All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

33. Oscar

OSCAR

I wake to an empty bed, the sheets still warm but vacant where Vesper should be. It doesn't surprise me. I knew Z wouldn't be able to resist stealing her away for some alone time. Not after watching her ride my cock a few days ago. She’d been through so much since then, but when it came to chasing her demons away, Zaire seemed to excel at it. Her pain calling to his darkness.

Stretching, I roll out of bed. The morning light filters through the half-drawn curtains casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. I pad to the bathroom, shedding my boxers as I go.

The hot water cascades over me, washing away the last vestiges of sleep. As I soap up, my mind wanders to Vesper; her silky blonde hair, those piercing green eyes that see right through me, the way her body fits perfectly against mine. A familiar warmth stirs in my groin, but I push the thoughts aside. There'll be time for that later.

Toweling off, I pull on a pair of well-worn jeans and a soft gray henley. The smell of coffee lures me out to the kitchen, where I find Zaire standing shirtless at the counter, his back to me. The intricate tattoos that cover his skin seem to shift and dance as he moves, a living tapestry of ink and muscle.

"Morning, brother," I say, leaning against the doorframe.

Zaire turns, a steaming mug in each hand. A knowing smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. "Sleep well, Oz?" he asks, holding out one of the mugs.

I accept the offered coffee, inhaling the rich aroma. "Well enough," I reply, taking a sip. "Though I noticed my bed was a bit emptier this morning than when I fell asleep."

Zaire's smirk fades, replaced by a somber expression that sends a chill down my spine. He sets his mug down, running a hand through his tousled dark hair. "Oz," he says, his voice low and serious, "I couldn't just lie there and watch her break again."

I feel my chest tighten. "What happened?"

Z leans against the counter, his tattooed arms crossed over his bare chest. "I woke up around dawn. She was between us, crying silently. It was like she was trying not to wake us, but she couldn't hold it in anymore."

The image of Vesper, our fierce, beautiful Vesper, crying alone in the darkness makes my heart ache. I set my coffee aside, suddenly no longer interested in its warmth.

"I couldn't bear it, Oz," Zaire continues, his eyes distant. "I couldn't watch her retreat back into that shell she was in when we first brought her here. You remember how she was?"

I nod, remembering all too well the hollow-eyed, barely responsive woman we'd brought to the beach house.

"She was crying like she was in mourning," Z says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think everything's finally hitting her. Finding out her uncle had a hand in this fucked-up plan, that he'd actually purchased her male embryo and destroyed the female one. It's messing with her head in ways we can't even imagine."

I close my eyes, feeling a wave of anger and helplessness wash over me. "Fuck," I mutter. "Where is she now?"

Zaire's smirk returns, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Asleep in my bed," he repeats, emphasizing each word with a hint of pride.

I feel a twinge of jealousy, quickly followed by guilt. This isn't about me, or Zaire, or our own desires. It's about Vesper. Still, I can't help but notice the way Z's chest puffs out slightly, his chin lifting in that subtle way it does when he's feeling particularly pleased with himself.

"Z," I begin, my voice low and measured, "we need to talk about what's going on between us and Vesper."

The morning light streaming through the kitchen window catches on Zaire's hair, highlighting the subtle variations in its dark hue. He runs a hand through it, mussing it further, and leans back against the counter. The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest

"What's there to talk about?" he asks, his tone nonchalant but with an underlying defensiveness I know all too well.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the rich aroma of coffee that still hangs in the air. "We can't keep dancing around this, Z. The way we feel about her, the way she feels about us. It's complicated. And with everything she's going through, we need to be careful."

Zaire's eyes narrow slightly. "Careful? What we need to do is be there for her, Oz. In whatever way she needs us."

"I know that," I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. "But we also need to make sure we're on the same page. That we're not...competing or making things more confusing for her."

Z pushes off from the counter, taking a step towards me. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches slightly. "As long as she's happy," he says, his voice low and intense, "that's all that matters. If she wants me, she can have me. If she wants you, she can have you. If she wants both of us..." He trails off, letting the implication hang in the air between us. “Fuck, if she wants someone else, too. It’s her decision. I’ll love her no matter what she chooses for herself.”

I feel a rush of heat at his words, images flashing through my mind that I quickly try to suppress. The three of us together. Tangled limbs. Vesper’s cries of pleasure as we take our turns with her. Her skin slick with sweat. "It's not that simple, Z," I argue, even as part of me wants to agree with him.

But Zaire is already brushing past me, his bare shoulder grazing mine as he heads towards the hallway. "It is that simple, Oz," he tosses over his shoulder. "We protect her. We love her. Everything else is just details. Stop overthinking it."

