22. Thayer

"You guys have fun?"I take in Vogue and Harry in a lip lock that they break away from when they see me standing there in the doorway. Their expressions don't betray much, but the flush on Vogue's cheeks speaks volumes. I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips.

"Yeah, we did," Harry says, his voice hoarse with what I can only assume was a night well spent. There's a possessive gleam in his eye that I've come to recognise and respect. It's not jealousy; it's acknowledgement—a silent confirmation of the bond we all share.

"Good," I nod, stepping aside to let them in. "Glad to hear it."

Vogue slips past me with a smile that holds secrets and promises alike. "We're back now, and I need to shower after this day."

I nod and then grab her hand, holding it up with a frown as I run my hand over the grazes. "Gun training?"

"Yeah. I'm shit, but I'll get better."

I chuckle as she grins and takes her hand back. "I've no doubt, baby girl."

Harry steps inside, but not before clapping a hand on my shoulder—a gesture of camaraderie and something deeper. A reminder of the intricate web we've woven together.

"We need to talk after your shower about the party," I call after her.

She just waves as she hits the top of the stairs and disappears.

"Are you sure you want to do this heist right in the middle of the party?" Harry asks with a frown up the stairs.

"Yeah, the party is going to be in the gallery, so it's the perfect time. My parents already have a buyer set up, so it needs to happen quickly, and I don't have time to make the necessary plans to do it from the outside."

He nods, getting it completely, but needing to check, I know, because of Vogue's involvement. He wouldn't have questioned me otherwise. "Where're the other guys?"

"Having a beer outside."

"Aaron?"

I shrug. "Haven't seen him."

Harry's gaze lingers on the top of the stairs for just a moment longer, a subtle tension in his jaw. He then shakes his head slightly, as if dismissing a thought, and follows me outside, where the cool night breeze invites us to join the others. The air is thick with the undercurrent of strategy that always accompanies our gatherings.

Callum and Quentin are engrossed in a hushed conversation, their heads close together, two sides of the same coin finally in alignment after years of separation. I can't help but appreciate the twisted symmetry of it all.

We take our seats, and Harry cracks open a beer, sliding one to me across the table. It's ice cold, droplets beading on the surface, and I take a long swig, enjoying the way it cuts through the dryness in my throat.

The conversation shifts effortlessly from business to banter. Quentin's talking about some new weapon he's acquired that'll cleave a man's head from his shoulders, while Callum's more interested in discussing how we'll handle any unexpected complications at the masquerade ball—always the tactician.

I lean back, listening to them bicker playfully about contingencies and escape routes. This is where we thrive—in complexity and danger.

Despite the laughter and the easy jokes, I feel the tension. It coils in my gut—a reminder that what we're planning is no game. This heist, Vogue's involvement, the power play by the Syndicate, the masquerade... it all melds into one massive, high-stakes gamble.

I glance at Harry's profile, his eyes dark with thought, and I know he's weighing risks, too. We're all a bunch of fucking adrenaline junkies chasing the next thrill. But with Vogue in the mix now, everything feels riskier.

I look up as Aaron strides out confidently to join us, his face a blank mask. The dynamic shifts subtly; he's the boss and Vogue's dad. The latter being now the father of the girl we've all fallen in love with whether we are ready to admit that or not.

"Hope you guys saved some beer for me," Aaron says casually, but his eyes scan the group, searching for something.

"Sure," I murmur and hand him one.

He sits down in his tailored suit and gives us all a grim stare. "We need to talk about Vogue and what the four of you are doing with her."

I blink and casually adjust my stance in my seat. We knew it was coming, but I think we all hoped it wouldn't.

Harry is the first to respond, his voice level and confident. "She's part of this now, Aaron. She's as involved as any of us." It's respectful—always respectful—it's mafia law, but everyone knows he dodged the question.

Aaron nods slowly, taking a thoughtful sip from the bottle. His gaze flicks to each of us like he's assessing our loyalty to both him and Vogue—a loyalty that has grown more complicated with feelings we hadn't anticipated.

Quentin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look," he starts, and I can see the tension in his sharp features. "We respect you and your position here. But Vogue... she's not just some pawn in the game. She's got a say in what she does, who she's with." His words are pointed, protective.

Callum's silent watchfulness breaks as he speaks up with a precision that cuts through any bullshit. "We don't love her because of who she is to you. We love her for who she is to us." It's raw honesty, the kind that leaves no room for pretence or misunderstanding.

