Mind Code (Coded Connections Duet #2)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Grey

Amelia glides over to the ballroom, a vision in her long dress, and I can’t help but admire her grace. We follow a step behind, like loyal subjects to our queen. And in a way, that’s exactly what we are. She’s got us on an invisible leash, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’d be her guard dog or lap dog, whatever she needs.

Hell, I’d probably bark if she asked me to.

This feels right, like everything has fallen into place. Us surrounding her, Amelia being our center, our focus. It’s as if all these years of friendship with the guys were leading up to this moment.

She completes us.

It’s a forever thing. I can feel it in my bones.

We enter the ballroom, and the elegant strains of a violinist playing in the corner fill the air. People turn to stare as we pass, but I couldn’t care less.

Let them watch.

Let them be jealous.

Let them talk .

We’re beyond their gossip and judgment. Their whispers and sideways glances mean nothing.

Amelia leads us to a corner table that seats about six. I can’t help but smile.

Old habits die hard, it seems.

Sitting beside her, Oliver pulls out his phone. “Should I book us a flight for tomorrow?” he asks, his fingers hovering over the screen.

Seems like I’m not the only one done with this posh shit.

But I tense, worried we might be pushing too soon, that Amelia’s tendency to flee might kick in. But she just sighs, and I feel my shoulders relax a little.

“Yes, please. Then we have Sunday to try and get over the jet lag before we get back to work Monday…” She pauses, tension visible in her shoulders. “… if I still have a job.”

“Don’t be silly,” I reassure her, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm from my voice. “Of course you do. Do you think we would have let you go away like that without ensuring that everything would still be waiting for you when we got you back?”

As if I’d let something as trivial as work get in the way.

Her eyes widen, a mix of surprise and gratitude. “You did?”

“It helped that you already submitted a PTO request. Grey only had to move it around a bit.” Misha chimes in.

Amelia catches my eye, and I shrug as if it’s no big deal.

It wasn’t.

Writing an email from “HR” to Langley about her earlier leave could be tricky if discovered. But they’ll never find out.

I’m too good for that.

I’ve covered our tracks better than a cat burying its business .

“Thank you,” Amelia whispers.

Reaching over, I take her hand and press a kiss to the back of it. Her skin is soft under my lips, and I savor the moment. “Thank you for coming back home with us,” I murmur, my eyes locked on hers.

Home.

That’s what we are now.

Her home, and she’s ours.

“Miss Stanley, you’re being requested.” A waiter comes over and interrupts us, making Amelia sit up straight and pull her hand from mine.

I tense up immediately, but Amelia gives me a smile.

A forced one.

“Relax, they probably want me to play the piano,” she says softly. But I stand when she does, unable to shake the protective instinct rising within me. She looks into my eyes, calming me with her steady gaze. “It’s all right. I’ll do it. It’s the last time ever. I can do this to keep the peace.”

Reluctantly, I sit back down, watching as she’s escorted away from us. I lose sight of her in the crowd, already missing her presence.

“Okay, booked. We’ll be back home soon,” Oliver says, bringing me back to the table.

Misha sighs with relief. “Thank God. I can’t wait to get out of here. I have no idea how Amelia could’ve turned out so sweet and innocent after being brought up in this nest of snakes.”

I notice Oliver’s ears turning a telltale shade of crimson, and I can’t resist the urge to tease him a bit. “Why does that make you blush?”

Oh, I know why.

Misha picks up on the teasing immediately. “It was the innocent part, right?” he chimes in, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. “The question is, who is not so innocent anymore after that blow job? Her or you ?”

My mind drifts to the image on the security feed—her lips wrapped around Oliver’s cock. Just the memory makes my pulse quicken, and I can’t help but imagine her plush lips on me, her tongue teasing while those big blue eyes look up at me.

The mere notion of her worshiping my cock, her eyes wide with desire, and me praising her for every flick of her tongue sends a jolt of anticipation straight to my groin.

The idea alone sends a wave of heat through me. And if she wants the others to watch for fairness? So be it.

Oliver’s voice, tinged with a note of regret, cuts through my dirty daydreams. “No, I think I fucked up.”

What?

“We watched. You didn’t, I promise you. Grey and I would have come just as quick. That blow was…” Misha shakes his head, “… damn.”

Damn indeed.

Oliver frowns. “No, not because of that. And fuck you .”

“What is it then? It can’t be the size of your dick.” Misha chuckles, and I have to suppress a laugh.

“Because I… I should have reciprocated.”

Ah, okay.

“Why didn’t you?” I ask, my tone softening. This is all new for him, and maybe we have to treat the subject with more care.

Oliver sighs, his gaze dropping to the table. “I have no idea how to. I wouldn’t even know how to touch her and can’t imagine what to do with my mouth.”

“We can teach you,” Misha says with a shrug.

Oliver looks up, eyes wide with horror and disbelief. “I’m not going to lick grapefruits again.”

Now I can’t suppress the laugh that bursts out, recalling the time Misha returned home with some citrus fruits in an attempt to teach Oliver the art of kissing after he’d first laid eyes on Amelia.

