by Sadie Moss
Just like with Sawyer’s arrival, one moment nobody is there, and the next, Knight is standing in the middle of the living room.
I expect him to say something, to demand why he’s been summoned or to ask what’s going on. But he doesn’t speak a word.
The silence that surrounds him is almost palpable, and it takes me a second to realize… he’s mute.
Unlike the other brothers, who seem to have complicated relationships with one another, Knight nods respectfully at all the brothers standing there. The others walk up to him, and each of them touches him somewhere, their expressions warm and a bit protective. I always thought Phoenix was the baby of the family—he certainly acts like it—but they all seem to be a bit protective of Knight.
Envy has a graceful, almost catlike quality to him, moving fluidly as he touches his brothers in turn, smiling quietly at them.
He has a nice smile. He’s handsome, like the others, but in a delicate way. He’s beautiful. Yes, that’s the word. Just like I wouldn’t use any word besides sexy to describe Ford.
Knight is a bit shorter than his brothers, with eyes like chocolate and dark brown hair. He looks a bit like this actor who plays Zorro on this Spanish television show I like to watch, actually. And when he smiles, two dimples appear in his cheeks.
Once the quiet greeting is out of the way, Knight begins to communicate with his brothers through a series of gestures. I can’t understand them. I don’t think he’s using American Sign Language or any other system I can think of.
It’s probably much older, I realize—a language from before any of our modern sign languages. The sins have been around for millennia, after all, so it would make sense that if Knight’s been silent that entire time, he and his brothers quickly developed their own way of communicating so that he didn’t have to talk.
“Mind letting me in on the conversation?” I ask finally, trying not to sound too bratty. After all, I doubt it’s Knight’s fault that he can’t talk, and it’s not my fault either that I can’t speak whatever sign language the men are speaking.
“He’s agreed to help,” Beckett says in his usual short manner. I want to ask if that means I’m going to owe Knight a favor, but Sawyer doesn’t know about the favors, and Knight isn’t deaf. So I just nod.
“Good.” I smile at the newest member of our little party. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”
Knight seems surprised at my thanks, but he inclines his head at me in a sort-of bow.
“I didn’t get a nice thank you,” Nix grumbles.
“Well, you weren’t nice about it,” I point out. “But thank you, Phoenix, I appreciate your help too. Reluctant and annoying as it might be.” My lips curve up a little as I speak. I can’t resist teasing him a little.
Phoenix gives me a glare, but I can feel that there’s no heat behind it. He’s teasing me right back, and I try not to let that thought make butterflies flap around in my stomach.
“There’s just one person left then,” Remington says meaningfully, looking at Beckett.
Beckett sighs, running a hand over his dark, perfectly styled hair. Then the room grows quiet as all of their eyes glow with that strange internal light again.
There are a few moments of silence as the men all stand there doing their psychic bond thing, and I stand here feeling like an idiot for watching them. But I’d feel like just as much of an idiot if I didn’t watch them, intentionally looking away as if this is something private and sacred.
Actually, is it private? I don’t know.
Nothing happens, and I wonder if maybe it’ll take a little longer this time. If the last sin, the personification of Pride, is farther away and has to travel a greater distance.
But then nothing keeps happening.
Phoenix gets bored first, no surprises there, and sprawls out on the couch. “Should’ve known he’d be like this. Man, he’s always had a stick up his ass, you know? Like you.”
I know without even looking that he’s talking about Beckett, and I wonder what it says about me that I can tell who’s talking to whom among the group so well already.
“He should know damn well that he better come,” Beckett grates. It’s like a board member didn’t show up to a meeting about the future of the company. “He can tell it’s all of us calling for him.”
“Maybe that’s precisely why he didn’t come.” Remington pulls a face. “He could think that he’s unnecessary.”
Sawyer gives a full-body shrug, a smug, catlike movement that has heat pooling low in my stomach and gathering between my legs. I try to ignore it. “Or it could be that he just wants to annoy Beckett. You’re always trying to think of the best option, when I think we all know the best option is rarely what’s actually happening.”
Remington gives his brother a look that distinctly says you are not helping.
Knight signs something, and Beckett shakes his head. “No. I’ll do it.”
The others all looked alarmed, their bodies tensing slightly.
“Uh, no, no.” Phoenix shakes his head. “I think that would be a bad idea. I’d rather we send, um, how about Remington? Or even Ford? Ford would be better.”
“Fuck you,” Ford tosses out.
“I’m the leader here.” Beckett’s words aren’t forceful, but they seem to cut through the air anyway.
It’s the first time he’s actually said that out loud. I get the feeling he doesn’t usually need to. I don’t know if the sins all came into being at the same time, or if they were created one at a time, making one of them the oldest and one of them the youngest—but either way, Beckett has always given off strong oldest sibling vibes.
The others all follow him and do what he says, even Ford, despite Ford’s wrath and his obvious chafing against anyone telling him what to do. Phoenix is the opposite. I get heavy ‘spoiled youngest sibling’ vibes from him.
The others all dip their heads a little, even Ford, in response to Beckett’s statement. It’s not so much a sign of fealty as a sign of solidarity, something I haven’t seen much in these men before. In this moment, I think I can truly feel the depth and breadth of the history between all of them.
