“All right, enough canoodling,” I say.
Neo snorts, his eyes alight with mischief. “Never use that word again, dude.”
When he sees my glower, he winks before placing a quick kiss on my cheek and squeezing my biceps.“I’m glad you’re not dead.”
I tap the vest solemnly. “This was of no use at all.”
“It’s not meant to be useful all the time.” He rolls his eyes. “It just needs to be useful once, and it’ll be worth it.”
No one has listened to my demand to stop the PDA. Probably doesn’t help that Neo is still holding on to my arms. I need to set a better example for my siblings, I know that, but I can’t step away yet.
Jackson is slightly apart from everyone else. He’s leaning against the wall, thunder on his face as he scowls down at his phone. I’m not sure what’s on there to annoy him so much. There’s no service down here.
I peel my gaze away from him and clear my throat. “We need to figure out what these men want. It’s best if you all leave.”
Neo scoffs, but Ansel, Wyatt, and Jules do as they’re told, movingtoward the stairs and out of sight. Jackson looks at the closed door behind me for a long beat before following the others.
Leaving just the brat. My brat.
Naturally.
“You should go too, Neo,” I say sternly, but he just marches up to me and pokes me in the chest.
“No way. I’m going in there. I want to know who the fuck they think they’re messing with and why.”
I stare down at him, and that finger that is digging into my chest makes my heart flutter. He inhales and drags it slowly down my abdomen, and before he can hook it in the waistband of my pants, I take hold of it. “Fine. You can be in the room, but you leave the minute you feel sick.”
He tilts his chin defiantly. “I won’t. I have a stomach of steel.”
Harley links his arm with Neo’s. “Hey, look. You don’t need to stay for this. I’m not going to.”
“I’m. Staying,” Neo insists through gritted teeth.
Harley shoots me a knowing look before patting Neo’s arm. “Yeah, all right. I’ll be upstairs with Jules making some ginger tea when you’re ready.”
Neo ignores him and steps around me to the door. He taps the sign and his lips twitch. “I’ve been meaning to ask this—is your torture room really called the Hospitality Suite?”
“Dalton’s sense of humor,” I say dryly, opening the door.
Dalton’s head snaps around as we enter. I expect him to comment on what I said, but he doesn’t. I’m not sure he even heard me. “Everything okay?”
I tilt my head in confusion. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”
There’s a slight flush on his cheeks as he shrugs. “No reason.”
Matthias pushes past us, leveling Dalton with a glare. “If you wanted to see Jackson, you should’ve come out too.”
“I don’t want to see him,” Dalton snaps. “That’s not?—”
He’s interrupted by a low groan. Our guests are starting to awaken.
We fall silent as they come to, their eyes blinking in the brightlights. They curse and struggle against the ropes holding them. They’ve got no hope of escaping Cade’s knots.
The closet door bangs open, and Samson brings out a cart. The cheery tune he’s whistling grates with the squeaking of the wheels. The three men’s eyes widen as it comes to a halt beside them, Samson removing the cloth with far more flourish than is necessary.
Something about torture really brings out Samson’s sunshine side. It’s very small, but it appears with violence.
And my brothers thinkI’mthe odd one.