“You’re really okay with this?”

Zaire shakes his head, “I am.”

As Zaire's words hang in the air, a soft creak from the hallway catches our attention. We both look up to see Vesper watching us, her beautiful form framed by the doorway. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her.

She's still wearing my oversized t-shirt, the one I helped her into before we all fell asleep last night. The soft, worn fabric drapes over her curves, hem skimming her thighs. Her long blonde hair is tousled from sleep, catching the morning light and giving her an almost ethereal glow. But it's her eyes that truly captivate me. Those piercing green orbs that have seen too much, felt too much.

I can tell she's still reeling from everything that has happened, it all lingers in the shadows behind her eyes. Yet there's a steadiness to her now that wasn't there before. A quiet strength that makes my heart swell with pride and something deeper, something I'm not quite ready to name.

Vesper steps into the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the cool tile. She moves with a grace that belies the turmoil I know still churns within her. As she approaches, I can't help but drink in every detail. The way the shirt slips off one shoulder, revealing a tantalizing expanse of creamy skin. The subtle sway of her hips, the way she bites her lower lip, a habit I've come to recognize as a sign of her gathering courage.

She comes to me first, and I feel my heart rate quicken. Her hand reaches up, cupping my cheek, and I lean into her touch instinctively. Then she's on her toes, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that's both tender and fierce. It takes all my willpower not to pull her closer to deepen the kiss.

But then she's pulling away, and I watch as she turns to Zaire. My brother's eyes are dark with desire, his body taut with anticipation. Vesper doesn't hesitate; she steps into his space and kisses him with the same intensity she kissed me. I see Zaire's hands twitch at his sides, clearly fighting the urge to grab her, to claim her.

As I watch Vesper and Zaire, something shifts inside me. The jealousy I felt earlier melts away, replaced by a profound sense of rightness. It's as if a puzzle piece I didn't even know was missing has suddenly clicked into place.

Vesper steps back from Zaire, her eyes darting between us, a mix of vulnerability and determination in her gaze. In that moment, I realize that Zaire was right. It doesn't matter if it's complicated. All that matters is her.

She needs us both. Not just for protection, not just for comfort, but for something deeper, something that defies the easy categorization. And I'm okay with that. More than okay.

Zaire's voice, low and tender, breaks the charged silence. "Are you hungry, moya koroleva?" he asks, the Russian rolling off his tongue.

Vesper nods, still looking a bit dazed, caught between sleep and wakefulness. Her stomach growls softly, and a faint blush colors her cheeks.

"I can cook," I offer, already moving towards the fridge. "How about some eggs and bacon? Maybe some of those blueberry pancakes you like?"

A small smile tugs at Vesper's lips, and she nods again, more enthusiastically this time. It's a simple thing but seeing that spark of joy in her eyes feels like a victory.

As I start pulling ingredients from the fridge, I hear the shuffle of feet in the hallway. Talon appears first, his brown hair a disheveled mess, eyes still heavy with sleep. He's followed closely by Alex, who looks marginally more awake but no less rumpled.

"Morning, lovebirds," Alex mumbles, his gaze taking in the scene before him. His eyes linger on Vesper, standing between Zaire and me, wearing nothing but my oversized shirt. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. "Quite the love V you've got going on here," he adds, gesturing vaguely in our direction.

Zaire's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“What’s a Love V?” Vesper asks.

Alex starts to open his mouth, but a glare from Z shuts it quickly.

I watch as Zaire gently pulls Vesper onto his lap, his tattooed arms wrapping protectively around her waist. She settles against him with a contented sigh, her head resting on his shoulder.

As I turn back to the stove, flipping pancakes and stirring eggs, I catch Talon's gaze. His eyes are fixed on Vesper and Zaire, an unreadable expression on his face. There's something in the way he watches them, a mix of longing and resignation that makes me wonder what's going through his mind.

The kitchen fills with the sizzle of bacon and the rich aroma of coffee as I finish cooking. We gather around the table, plates piled high with food. For a moment, it almost feels normal, just a group of friends sharing breakfast. But the tension simmering beneath the surface is palpable.

I clear my throat, setting down my fork. "We need to talk about what happened yesterday," I say, my voice low but firm.

The mood shifts instantly. Vesper stiffens in Zaire's lap. Z’s arms tighten around her, his jaw clenching visibly.

"What's our next move?" Alex asks, leaning forward, his usual smirk replaced by a look of intense focus.

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications. We all know the stakes. Vesper’s safety, the future of our families, the delicate balance of power we've been trying to maintain.