“We can come with you,” Remington offers.
“I should.” Ford lifts his chin, his eyes flashing.
“No offense,” Sawyer drawls in that annoyingly hot voice of his, “but if we’re hoping to stop a fight, Ford, you’re the last person who should be going.”
“I don’t need anyone to come with me and play mediator.” Beckett lifts a hand. “I’ll take care of this. You all stay here. Start figuring out what our next plan of attack should be. Knight, eat something, you look starving.”
Knight meets Beckett’s gaze for a second, then nods and heads for the kitchen. His face is incredibly hard to read, as if he’s trying to hide his emotions so that others can’t see them.
It’s intriguing.
I want to know more about him, about what he does and how he exists in this world I’m just getting to know myself. Remington, Phoenix, Ford and Beckett have all shown me how they live among humans. I have no idea about Sawyer, but I’ve got a feeling it would be dangerous for me to try to find out. Just being around him is making me all hot and bothered—I don’t think I really need to see his sex dungeon or whatever.
Beckett grabs his jacket and slides it on in a smooth motion. “You all stay here. I’ll take care of Ryland.”
“I’m coming with you,” I blurt. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Beckett turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”
“Would you rather I stay here?” I prompt. “With Ford? And Sawyer?”
Ford has made it clear he doesn’t like or trust me, so it’s probably not a good idea for my safety to leave me with him. And Sawyer…
“I’ll take good care of her,” Lust purrs, already walking toward me. He’s got a hungry look in his eyes, and even though I just got my emotions under control, a fresh wave of desire hits me l
ike a tidal wave.
My gaze tracks down his muscled, tattooed torso to the jeans slung devastatingly low on his hips, and I lick my lips.
I swear I can see a bulge swelling in his jeans as he stalks toward me, and I have the strangest urge to drop to my knees, to rake my fingernails over his powerful thighs as I…
“Absolutely not,” Beckett snaps, and Sawyer pauses, giving Beckett a definite killjoy look. “Remington—”
“If you think that I can keep both Ford and Sawyer under control at the same time,” Remi notes, “I have some bad news for you.”
“Please?” I turn to face Beckett. I hate to sound too desperate, especially when I know it probably feeds his greed, but I really want to go. “I could help, you never know. Maybe he’ll be more willing to talk to someone who’s not one of his brothers. You guys seem to get on each other’s nerves pretty easily. Maybe he’d rather speak to me.”
Beckett mutters something that sounds like that’s what I’m afraid of. “Fine. You can come. But it’s going to be a waste of your time.”
“Hey, if the two of them start throwing punches, you absolutely gotta film it for me, okay, babycakes?” Nix waggles his eyebrows at me. “I don’t want to miss out on a Beck-Ry brawl.”
Knight signs something at Phoenix, looking a bit amused.
“If he hears you calling him Ry, he’s going to kill you,” Sawyer translates—for my benefit, I guess.
Phoenix grins. “Good thing the cranky son of a bitch isn’t here, then, isn’t it?”
Beckett gives me one more look, as if he’s already thinking of taking back the words he just said and going alone. Then a muscle in his jaw shifts, and he jerks his head toward the door. “Come on, angel. Let’s get this over with.”
I follow him out the door, leaving the other brothers bickering—except for Remington, who watches us go with a worried look.
That look of concern sticks with me even as we head down to the garage and get into Beckett’s fancy, expensive car. Nix seemed to find the possibility of another brotherly fist-fight amusing, but Remington has always seemed to look out for me. So if he’s worried, that makes me a little worried.
What’s the deal with Ryland?
I want to ask Beckett, but I don’t think he’ll actually give me an answer. He’s very tight-lipped about everything. So I just sit in silence and try not to chew a hole through my lip as we drive down the crowded streets of New York.
To my surprise, Ryland seems to work right here in the city. About thirty minutes after leaving Beckett’s place, we pull up in front of a massive, fancy-looking building that announces it’s a law firm.
Huh. A law firm.
That oddly makes a lot of sense. You have to win cases as a lawyer, and winning cases isn’t just about knowing the law; it’s about persuading a jury. Lawyers have to be charismatic, good debaters, and they need to have confidence. They need to have pride in themselves and in their work. And, well, I can only imagine that if Ryland’s always winning cases, he’s pretty proud of his track record and of himself.
Beckett, to my surprise, offers me his arm as we get out of the car.
“Do yourself a favor, angel,” he tells me as we walk into the lobby, “don’t speak unless you have to. Ryland likes to twist people’s words around. He likes to play games with them.”
“And you don’t?” I counter.
Beckett looks like a storm cloud has just passed through his mind. “I don’t deal with people the way Ryland does,” he says, and there’s an anger in his voice that I’ve never heard before. It takes me a moment to realize what it is—it’s bitterness.
We get into an elevator, ignoring the security people and the receptionist in the lobby who tries to ask us where we’re going and how she can help. Beckett is not a sin who gets his way by being polite to people, unless he wants something from them.
