Fated in New Orleans

15

Beau, River, and Miles moved efficiently, guiding Pryce down the hall to a reinforced storage room they’d prepped for high-risk containment. The door thudded shut behind him, locks clicking into place. Inside, the space was sparse—metal walls, a single chair bolted to the floor, nothing for him to leverage. Pryce spun, glaring, testing the door, but the locks held firm.

He let out a frustrated growl, then kicked the wall in anger, sending a small metal mirror flying across the room. It clattered uselessly against the far wall. Beau’s eyebrows shot up as he watched.

“You okay in there, River? Miles?” Beau asked, his tone teasing but sharp, leaning casually against the door frame. “How much longer you two gonna dance around what you’re feeling for Salem? He’s not wrong. You’ll notice—even Rhea and I are among the few people who haven’t…” He trailed off, smirking. “…it’s you two and Salem.”

Miles stiffened, jaw tight, eyes flicking to River first, then down at the floor. “We’re focused on the mission,” he muttered, voice low. But the flush on his neck betrayed him.

River’s expression remained calm, unreadable at first, but the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. “This isn’t the time,” he said evenly, though his gaze lingered past Beau, to the faint echo of Salem’s presence outside the containment room.

Beau chuckled, shaking his head. “Focused, sure. That’s what I said when I hid from my first crush too.”

Pryce slammed a fist against the wall again, muttering curses under his breath, the sound echoing off the metal. River’s attention snapped back to him immediately, the calm alpha presence sharpening like steel.

Miles shifted slightly, leaning closer to River. “He won’t like being trapped,” he muttered. “But he’s not breaking out—not without us seeing it.”

Beau grinned, giving a casual shrug. “And while he’s flailing, we get a front-row seat to the boys finally admitting they’ve got eyes for Salem.”

River let a faint exhale escape, as if releasing some tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. “We’re aware of our… distractions,” he said carefully. “It won’t compromise the operation.”

Miles rolled his shoulders, finally letting the corners of his mouth twitch into a grin. “Yeah, but Beau’s right. At some point, we are gonna have to face it. Can’t just keep it buried behind protocol and broodiness forever.”

Beau leaned back, eyes on the cornered Pryce. “Meanwhile, he’s giving us a show. Metal mirrors, threats, all that classic Pryce flair. Funny thing is, he trained them to handle chaos—and now he’s part of the chaos.”

River’s gaze hardened as he glanced at the locked door. “Good. Let him flail. We control the perimeter. We control the outcome. And we get Salem out without a scratch.”

Miles smirked. “And maybe we finally see you two admit it. Don’t think I won’t notice how you’re watching her every time she moves.”

River said nothing, letting the unspoken acknowledgment hang in the air, while Beau snickered quietly. Outside, the containment room held Pryce’s cursing and the occasional thud of the mirror against the wall, a stark contrast to the calm, controlled tension of the three watching him—and the subtle, simmering undercurrent between them that Beau couldn’t resist teasing.

The drive back to the compound was quiet, the tension from Pryce’s containment lingering like a thick fog. River, Miles, and Beau approached the house, only to hear a burst of laughter followed by the unmistakable sound of someone running full tilt across the porch.

Through the open windows, they caught the sight: Rhea darting across the kitchen, a trail of melting ice cream smeared across her fingers and chin. Salem was right on her heels, arms raised, voice sharp and playful, tossing out a string of Cajun insults as she tried to corner her.

“Tabarnak, Rhea! You think you can eat that without consequence, cher? Non, non, non!” Salem shouted, the syllables rolling fast and furious.

Rhea shrieked, laughing as she dodged a swipe of Salem’s hand. “You’re crazy! I’m just eating ice cream!”

Beau’s shoulders shook as he leaned against the doorframe, watching the chaos unfold. “Yep. Called it. Total hurricane.”

Miles let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “And here I thought this was going to be calm after Pryce.”

River’s gaze narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “This is… remarkably Salem.”

Salem suddenly paused, spinning toward the cabinet with a wicked glint in her eyes. From behind her back, she pulled out a small tube sparkling with glittery pink powder—the infamous “glitter bomb” she’d threatened before.

Rhea froze mid-step, wide-eyed. “You wouldn’t…”

“Oh, I would, Rhea,” Salem said, voice low and dangerous, advancing with mock menace. “Non, non, non. You’re pushing your luck.”

Beau and Miles exchanged a look, both trying to hide grins. “She’s gonna do it,” Beau muttered under his breath.

Miles leaned toward River. “You see what I see?” he whispered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

River didn’t answer immediately. He simply watched, arms crossed, the barest twitch betraying his amusement. “Yep,” he said finally. “That’s exactly what I see.”

Salem waved the glitter bomb teasingly in front of Rhea’s face, inching closer. Rhea took a tentative step back, hands raised like a surrender. “Salem… c’mon, cher… you wouldn’t dare!”

Salem’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, I would,” she said, laughing softly, Cajun accent thickening. “You think ice cream makes you safe? Tabarnak, no. You’ve challenged me, and now you’ll pay—in glitter!”

Rhea’s eyes widened, panic and amusement battling in equal measure. “Salem… non, non, non! Don’t you dare—”

Beau chuckled, clearly enjoying the show. Miles let out a low laugh, shaking his head, while River simply sighed, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I’m going to regret letting them in the house,” he muttered under his breath.

Salem closed the last few steps between them, glitter bomb poised. Rhea froze, ice cream forgotten, giggling and pleading simultaneously.

“Last chance,” Salem said, voice teasing but firm.

Rhea stilled completely. “You wouldn’t, Salem…”

Salem’s smirk widened. “Oh, but I would, cher,” she replied, the air buzzing with mischievous tension.

Beau shook his head, muttering, “She’s impossible.”

Miles laughed quietly, muttering, “Yep. Totally impossible.”

River just stood back, shaking his head with a faint smile, watching the familiar chaos unfold between his tech ghost operatives and the woman who clearly had them both under her spell.