Denton straightened, restless energy tightening as he gestured toward the side of the room where bottles lined a crate. "This way." He moved fast, eager, already half turned like he'd assumed she'd follow and didn't want to give her time to rethink it.
Harper followed at an unhurried pace, heels clicking against concrete, her gaze sliding back once toward Cole. He'd already turned his attention to the felt again, playing his role to perfection. But she knew he was watching, even when his eyes weren't on her.
Denton poured quick, amber sloshing as he set a glass in her hand. "You don't need to sit there letting Russo slobber over you," he said, voice pitched low, offering her an out. "He thinks being loud makes him worth a damn. You deserve better than that."
Harper let the smile stay soft, amusement resting where agreement should have been. "And you think you're better?"
His mouth twitched into a smirk, restless fingers tapping against his own glass before he leaned closer. "I don't have to think. I can see it." His pale eyes traced the line of her dress, bold enough he didn't bother to hide it. "You walked in that door and the whole table shifted. You know it, too."
She sipped slow, eyes catching his over the rim. Her tone stayed light. "And here I thought I was just here to watch the cards."
Denton chuckled, bracing one hand on the crate beside her, his shoulder edging in until he'd half boxed her in. "Cards don't matter. You could sit at any table in this city, and I'd follow. That's what makes me different from Russo—I don't just want to win a hand. I want you."
Harper let a laugh slip, low and easy, her gaze holding his. She shifted just enough to close the space, her fingers brushing his sleeve, a nothing touch that still had him leaning closer. "You're forward," she teased warmly. "But maybe I like forward."
Something in Denton's face settled at that, pride flaring hot. His grin widened, hunger sparking as he slid his hand to her hip, testing her. When she didn't pull away, his grip firmed, fingers spreading bold over the fabric. "Knew it the second you walked in," he murmured, eyes fixed on her mouth, already looking at her like a man who'd pulled the pot his way.
Harper tilted her head, smile curving slow as she weighed him. She leaned close enough that he could feel her breath, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "Then maybe you should show me what else you notice."
Denton tugged her that last inch until her back met the wall, the pressure firm but not rough, his body closing off the room behind him. His mouth skimmed the line of her throat, heat of liquor ghosting over her skin. "You don't play coy with me, Lilly. I can feel it—you're wound tight under that dress. Bet I could take it apart, piece by piece, make you beg to stay."
Harper's pulse surged, a knot twisting deep inside, but she smoothed it over. She loosened under his hold, tilting her hips forward until they brushed his, her hand sliding slow up along his shoulder. Her smile curved sweet, practiced. "You sound awfully sure of yourself," she murmured, low and warm, every note of it playing into the part.
Denton laughed under his breath, his hand sliding to the small of her back to pull her tighter, no space left between them. His mouth trailed higher, grazing her jaw, his voice rough against her ear. "Sure of myself? I don't need to be anything else. You feel that. That's no bluff."
She angled her head, giving him the line he wanted, her nails grazing lightly along the back of his neck. "So you're the one worth watching, then?" she coaxed.
His pale eyes lit, pride swelling as he drew back just enough to look at her. "I'm not the only one. But I notice what the rest miss. Who's climbing, who's bleeding. That's why I don't end up the way Everett did."
Harper let a low laugh spill, sweet, as if it were just for him. Her lips brushed his ear. "Then tell me," she whispered, coaxing. "Who's climbing?"
Denton's grin curved, hungry. His hand roamed bolder at her waist, his mouth dragging lower to the hollow of her throat. "Vance's just the front. Lorne's the one with the money—he's been covering the tables, feeding the Maw what they need. They've got plans for him, bigger chair, heavier pull. And it won't stop there."
Harper's smile deepened, nails tracing the line of his collar. "Go on…"
Denton's pale eyes burned with the thrill of it, all that nervous energy spilling unchecked. "Mendez. Old bastard's finished. Been coasting too long, letting everyone else carry his weight. Lorne's already covering for him, and the Maw don't forgive dead weight. Couple weeks, maybe less, and Mendez is gone. Lorne steps in, and half the crews will be reporting to him."
Harper's laugh was soft, airy, letting it sound like nothing but gossip. Her lips brushed close to his ear. "Good thing I've got you to keep me caught up."
Denton's grin widened, pride humming through him, convinced her laugh had sealed the deal. His hand slid lower, cupping bold at her backside as he drew her tight. His mouth left her throat, trailing down to her collarbone, then lower still, breath hot against skin the neckline of her dress barely hid.
"The table doesn't matter," he rasped, voice thick with want. "You want to know who's really winning tonight? Let me take you upstairs. I'll show you what it means to be on top."
Harper let her body stay pliant under his hold, her smile practiced, her nails grazing the back of his neck like she was giving herself over. But her eyes flicked past his shoulder, through the doorway. Cole sat where she'd left him, steady at the table, and for the briefest moment she caught his gaze. Her expression softened, almost pleading, the barest crack in the mask before she smoothed it again.