Suddenly, Talon pipes up, his voice cutting through the tension. "I think I might have an idea about that," he says, his brown eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

We all turn to look at him, curiosity piqued. Talon rarely offers strategic input, preferring to follow rather than lead. But there's a determination on his face now that catches my attention.

"Ivanov implicated Natasha, too," Talon continues, his words measured and careful. "I think she's our next move."

“But how do we get to her? All we know about her is that she was the broker for Vesper.” Zaire asks, his fingers absently tracing patterns on Vesper's arm. "We can't just walk up to her and ask her what she knows."

Talon takes a deep breath, his gaze flickering to Vesper before returning to the group. "We invoke the breeding clause," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "And set a meeting with her."

My mind races, parsing through the implications of Talon's suggestion. The breeding clause. It's a risky move, but not without merit. It could give us the in we need, a chance to unravel this tangled web of deception and manipulation. I don't hate the idea, but the logistics of it gnaw at me.

"It's not a bad plan," I say slowly, choosing my words with care. "But how do we even contact her? We can't exactly look up 'shady black market baby broker' in the yellow pages."

A ghost of a smile flickers across Talon's face, a spark of something I can't quite place dancing in his eyes. Without a word, he reaches into his pocket and produces a small, white rectangle. A business card.

"It was in the bill of sale paperwork," he explains, his voice low and steady. "I found it when I was going through everything again last night."

The card is unremarkable at first glance, plain white stock, no name, no contact information. But there, centered on the glossy surface, is a small black square. A QR code.

Before anyone else can react, Alex's hand darts out, snatching the card from Talon's grasp. His fingers move with the practiced ease of a pickpocket, reminding me once again of the skills that make him such a valuable asset to our team.

Alex turns the card over in his hands, examining it from every angle. His brow furrows in concentration, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes the QR code. "It's not just a link," he mutters, more to himself than to us. "Yeah, I've seen this before. Once you scan it, it initiates a call. Clever. Untraceable."

The tension in the room ratchets up a notch. We're all acutely aware of what this means, a direct line to Natasha, the woman who brokered Vesper's sale. The woman who might hold the key to unraveling this entire conspiracy.

"It's worth a shot," I say, breaking the silence that has fallen over us. "But we need to be smart about this. We can't go in half-cocked."

Zaire nods, his arms tightening almost imperceptibly around Vesper. "Agreed," he says, his voice rough with emotion. “Talon needs to make the call. She’s heard his voice. As much money as they made, it isn’t likely she forgot Charles Blackwood.”

“Who?” Vesper asks.

“Long story, sweetheart,” Talon smirks. “I’ll call.” Talon takes the card away from Alex and starts to scan it with his phone. Alex stops him before he can hit send.

“Have I taught you nothing,” he mutters before shifting from his seat, and walking towards his room. He returns a few minutes later with a black burner phone in his hand. “Always use an encrypted burner phone, Bjáni.”

“I have no idea what you just called me, but I think it might have been a compliment.”

“It wasn’t,” Alex declares flatly.

Talon scans the card with the burner phone, his fingers trembling slightly. The tension in the room is palpable as we all hold our breath, waiting. The phone rings once, twice, three times. Just as I'm beginning to think this might be a dead end, a crisp, accented voice answers.

"Доброе утро," the female voice purrs, the Russian rolling off her tongue like silk. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

I watch as Talon's demeanor shifts. Gone is the easy-going, golden retriever-like friend I know. In his place stands Charles Blackwood, the suave and confident buyer from the auction. His voice, when he speaks, is low and smooth, with just a hint of a British accent.

"Natasha," he purrs, "it's Charles Blackwood. I trust you remember me?"

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and then a low, throaty chuckle. "Mr. Blackwood," Natasha replies, her voice dripping with honey and venom in equal measure. "What a pleasant surprise. How could I forget our most discerning client?"

I watch as Talon's jaw clenches, a flicker of disgust passing over his features before he schools his expression back into neutrality. "Indeed," he says, his tone light but with an undercurrent of steel. "I was just thinking about our last transaction. I must say, I'm quite pleased with my investment."

Natasha's laugh is like broken glass, sharp and dangerous. "I'm so glad to hear it, Mr. Blackwood. Our merchandise is always of the highest quality. How is the little dove adjusting?"

At the word 'merchandise,' I see Vesper flinch as if she's been struck. Zaire's arms tighten around her, his eyes blazing with barely contained rage. I feel my own anger rising, hot and fierce in my chest, but I force it down. We need to stay focused.

Talon's voice remains steady as he replies, "Oh, she's everything I could have hoped for and more. Well worth what I spent, I assure you." His eyes flick to Vesper as he speaks, and I see a silent apology in them. "In fact, I was wondering if we might discuss the possibility of expanding my investment."