Ryland’s office is apparently on the top floor, which really shouldn’t surprise me. We step off once the elevator dings and the doors slide open.
It takes me a moment to adjust to all of the chrome and white, the sleek modern look of everything, the huge wide-open space. This is a place that screams of wealth and power. Prestige and elegance.
Beckett strides through the various paralegals, associates, and secretaries who are moving around with purpose, and I hold on to his arm and just try to keep up with his large steps. He finally stops in front of one of the biggest offices, which has Senior Partner written on the glass.
Oh, yeah, it’s an all-glass office. Because rich people have a thing about glass, apparently. I guess they want to make sure the rest of the world can see how they live.
“Ryland,” Beckett says, not even breaking stride as he walks past the protesting secretary and into the office. “You’ve got some fucking explaining to do.”
I stumble to a halt, staring, as the man behind the desk looks up at us.
It’s Ryland, the final sin.
Pride.
And for the first time, I’m really, truly scared.
Chapter Five
TRINITY
Ryland is as handsome as his brothers, with dark brown skin, soft-looking but short black hair, and a carefully trimmed beard that’s just emerging from ‘scruff’ territory. His eyes are black and glittering as he glares at Beckett, and with his broad shoulders and wide frame, he looks like he could take Beckett out, physically.
I think only Ford’s more intimidating out of the group.
But unlike Ford, who runs hot and seems to be ruled by his temper, there’s something cold and calculating about Ryland that immediately makes me stop in my tracks.
“Easy, angel,” Beckett murmurs. He takes his arm away from me, and for a moment I feel bereft—but then his hand comes to rest on the small of my back instead. It steadies me, although it also surprises me. It’s a gesture I wouldn’t have expected from him, one that’s possessive and intimate in a way I didn’t think Beckett would ever be with me.
“What are you doing here?” Ryland asks. His voice is deep and commanding, but still cold. I shiver.
Honestly, all I’m doing at this exact moment is regretting my insistence on coming with Beckett. All things considered, I think I’d rather deal with Ford. I’m not all that comfortable around Ford, which makes sense considering he doesn’t trust me and doesn’t want me around.
But he’s suspicious of me for the sake of his brothers. He doesn’t like outsiders, and he doesn’t like the way I’ve upended their lives. I can sort of understand his suspicions, even though I’d never tell him that.
Besides, Ford has protected me a few times when he didn’t have to.
Ryland, on the other hand, is looking at me like he wants to chew me up and spit me out, then throw me into a portal to Downstairs himself for good measure.
“You should know why we’re here.” Beckett’s voice is like cold steel. “We tried to summon you. It’s urgent. You failed to show up. What if someone’s life was in danger?”
“I would have sensed it if one of you was dying,” Ryland says dismissively. “All of you are fine.”
“We were all calling you,” Beckett says, and a sharp almost-growl works its way into his tone. For the first time, I’m seeing someone actually challenge Beckett’s authority, and it’s… well, part of it is oddly fascinating. Beckett’s such an alpha male, the undisputed leader of his brothers. Even Ford yields to his willpower, and the others are quick to fall in line.
But not Ryland. Ryland’s giving off the same I’m in charge energy that Beckett does, and it’s causing the two of them to clash like striking a pair of stones together.
“Just because you got the rest of them to go along with whatever insane idea you’ve gotten into your head,” Ryland snaps, “doesn’t mean I have to listen. Are you even thinking about any of them? And what they need? Or are you just using them, like always?”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Beckett shoots back. I’ve never heard him sound like this. There’s more emotion in hi
s voice than usual, as if he can’t restrain himself like he usually does.
“Is it?”
Beckett takes a definite step forward, putting himself squarely in between Ryland and me. “Yes. All you do is use people. Trying to project your own failings onto me? Not clever. I expected better from you.”
“You know, maybe if you’d argued like this in court, I wouldn’t have won the lawsuit against you.”
“I let you win that lawsuit.”
“As if your greed would’ve let you.”
“As if your pride would’ve let you admit you were handed a victory instead of winning squarely.” Beckett shifts his weight like a wolf preparing to pounce. For a second, I think he actually might leap across the desk and go for Ryland’s throat, but instead, he speaks coolly and deliberately. “There are portals to Below opening up all over the city. They’re dangerous. And if you think that any of us are going to be able to keep up the lives we’re used to if these portals unleash literal Hell on Earth, then you’re dumber than I thought you were.”
“Portals to hell? Is that why you’re meddling with this creature? An angel?”
Ryland’s face wrinkles up in disgust, and again, I get that feeling of coldness from him, like I’m looking at a block of frozen marble. His tone when he talks about me makes me want to shrink away, but I don’t let myself budge.
“Yes,” Beckett grinds out. “And I’ll thank you not to talk about her like that.”
“I’ll talk about whoever I want in whatever way I please.”
I want to say that I’m right here, that they don’t have to talk about me like I’m not in the room—but I can’t get my mouth to work. Ford scared the crap out of me when he caught me snooping on the guys in Beckett’s living room, but that was nothing compared to this.
Right now, my entire body feels vulnerable and small, and I just want to hide behind Beckett and go invisible. Or, better yet, leave altogether.