Needless to say, the lesson didn’t go over well.

Misha smirks, clearly enjoying the moment. “Not on a grapefruit, although that would probably work too. We’re gonna do a lesson on the real subject.”

Oliver’s expression hardens. “She isn’t a subject .”

“That’s what stuck with you?” I shake my head, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Glancing over at Misha, I ask with a challenge in my eyes, “You want us to show him?”

Misha shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Why the fuck not. Would it bother you?”

I take a moment to consider it, but the answer comes to me quickly. “No. I think it would… intrigue me, to be honest. When I had her in bed, we talked about you guys touching her at the same time, and it got her so hot, it was… I don’t know, electrifying. I want to see that.”

Misha’s eyes light up. “Fuck, I want to see that too.”

Oliver shakes his head. “It’s not about what you want to see. It’s about me not being able to please her like she did me.”

Misha and I exchange a knowing smirk.

“Don’t worry, Ollie.” Misha smirks with confidence.

“Yeah,” I add, leaning back in my chair. “You’ll learn in no time, and I’d bet she’s very open to letting you practice on her as much as you need.”

“How hands-on do you want me to be with showing you stuff?” Misha asks, his tone teasing.

I frown at him, and Oliver’s expression mirrors mine as he looks up from his hands in his lap. “What do you mean?”

“He’s asking if you’re okay with him getting handsy with you to help make things better for Amelia,” I explain, giving Misha a pointed look, who grins at me. “Just for the record, I’m absolutely not fine with you touching me, dickhead. I didn’t know you were into that.”

Misha shrugs. “I’m not. I just don’t give two fucks about who my mouth is on if it helps her get off.”

Oliver looks thoughtful. “So, you’re not suggesting we all do stuff together, but you’re asking if you can touch me to make things better for her?”

“Yes,” Misha confirms.

“Okay, that’s honestly perfect because I’d appreciate the help,” Oliver nods eagerly, looking relieved.

“You understand what he’s saying, right, Ollie?” I ask, making sure he’s clear on what he’s consenting to. If he is, I’m fine with whatever happens.

As long as it excludes me.

“I think so. I give Misha permission to show me in a very hands-on way how to pleasure our girlfriend, which might include touching my dick.”

I laugh heartily. “Okay then.”

Misha grins. “I’m not saying it will definitely happen. I just like knowing the limits and boundaries before I start showing you stuff. And you can always change your mind.”

“Misha, the consent king,” I joke, and Oliver finally smiles, his nervousness about the topic easing.

“Man, all this talk about eating is making me hungry. You think we’ll get some food here anytime soon?” Misha asks, looking around the room for a waiter. Just then, the strains of the violinist cut off abruptly, and a hush falls over the room.

Amelia’s father steps up to a dais, elevated above the surrounding tables. He clinks his glass, and everyone falls silent. A bad feeling settles in my gut as I watch August, Amelia’s mother, and the mother of that dickhead, Daniel, step up beside him .

“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, thank you all for gracing us with your presence this evening and for your unwavering support of our annual charity gala for the British Heart Foundation. We are profoundly grateful for your continued generosity and dedication to this cause. Your contributions enable us to make a significant impact, and we are honored to have you here with us tonight to raise funds for such an important organization.”

His voice carries the polished cadence of someone accustomed to commanding attention and respect, and the room is silent as if they are hanging on to his every word. “Tonight, we celebrate not only the progress we have made but also the future that lies ahead. It is with great pride and pleasure that I announce my son, August Stanley, will be taking over the reins of Stanley & Associates ,” Mr. Stanley declares, a proud smile stretching across his face. “As a token of our gratitude and commitment to the community, Stanley & Associates will be making a significant donation to the British Heart Foundation tonight.”

The room erupts in polite applause, and Misha’s tension seems to ease a bit, but I can’t shake my unease.

Where’s Amelia?

The bad feeling in my gut grows stronger, twisting like a knife. This setup, the forced smiles, the orchestrated applause—none of it feels right. It’s like watching a play where everyone’s following a script except for us.

My gaze finally lands on Amelia as she approaches the dais with Daniel, her expression strained but composed, like a porcelain doll about to crack.

Mr. Stanley continues, “Additionally, the Bancroft family will also donate a substantial amount to the charity. We are immensely grateful for their support.”

More polite applause fills the room as Daniel and Amelia rise to join them, the sound grating on my nerves. To anyone paying close attention, it’s clear that Daniel is half-dragging Amelia along, his fingers digging into her arm.

Motherfucker.

Oliver leans closer. “What is this about?”

Misha murmurs back, “I hope it’s not what I think it is…”

Anxiety radiates off Amelia in waves—the tension in her posture, the way her eyes dart around the room like a trapped animal searching for escape.

Looking for us?

She’s uncomfortable. That much is painfully clear.

Mr. Stanley places a hand on her shoulder in a possessive and controlling gesture that only heightens my irritation. Daniel stands beside her, his smirk as smug as ever. August appears resigned, his eyes betraying a sadness that doesn’t match the celebration.

