Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 361

When Chris finally saw the helmet clearly, he froze on the spot.

It was unmistakable. He’d had this exact helmet custom-made for Caleb Lennon. His own handwriting still adorned the side: “Ride Safe.”

But Caleb was supposed to be recovering from an injury. What was his helmet doing here?

Confused, Chris stepped closer—then was stopped short by unmistakable sounds coming from inside the room.

He started to turn away, embarrassment prickling his skin—only to catch a glimpse of the woman’s face on the bed.

Bridget.

Rage burned through him. Chris clenched the hotel keycard in his fist, ready to storm in. But instead, he forced himself to back out of the room quietly, shutting the door without a sound.

Rupert had given him this keycard for a reason—to avoid causing a scene.

...

Hospital Room.

Rupert barely glanced up when Chris walked in, as if he’d been expecting him. He pulled out a pack of Marlboros, offered one to Chris.

Chris stared at him, bitterness in his eyes, then took the cigarette. Even his hands shook as he tried—and failed—to flick the lighter.

Rupert wordlessly leaned over and lit it for him.

Chris didn’t smoke much; the first drag made him cough hard. He swallowed the ache and muttered, “How long have you known?”

Rupert exhaled, voice flat: “Since their first hotel hookup.”

Chris’s eyes widened. “That was—?”

“The first time they ever met.”

Chris coughed again, this time from shock.

Caleb had always been a wild card, trouble with women since high school. But Bridget? She was a well-bred girl, the type you’d expect to see at Sunday brunch with her parents, not sneaking around hotels. And she was supposed to be Rupert’s fiancée—what the hell was going on?

Rupert seemed to read his mind. “People can fake anything if they want it bad enough.”

Chris looked at Rupert, guilt twisting inside him. “Sorry, man.”

Rupert just shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Bridget and I… it was always just business. I owed her, that’s all.”

“What kind of business?” Chris pressed, suspicious.

Rupert flicked ash into a paper cup. “That’s a story for another time. Right now, we’ve got bigger problems.”

“Like what?”

Rupert dropped a used syringe onto the table between them. It clattered loudly.

“Three strikes and you’re out, Chris. Next time, I’m not cleaning up after your brother.”

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