There's a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. When Natasha speaks again, her voice has lost some of its syrupy sweetness, replaced by sharp interest. "Expanding? My, my, Mr. Blackwood. You are insatiable, aren't you? What did you have in mind?"

I lean forward, every muscle in my body tense.

Talon's eyes meet mine for a brief moment, a silent understanding passing between us. He takes a deep breath, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he speaks. "Well, Natasha, I've been giving some thought to the breeding clause in our contract. I believe it's time to explore those options."

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. I feel my heart rate quicken, knowing we're treading into dangerous territory. Vesper stiffens in Zaire's arms, her face paling slightly. Z's jaw clenches, his tattoos seeming to ripple with tension.

Natasha's voice, when it comes, is filled with predatory interest. "Ah, the breeding clause. How delightful. It's not often our clients take advantage of that particular feature."

Talon's voice remains steady, but I can see the strain in the set of his shoulders. "Yes, well, I believe in maximizing my investments. I'd like to set up a meeting to discuss the details. Perhaps with her previous owners? I’d like to discuss the possibility of buying them out.”

There's a pause on the other end of the line, long enough that for a moment I wonder if we've overplayed our hand. When Natasha speaks again, her voice has a sharp edge to it. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Blackwood. My client is extremely private and values their anonymity above all else."

I exchange a glance with Zaire seeing my own frustration mirrored in his eyes. We're so close to a breakthrough, but Natasha's words threaten to slam that door shut.

But Talon doesn't miss a beat. "Of course, I understand completely," he says smoothly. "Privacy is paramount in our line of work, after all. Perhaps we could meet with you instead? As their representative, I'm sure you're fully authorized to discuss these matters on their behalf."

Another pause, shorter this time. I can almost hear the gears turning in Natasha's head as she weighs her options. "That would be acceptable," she finally says, her voice carefully neutral. "I have the authority to act on my client's behalf in these matters."

I feel a surge of triumph, quickly tempered by the knowledge that we're far from out of the woods. Talon catches my eye, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Excellent," he says. "I'm eager to move forward with this. What does your schedule look like?"

As Talon negotiates the details of the meeting, I find myself marveling at his composure. The transformation from our laid-back friend to this suave, calculating persona is jarring, yet impressive. I watch as he jots down notes on a nearby napkin, his handwriting neat and precise despite the tension thrumming through the room.

"New York, you say?" Talon replies, his voice smooth as silk. "As it happens, I have business in Manhattan next week. Perhaps we could arrange something then?"

Natasha's voice crackles through the speaker, a hint of satisfaction coloring her words. "Perfect, Mr. Blackwood. I know just the place. There's a charming little restaurant I simply adore. It's called 'Le Petit Oiseau,' quite fitting, don't you think?"

I feel a chill run down my spine at the name. 'The Little Bird, ‘it’s almost too on-the-nose, a cruel reminder of how Natasha and her clients view women like Vesper. I glance at Vesper, seeing the same realization dawning in her eyes. Zaire's arms tighten around her, a silent promise of protection.

Talon doesn't miss a beat. "Sounds delightful," he says, his voice betraying none of the disgust I know he must be feeling. "Shall we say Tuesday, at 7 pm?"

"Tuesday, at 7 it is," Natasha purrs. "I look forward to our meeting, Mr. Blackwood."

Just as Talon is about to end the call, Natasha's voice cuts through once more, sharp and sudden. "Oh, and Mr. Blackwood? Do bring your purchase with you. I'd love to see how she's progressing."

The room goes deathly still. I feel my heart skip a beat, my mind racing to process this unexpected twist. Vesper goes rigid in Zaire's arms, her face draining of color. Z looks like he's about to explode, his muscles coiled tight with barely contained rage.

Talon, to his credit, doesn't falter. "Of course," he says smoothly, though I can see the strain in the set of his jaw. "She'll be delighted to join us, I'm sure."

As soon as the call ends, the tension in the room snaps. Zaire jumps to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. "Absolutely fucking not," he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. "We are not putting Vesper anywhere near that woman."

“I don’t think we have a choice. If Talon shows up without her, Natasha will know something is wrong.”

“Over my dead fucking body will I put her in that kind of danger.”

I stand as well, my mind already racing through possibilities, trying to find a way to make this work without endangering Vesper. "Z, calm down," I say, holding up my hands in a placating gesture. "We need to think this through."

Vesper, who has been silent throughout the entire exchange, suddenly speaks up. Her voice is quiet but firm.

“I’ll do it.”