I catch Misha’s eye, and we share a look of understanding. Something is off, terribly off, and we need to be ready for whatever comes next.

Amelia’s father lets go of her and raises his glass again, signaling for more attention. “Tonight, we also celebrate the unity of the Stanley and Bancroft families.”

My blood runs cold.

Daniel pulls Amelia close by her waist. She looks up at him with a frown, trying to step out of his hold without much fuss, but he doesn’t let her go. His grip remains firm, and the fabric of her dress bunches up where he holds her too tightly.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

Clenching my teeth so hard I fear they might crack, my hands ball into fists at my sides. Beside me, Oliver mutters dangerously, “I should have pummeled his head in. Doesn’t he get that she doesn’t want him?”

“He’s fact-resistant, it seems,” I mutter, the sarcasm barely masking my fury .

“What do we do?” Misha asks.

Amelia’s father speaks once more, his voice brimming with pride. “It is with great pleasure that I announce the engagement of Daniel Percival Bancroft and my daughter, Amelia Charlotte Stanley. The union will further solidify the bond between our families. The Bancrofts have been esteemed family friends for generations, and now we can officially call them family.”

Holy shit, they actually did that.

Amelia is frozen, her eyes grow wide, the color drains from her cheeks, and her breath comes in shallow, panicked gasps.

“She didn’t agree to this, did she?” Oliver’s voice is laced with worry.

No way.

Misha shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “Of course not. You heard her earlier. She promised.”

Come on, baby, tell them.

Tell them to fuck off.

Amelia’s father drones on about the upcoming wedding, but it’s just background noise to the turmoil brewing inside me. My focus is fixed on Amelia, who starts shaking her head and mouthing, No, no, no.

Fuck this shit.

“That’s it. I’m going to get her,” I announce, standing abruptly. My chair screeches against the floor, the sound cutting through the murmur of the crowd. I weave through the tables, my steps heavy and resolute. Misha and Oliver copy me, their footsteps echoing mine, while every pair of eyes follows us as we march toward Amelia, gasps and whispers rippling through the room.

When Amelia sees us, her eyes fill with tears of relief. She takes a step forward, reaching out to us, but Daniel grabs her wrist, holding her back. She turns, tugging at her wrist, but he hisses something to her just as I reach the dais.

I catch his last words. “… play your fucking part. ”

I come to stand next to her, glaring at Daniel with all the fury I can muster. “Let her go, or we’ll whoop your ass in front of all these posh people.”

Daniel releases her like the coward he is, sneering at us. “You’re ruining everything .”

Misha steps forward, his tone icy enough to freeze hell itself. “Fuck off.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Stanley demands.

Oliver steps in front of me, his voice filled with a conviction I’ve never heard from him before. “The meaning is that you’ve reached the last straw. Amelia is done being treated like a possession without a will of her own. Wanting to marry her off as if she’s cattle? Do better.”

His words hang heavy in the air, stirring the crowd into a murmur of confusion and scandal. Misha and I exchange a glance with raised eyebrows, but now is not the time to be proud of Oliver.

Amelia’s mother shoots me a quick glare before she adopts a serene, almost theatrical smile. “Dear guests,” she begins, her voice resonating with cultivated grace. “It appears we have encountered a minor... misunderstanding.” She gestures vaguely as if to brush away the issue with a mere flick of her hand. “Our daughter seems a bit... overwhelmed by the sheer excitement of the evening,” Her chuckle is light, but its forced quality is evident, the sound barely conceals her distress. “Ah… but isn’t it just so characteristic of our spirited young ladies? Always adding a touch of drama to any occasion.”

Her attempt at levity rings hollow, and the crowd’s murmurs grow steadily louder.

I turn my focus back to where it should be and cup Amelia’s face, leaning in to look into her eyes. They’re wide and scared, like a deer caught in headlights. “Are you okay?” She still seems frozen, her eyes unblinking. “Ready to leave?” All she gives me is a small nod, but that’s enough. “Good girl. You can punish me later for this.” Without hesitation, I crouch down, lifting her over my shoulder, and grab her thighs securely.

As I straighten up, I turn to the audience, giving them a clear view of what’s happening as I slap her ass firmly. The sharp sound of the slap echoes through the room, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd before we make our way down to the tables. Misha strides ahead of us while Oliver follows closely, forming a protective barrier around us.

With a devilish grin, Misha waves to the crowd, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Bye, everyone. We’ll donate something for the cause online.”

“You can’t just take her!” Mr. Stanley’s voice is almost panicked, but it’s too late.

I turn to see Oliver spin around, yelling over the noise, “Watch us!”

The crowd’s murmurs swell into a cacophony of whispers, then a soft giggle comes from behind my back, a sweet sound of relief that warms my heart.

She’s going to be fine.

We reach the entrance to the ballroom, where James holds the door open with a smile. “Mr. Misha, Mr. Grey, Mr. Oliver… Amelia.”

Once we’re all outside, Misha turns back to the entrance, giving a final wave. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, folks!”

We’ve rescued her from the lion’s den.

Now it’s time to take her home.