The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(100)

When in actuality, it was Ryker who had no interest in any dealings with Somerset, title of brother-in-law be damned. Ryker took a bored sip of his whiskey and studied Helena over the rim. “What do you want?” The curt question brought his sister’s lips together, tightly.

“I am throwing a ball.”

A goddamn ball. How could she endure the frivolity of her new life? In running the hell, they’d created wealth and work here for many . . . where was her purpose now?

“I want Calum, Adair, and Niall there.” She paused. “And you. I want you to attend as well, Ryker.”

Ryker stilled. He’d misheard her. He’d not been paying attention beyond her mention of those frivolous entertainments.

“I want you there,” she repeated, with a quiet insistence. “I wish to show a—”

“No.”

“United front,” she continued over him. “I want the world to see we are truly a family and have them know Robert and I are proud of you.”

“A family?” he scoffed. Is that what she believed he was to the Duke of Somerset? All because she’d married the gent?

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “You are my brother, and Robert is now your brother.”

“He is no brother of mine,” he growled, and Helena jerked, her cheeks going ashen.

Taking another lazy sip, he arched an eyebrow. “Do not demand a meeting, enter my office, and feed me lies that this is for me,” he said coolly. This was for her husband, and her.

Proving her mettle, Helena went toe-to-toe with him. “Very well, this is not solely for you. This is for all of us.” She skimmed her gaze about the room, and lingered her stare on the cracked, framed piece of art that hung above his desk; the only adornment to grace his room. “You have never truly trusted anyone, Ryker,” she said, pulling her attention away. “Oh, you may say you trust our brothers, but you do not truly. You keep us at arm’s length, questioning the motives . . . of those who would lay down their lives for you.” She gave him a long, meaningful look. “My motives are true. There is no lie in them. I’m not capable of that. But neither will I beg you to attend.”

He met her words with more silence. Silence was always far safer. It allowed a person composure of his thoughts and an opportunity to gauge and assess his opponents.

Helena glanced down at her toes, the first to break the impasse. “I’ll simply ask, and hope you see that I need you to be there for me . . . and my husband.”

Ryker withdrew his watchfob and consulted the timepiece. “I’ve to return to the floors.”

Helena came to her feet. “Of course.” She picked her reticule off the floor and fished inside. Leaning over, she set something on his desk.

Ryker froze, and stared blankly down at the words on that thick vellum. “It is Friday,” she clarified. “Consider this your formal invitation. I do not ask you to come for the entire event, but if you’d stand beside us for even a short while”—she held his gaze squarely—“then I would be forever in your gratitude.”

She could have reminded him of the years of service she’d given the club, and how she’d helped build this empire . . . but she’d not. It was a sign of her weakness. “Helena,” he said, lifting his head.

“Ryker.” Helena dipped hers in return and proudly marched out of his office.

As soon as she’d closed the door behind her, he let loose a curse. She’d ask him to step out of the only world he’d ever known and enter hers. To what end? To help Somerset. A sound of disgust escaped him. Though she’d not pleaded or reminded him of past favors she’d done the club, they lingered there.

His sense of street honor, where you paid your debts and did your due, was ingrained into him from the moment he’d been old enough to walk, and learned his place in the Dials.

A knock sounded at the door. What now? “Enter,” he barked.

Calum stepped inside and looked around. A frown settled on his lips. “She’s gone already?”

“Yes.” Ryker downed the contents of his drink, welcoming the fiery trail it blazed down his throat.

“Is it Killoran?” Diggory’s number two, now in command of The Devil’s Den, had yet to attempt his revenge for Diggory’s death. The time was coming, and Ryker braced for it. Welcomed it. It was the ruthlessness he knew.

“You want to know the matter of urgency that brought her here?” Ryker swiped the invitation from his desk and shoved to his feet. Calum stalked over and grabbed the invitation.

As he skimmed the page, his brow furrowed. “A ball?” the other man asked skeptically, turning over the invite.

With a biting laugh, Ryker tossed it atop his desk. “That is the pressing matter of business you called me away from the floors for.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re growing weak,” he cautioned.

Calum flared his nostrils. With his volatile displays of fury in the streets against their enemies, and his worrying over Helena, he had always been vulnerable in ways Ryker never had been, nor ever would be. “Why does she want you there?” Calum asked, relentless.

“To silence the gossip about me and Somerset.” Registering Calum’s pointed stare, he snapped. “What?”

Offering an infuriatingly nonchalant shrug, Calum said, “Oh, I would simply expect given that Somerset watched after Helena and followed after her, taking a bullet surely meant for her, that there would be some sense of obligation.”