Aaron's face remains impassive. "I've always known my daughter was destined for more than an ordinary life whether she chose this path or not. This has been something I never wished for in case I never got the opportunity to know her. With this being her idea to learn, to train, it has been more than I could've hoped for, and if you four fuck it up in any way whatsoever, or put her life, yours, mine, or anyone else's lives in jeopardy because you're seeing through heart-shaped glasses, you will never see the hit coming. Am I making myself very clear?"

"Business first," I murmur.

He turns to me with a cold glare. "That's bold when you're talking about my daughter and her place in your life."

"Isn't that what this is, though? Business always."

Aaron's eyes narrow, razor-sharp and calculating, but he doesn't respond immediately. His silence stretches out, taut as a wire about to snap. I can almost hear Harry's steady breath beside me, feel the restlessness in Quentin's leg as it bounces just slightly—Callum's intense gaze fixed on the boss.

Then Aaron nods once, sharply. "Business, yes. But she isn't just business to any of us, is she?" The challenge in his voice is clear, and we all recognise the line he's drawn in the sand.

We remain silent because it's true—Vogue is more than business to us now.

Finally, Callum answers for all of us. "Of course not," he says firmly. "We'll protect her with our lives. But we know the score. Regular business doesn't get compromised because we're too busy mooning over your daughter. Make no mistake, though, if it comes down to Vogue's safety or a play. We will choose Vogue every time."

Aaron studies us again, his presence is always so commanding it feels like he takes up more space than physically possible. "Good. That's exactly what I wanted to hear. This masquerade, the heist, the move towards the centre of the board, it's dangerous. You know that, and so do I. She doesn't know the half of it. Thayer, you need to make sure she knows what she's walking into. Walk her through it a million times, if that's what it takes."

I understand the gravity in Aaron's words; they're a command, coated in the guise of concern. "I'll make sure she's ready," I say with a nod, already plotting the conversations I'll need to have with Vogue. The responsibility sits heavy on my shoulders, but it's one I accept without hesitation.

Aaron gives me a long look before he nods. "Now we need to talk about the Vipers. They took my girl, they started a turf war over the drugs filtering through the outskirts of the city and lured you four assholes into a trap. You are lucky you got out alive. You're well-trained idiots, I'll give you that, but idiots all the same."

"Yeah, we deserve that. But it was that little shit Alex from the student council that played Vogue by telling her Harrow was involved," I grit out.

"So not necessarily a complete lure as Harrow was being a douche, but we still got sideswiped," Callum adds.

Aaron stands up, a tower of controlled fury and unyielding power. "Do what needs to be done, but don't get caught." His gaze slices through each of us. "And protect my daughter at all costs. This isn't just a street brawl—it's war."

We exchange looks, a silent pact forming between us: to safeguard Vogue, to dismantle the Black Vipers' empire piece by piece, and to deal with any traitors hiding in plain sight.

As Aaron walks away, we're left with the weight of responsibility and the adrenaline rush of impending conflict. I can feel the tension between us crackle like electricity; it's the kind of feeling that keeps you awake at night, alert and ready to spring into action.

"There is only one way to take the Vipers down," I say, thinking out loud. "And you're not going to like it."

"Go on," Callum says slowly, almost as if he is thinking the same thing I am. It wouldn't surprise me in the least.

"Anonymous tip to the police," I say quietly. "Let them sort this mess out for us. We don't have time to fuck about playing tit for tat. We've got bigger issues than those dicks. We need to wrestle Crestmont back under our thumb. That's bigger."

"Agreed," Callum says, nodding. "It's the perfect way to get them off our case."

"And if they come back at us with the same?" Quen asks.

Harry shakes his head. "I've got guys all over the country in my pockets. They'll find it a lot harder to come at us the legal way."

"Who says they haven't, though?" Quen presses.

Harry lets out a low chuckle, his tone laced with a dark sort of mirth. "Then they better bring more than just a knife to a gunfight."

"Exactly," I say. "We set them up for a fall they can't climb back from."

Quentin nods, his analytical mind already ticking over the possibilities and outcomes. "Okay, how's this? Thayer, when you do the heist at the party, you take an extra piece and make sure it leads straight back to the Vipers."

"Done," I say, enjoying the ease with which this was planned. "It's quick and efficient and will get the white-collar crimes department wetting themselves. Once they start digging, boom." I make an explosion gesture with my hands.

"Perfect," Callum says, sitting back and taking another sip of his beer.

"I'll get Vogue up to speed on the job," I add, rising and leaving the boys behind. This has to go off without a hitch, especially with double the merch. It won't be any less difficult, but it will take more time, and time is always, always of the essence.