Denton didn't notice. He was too caught up in the feel of her, in the game he'd already decided he'd won. His mouth climbed back up her neck, lips pressing warm against her skin, kissing along the line beneath her ear. His free hand slid up the front of her dress, fingers bold as they closed over her breast, squeezing slow, possessive.
"That's better," he breathed against her skin. "I could have you forgetting your own name before the cards hit the table again."
Harper's eyes squeezed shut, her breath unsteady before she forced it smooth, every nerve alive as she kept her body pliant beneath his touch, mask holding by a thread.
Denton worked his hand over her, mouth dragging along her throat, tasting the heat of her skin. His fingers drifted higher, sliding to her shoulder, hooking in the fabric there. He tugged, dragging her sleeve down an inch at a time.
Harper's body went taut beneath the practiced mask, every nerve sparking in alarm. The ink slept just beneath that fabric—the viper's head, coiled and waiting to betray her. She forced her smile soft, tilting her head as though leaning into his mouth, even as her mind screamed to stop his hand before it slipped lower.
"Lilly!" Cole's voice cut across the space, loud enough to fill it.
Denton snapped back, his hand dropping from her shoulder, mouth pulling off her skin. Harper caught her breath and forced her expression smooth before it could betray anything.
Cole closed the distance in a few strides, anger carved into his face. He caught her arm and yanked her half a step toward him, eyes fixed hard on Denton. "What the hell is this?" he said, voice low but heated.
He didn't wait for an answer. His grip on Harper's arm tightened as he hauled her toward the doorway, his voice a growl meant to be overheard. "We're done here."
The scrape of chairs and the drag of smoke followed them as they cut back through the poker room. Russo let out a coarse laugh, Mack only lifted his eyes, Denton's absence hanging heavy in the air. Cole kept his fury carved on his face, dragging Harper past the table without a glance at the men watching.
"Keep your girl on a leash, Dawson," Russo called after them, chips clattering as he tossed in a bet.
Cole didn't break stride. He pulled Harper to the stairwell, boots pounding on concrete as they climbed. The bouncer at the top looked up, brows lifting, but Cole just gave him a clipped nod, his fury a shield no one dared test.
Out on the street, the air hit cooler, cleaner. Cole kept her arm locked in his until they were half a block away, city noise swallowing the basement's smoke and laughter. Only then did his grip ease, his hand sliding down from her arm to her wrist before he let her go.
Harper drew in a ragged breath, the mask finally gone. Her hands shook once before she caught them, voice coming out soft. "Thank you."
Cole turned to her then, the heat gone from his eyes, scanning her face like he was counting every place Denton might have left a mark. "Harper," he said quietly. "Talk to me. Are you all right?"
She swallowed, throat tight. "I'm fine. Just… close."
His jaw worked, but his voice stayed gentle. "You don't thank me for that." He reached, fingers brushing her forearm in a touch that was more anchor than restraint. "I've got you—always."
** ** **
The WRX rolled back through the compound gates, engine low as Brock guided it into the garage. Fluorescents buzzed overhead, spilling pale light across concrete and the row of Syndicate SUVs lined silent and heavy along the wall. He killed the ignition, the hum of the car fading into the stillness. Nolan was already out, stretching his shoulders loose as he scanned the space. Cole climbed out his side, quiet and efficient as ever.
Brock stepped from the driver's seat and rounded the hood without thinking, his stride steady. He pulled open the rear door, the motion pure habit, not even a thought behind it. Harper shifted to climb out, but his hand was already there—steadying her elbow, then sliding down to her waist as he helped her clear the step. His thumb brushed once against the fabric of her dress before he let go, unconscious, the same easy motion he used settling a weapon into its holster.
Harper moved on without pause, but the contact seemed to linger in the air, unnoticed by either of them.
Up on the mezzanine, Vex leaned against the railing, a shadow cut clean against steel and glass. He'd been waiting, quiet, watchful, and he caught the whole exchange—the way Brock's hand lingered, the thoughtless flick of his thumb. Nothing in his face shifted, but his eyes fixed on the moment, storing it away.
He didn't speak until Cole and Nolan had peeled off toward the interior hall, Harper already striding clear toward the corridor. Only then did his voice drop from above, calm but carrying. "Lawson."
Brock looked up, shoulders squaring, oblivious to the weight behind it.
"Upstairs. Five."
Vex was already turning, boots echoing across the grating, gone before anyone could read more in his face.
Brock gave a short nod, then glanced over at Harper. She'd paused at the edge of the corridor, eyes on him, the faint tightness in her shoulders giving her away. He crossed the last few steps to her, lowering his voice.
"Go on," he told her, quiet but certain. "I'll be up as soon as he's done."
Her gaze searched his for a heartbeat, then she gave a small nod and turned, heels soft against the concrete as she headed down the hall.
Brock watched until she disappeared around the corner, then turned for the stairwell, shoulders tightening as he took the flights up, one after another, toward the fifth floor where Vex was waiting.
