wolfish grin that was both a smile and a threat. “We’ll be on rotation, keeping her... occupied.”
“I imagine she has opinions about being sequestered.”
“Many.” Stone laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “But she understands. The Feast isn’t the kind of event anyone should stumble into blindly.”
“Indeed.” Jack fastened his cufflinks—simple onyx, no flash—and reached for his jacket. “She seems good for you. All of you.”
“She is.” No hesitation. No deflection. “I didn’t think it was possible, J.”
“Neither did I.”
Another chuckle. “Three men, one woman—the logistics alone should have destroyed us. But she...” He shook his head. “She understands how deep our bond goes. Doesn’t try to separate us or compete for attention. She just... fits.”
“I’m happy for you.” He meant it. Finding someone so accepting was extraordinary, so rare Jack gave up hope a long time ago. Like him, the Volkov brothers carried their own dark secrets from a shared shadowy past. If Marigold found a way to brighten their life, she was worth protecting.
“You could have the same, you know.” Stone’s gaze turned appraising. “You don’t have to stay cooped up in this room all weekend. There are over sixty does this year?—”
“Those numbers will change. They always do.”
Stone waved away that detail. “Fifty. Still plenty to go around.”
“Not my kind of game.”
“It doesn’t have to be a game. Surely one or two of the applications caught your eye. We could pull a few before the Wrecking Ball, send them privately to your room for some…entertainment.” He arched a brow.
“Not my style.” He adjusted his lapels and straightened the signet ring on his finger. “I prefer to observe.”
Stone barked out a laugh. “Voyeurism then. Whatever works.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “A voyeur watches for pleasure. I watch for patterns.” He moved toward the door and Stone fell into step behind him.
“You are a strange man, J. Thorne.” He rolled the R of his name in that thick Russian accent. “You throw a party that would make Caligula blush, fill it with the wealthiest degenerates in Europe, and then spend the whole night watching from the shadows like some kind of interloper.”
Jack paused and met Stone’s gaze. “Caligula was a Roman emperor, infamous for cruelty and excess, the poster boy for ‘anything goes.’ I assure you, that’s not me.”
