Page 92 of Ruthless Desires: Vol. Two
“Why are you still up?” I ask.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“You’re not listening to the feed, are you?”
“Hacked into the resort’s security camera footage.”
“What—how—why,Rhett?”
“I’m trying to find him,” he mumbles.
Fucking hell.“You can’t go and see him. It’s too risky. Also, he doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
Rhett winces, and I regret my word choice immediately.
“He doesn’t seem to likeanyof us,” I clarify.
“I know.” He gestures to his laptop. “And if I can’t see him in person, this… I guess this is the next best thing.”
I lower myself onto the bed next to him. “You’re not editing anything, are you? I thought Finn was gonna do that.”
“I only have access to watch,” he responds. “And I’ll be honest, even that was beyond my abilities. Had to text Finn for help.”
“And now you’re…?”
“Scanning the footage to see where Andrew’s room is. But Finn already wiped him heading to the bar and leaving the penthouse, so I’ve been watching the common areas to see if he shows up.”
That sounds ridiculously boring, but that’s not what’s worrying me. As I open my mouth to speak, he closes the window and shuts his laptop.
“I know,” he says gruffly. “I know it’s obsessive and desperate. I know I need to stop and sleep. But he’s mybrother,goddammit. What am I supposed to do? Just let him go?”
“Yeah. For now, at least.”
He blows out an exasperated breath. “I hate this, O. I feel helpless.”
I grab his laptop and set it on my nightstand. “That’ll change soon. We won’t let Ludo hurt Benny.”
It’s a promise we both know I shouldn’t be making, but it seems to help him anyway. Sometimes he needs the reminder that we’ve got his back—and now his family’s.
“Try to sleep,” I whisper as we lay down.
He grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers, and I smile into the darkness. I love touching him. Hopefully, there’ll be more of that in our future.
Chapter eighteen
Wren
“What about this one?” Aubrey holds up a book.
“Yup.”
Aubrey groans. “Whathaven’tyou read?”
I grin, taking the book and putting it back on the shelf. “I don’t read a lot of nonfiction.”
“Okay, perfect.” She drags me to the history section of the bookstore. “How about… this one?” She pulls a particularly thick book off the shelf.
“Okay, I should’ve said I don’t read nonfiction—exceptfor history.”