The hall was hushed, steel and glass stretching long to the corner office. Brock pushed through the door, the quiet inside heavier than the corridors below. Vex stood by the window, back turned, city lights flickering against the glass.
"Close the door," Vex said, voice firm, leaving no room for drift.
Brock swung the door shut, the latch catching with a solid click. He stayed just inside, shoulders squared, weight balanced, hands resting easy at his sides. Vex didn't move at first, the city's glow painting him in silhouette against the glass. Then he turned, crossing the room without hurry, office light cutting a pale line across his shirt. He stopped close—close enough that distance became something Brock had to decide.
"Can you tell me exactly what I saw down in that garage, Lawson?"
"I opened a door. Helped her out of the car. That's it."
Vex's gaze didn't move from him. "Is Voss still living in your quarters?"
"Yes." Brock's answer came without hesitation, no apology in it. "Barracks are a bad idea. Too many men, too much history. She's safer in the residential wing." He knew where Vex was steering, felt the weight of it pressing in, but his expression stayed steady, nothing shifting but the set of his jaw.
"She is still in your spare room?"
Brock's shoulders drew taut. "I don't see how that's relev—"
Vex cut him off, voice low and direct. "Are you sleeping with her?"
The question landed heavy, but Brock's reply came even, guarded. "My personal life isn't on your ledger. My results are."
Vex's eyes narrowed, unblinking. "You didn't deny it. That tells me enough." He stepped in closer, presence pressing like a wall. "It is on my ledger if my top commander is in bed with a subordinate. I can't afford weakness, Lawson. I can't afford you hesitating on a call because you decided to fuck what you should've kept at arm's length."
Brock met his stare head-on, voice iron steady. "Nothing's changed. You've seen my record. You've seen the field. Point to where I've slipped."
Vex let the silence stretch, the weight of it pressing thin. "You haven't," he said at last. "Your numbers hold. Your runs are solid. But this isn't about you, Lawson—it's about her. She's been delivering, yes. Precise jobs, tight execution. But results aren't absolution. She came in bound. She bled Syndicate men before she wore our colors. Retraining rewires habits; it doesn't change the bone. You keep her in your quarters, and that isn't discipline—it's indulgence. You wanted her close, so you bent the rules to make it happen. Don't pretend otherwise. And I won't let your cock blind you to what she was. That's risk. If it spreads, it's on your head."
Brock's jaw flexed once, but his voice stayed even, anchored. "I don't need reminding what she was. I was the one who dragged her in. And I've seen every move she's made since. My judgment hasn't drifted—and it won't."
Vex's gaze stayed flat, unblinking. "Then hear me now. If she falters—if she drags you even an inch off the line—I'll end it myself. Quick. Clean. She dies before she takes one piece of this Syndicate with her. And if you put me in a position to choose between her pulse and our strength, Lawson—she doesn't walk away."
Brock didn't flinch. "Understood."
Vex turned from him, already done. "You're dismissed."
Brock pivoted on his heel, the door shutting solid at his back. The air outside felt thin, edged, his lungs burning with the breath he hadn't let himself take. He hit the stairwell hard, boots striking fast against metal as he took the steps two at a time, anger coiling tighter with every floor. By the time he reached the residential level, the fury had settled into resolve. He crossed the hall with long strides, keyed into his quarters, and shoved the door open, the night pressing in with him as it closed behind.
The door clicked shut behind him, cutting off the echo of the stairwell. Harper was already there, curled on the couch, bare legs drawn under her, his t-shirt hanging loose off one shoulder where she'd changed out of the dress. Her hair was damp, fresh from a shower, the low lamp turning the strands to gold where they spilled around her face.
Brock's shoulders eased the instant his eyes found her, the weight from upstairs breaking apart in silence. He crossed the room without a word, the hardness stripped out of his stride by the time he reached her. She shifted, uncurling just enough to meet him halfway, knees still tucked to the cushion as her face lifted toward his. He braced a hand on the back of the couch, leaned in, and his mouth found hers. The kiss was steady, grounding—his way of telling her what he hadn't risked saying out loud.
Harper kissed him back, slow and soft, her fingers curling at his jaw, holding him there for a moment longer. When she finally drew back, her eyes searched his, steady but gentle. "What did Vex want?"
Brock's mouth tightened before he shook his head, brushing it off. "Logistics," he said. "Nothing that needs to sit on you." His thumb traced the bare line of her thigh, a distraction as much as comfort.
But Harper knew him—knew the way his eyes carried a weight his words never touched. She didn't press, not yet. She only held his gaze, letting him feel that she'd seen it, whether he admitted it or not.
Brock sank down beside her, the couch dipping under him. Harper shifted with him, leaning in until her cheek found his chest. His arm circled her shoulders, holding her close while his eyes stayed fixed on the dark beyond the window.
The quiet stretched, warm on the surface, heavy underneath.