Page 43 of Risky Taste
He grunts, the line going dead. I speed off down the road, heading for the pub I used to hang with my squad, with my buddies and now I’m stuck here, dirty dealing information to stay unscathed from an operation that was going just fine before Noah ruined that too. Picking a booth toward the back, I wait barely five minutes before Ricky’s sliding in on the other side.
“This better be good? I was getting my dick sucked.”
My face scrunches up in disgust at the information I didn’t need and I can’t even tell if Ricky’s telling the truth or just trying to be funny. Not that it matters. I reach into my pocket and pull out a picture, face down, before sliding it across the table. Ricky raises an eyebrow, his fingers hovering over it, but he doesn’t flip it yet. “Why’s this so important? You never give me pictures unless you’re hellbent on destroying someone.”
I lean forward, my hands balling into fists on the table, my voice dropping to a growl. “He ruined my whole fucking life. This one man made it impossible for me to flourish, to get anywhere. Everything I had, everything I built—he torched it.” My chest tightens, the words tasting like bile, because it’s true, or close enough to it, and I hate him for it.
Ricky tilts his head, his lips curving up in a smirk. “So, you threw everything away because this guy one-upped you on the intelligence scale? Yes, I hear things and I know about the investigation. Give me something more, Kurt. I’m all aboutrevenge, vendettas, the whole damn game, but I want to know what this bitch did to you.”
I sigh and lean back, my eyes burning into the table. “This bitch got my parents arrested for treason,” I say, the confession spilling out, something I’ve only told one or two other souls. “Fucked me over before I even had a chance.”
Ricky’s hand freezes, then snatches the picture, flipping it over fast. It’s Noah, sprawled on that hotel bed, whiskey soaking his shirt, his face slack, vulnerable—perfectly staged, just how I snapped it before I left him there. Ricky’s eyes widen, then narrow, and he lets out a low whistle. “Hold up, isn’t this your brother?”
I snort. “That little shit’s my cousin, not my brother. And he’s the one who called the goddamn police on my parents, turned my whole world to ash.” My voice shakes, rage simmering under every word, because it’s the story I’ve told myself a thousand times, the one that keeps the fire alive.
Ricky stares at the photo, his thumb brushing the edge, and I lean in, my pulse hammering. “I want this posted somewhere—socials, forums, whatever. If the medical board gets a hold of it, he’ll lose his license, his career, any respect he’s scraped together. I want him gutted, Ricky. You’ve got the channels. Make it happen.”
He looks up, his smirk fading into something colder, calculating. “You’re serious about this. You want him finished over some old family shit?”
“Dead fucking serious. He’s not walking away clean while I’m drowning in this. He doesn’t get to play the hero, not after what he did. My parents were everything, and he snitched, set it all off. Now he’s got my squad, my life, and I’m left with nothing. Post it. Burn him down.”
Ricky taps the picture against the table, his eyes locked on mine. “Alright,” he muses. “I know a guy who can splash thisacross a few socials, make it look legit. Medical board’s got eyes everywhere—they’ll bite. But this is messy, Kurt. You sure you want it this loud?”
“Loud’s the point,” I snap, my hand slamming the table. “I want everyone to see him for what he is—a fraud, a wreck. He doesn’t get to hide behind his little boyfriends anymore.” Maybe I don’t need to go this hard but then again, I don’t do anything half-assed.
Ricky nods, pocketing the photo, and leans back, lighting a cigarette despite the no-smoking sign peeling off the wall. “Give me a day. It’ll spread like wildfire. But you owe me after this one.” Smoke curls from his lips, and I don’t care about the cost—not now, not when I’m this close to sinking Noah with me.
“Just get it done.” I head back out to my car, deciding where to go next. Home isn’t an option and I’m not sure why Michaels thought I was going to behave. I’m not going to act like some cornered rat. First thing’s first.
Figure out what the fuck Heath told the police and then hope he didn’t give them exactly what they wanted to hear.
Chapter thirty-one
SEBASTIAN
The last several hours this morning have been a little too easy. I woke up more refreshed than I have in a while, wrapped around Noah, steadying the chaos that’s been clawing at my gut. Maura then proceeded to stuff us with pancakes before shoving a grocery list into Logan’s hands and sending us out for food. And now I’m leaning on a cart, this moment feeling wildly domestic as I push through the small store.
It feels like we’re buying for our last dinner together, as if something is going to go monumentally wrong, something we won’t be able to fix, especially since we’re getting no push or pull from our superiors to yank Noah off that deployment clock ticking down to Monday.
Noah brought up the ringing in his ear, saying that we could use it as a last resort but that would drag Carl into this and risk his medical license. Not to mention, if the wrong person digs farenough, they’ll find out about the alcohol and then Noah would also lose his.
So we’re stuck, at a loss, grasping at nothing while the deadline looms. Still, I try to shake it off, to enjoy this sliver of peace as I steer the cart past cans of soup and bags of rice, my shoulders brushing the shelves in this cramped space.
Logan’s ahead, playing the dutiful son, snagging everything on the list with a focus that’s almost funny. “Potatoes, check,” he mutters, tossing a bag into the cart, and I smirk, nudging Noah beside me. “He’s gonna ask for a gold star next,” I tease. Noah’s quiet, has been all day, but he cracks a small smile, his eyes soft, and it’s enough to loosen the knot in my chest.
Declan’s on his other side, restless as always, his hand brushing Noah’s arm, then his back, like he can’t help himself. “You think Maura’d notice if we swapped the carrots for candy?” he asks, grinning, and I snort, rolling my eyes.
“She’d notice when you’re bouncing off the walls at dinner,” I shoot back, and Noah chuckles, the sound faint but real.
We turn into the next aisle, Declan’s patience snapping. It was like yesterday opened something between the four of us, Declan much less hesitant when it comes to Noah. I’m not complaining.
He grabs Noah, pinning him against a shelf of cereal boxes, his hands framing Noah’s face as he kisses him hard, messy, like he’s starving for it. I stop the cart, leaning on it, watching them with a mix of amusement and warmth, the need to reach down and adjust myself growing.
Noah melts into it, his hands gripping Declan’s jacket, and I catch the flush creeping up his neck. “Maura is gonna ban us from her house if you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” Noah murmurs when they break apart, breathless, and Declan laughs, loud and wild.
“Let her try,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I love you so goddamn much, Bunny.” Noah’s smile widens,the man whispering something back that looks like those three words we’re all desperate to hear but I’m mildly distracted by two police officers lingering at the end of the aisle.
They’re not browsing, not shopping, just watching, their eyes tracking us a little too close for comfort. My grip tightens on the cart as the ease of the morning sours fast. I glance at Logan, who’s still fussing over the list, oblivious, then at Declan, who’s too wrapped up in Noah to clock it. “Hey,” I say, my voice cutting through their bubble. “We’ve got company.”
