Rhett Bennett Novels & Stories

David Bryant, he’s friends with Mikali and Kurt. He’s a quick-witted guy, with lots of tattoos and piercings thought in his trooper uniform. He wasn’t wearing any of those piercings, and I could only see a hint of the tattoos on his neck. “An attack?" I furrowed my brow. “I didn’t hear anything,” I shrugged.

I open the door. Rhett stands there in a dark Henley, sleeves pushed up, blue jeans covered in rain splatter, his hair damp like he didn’t bother with an umbrella when he went outside. Rain clings to him, the scent of wet earth and whiskey following him into the room. He stands in the entry way- as the door clicks shut behind him. I hurry into the beautiful marble bathroom and grab a fluffy white towel for him. Before turning back I check my appearance quickly. Perfect, I look like a mess. I internally groan and rush back.

Rhett. Damian took stock of Rhett's appearance as he introduced himself. The brown-haired man was around six feet tall and had a pair of gray-blue eyes that looked suspicious as he glanced at them. After assessing Rhett's figure, Damian thought it didn't look as strong as he was. "Are you Mr. Howard? I'm Rhett Boucher, the owner of Shinfancy Studio. Pleasure to meet you." Rhett extended his hand first to Damian, who was still sitting in the chair.

He turned to look over his shoulder as the door opened again and Rhett slid through, closing the door behind him, and meeting their eyes before shrugging and dragging a chair under the door handle. “Like I want to be out there alone,” Rhett told them crossing to the window and shutting the glass, before tugging the sheet that was pulled back free of it’s tie to cast the room into darkness. His eyes glowed as he turned back to them. “When I knew you were all f-king in here.” “Aislen needs practice driving,” Heath rolled to the side and propped his head up on his elbow, watching as Cameron and Rhett undressed. “You should take her out tomorrow, Cameron. You’ll be the most patient.”

Oh, Daddy…” Aura’s voice broke as she stepped into the ICU, her eyes flooding with tears. Her heart clenched at the sight of her father, Duke Miles, lying still and pale on life support. Monitors beeped softly in the background, echoing the fragility of the once powerful man before her. He looked nothing like the robust figure she had always known. The Duke’s face was pale and gaunt, tubes and wires connecting him to machines that fought desperately to keep him alive. It was a brutal sight, one that shattered every ounce of pride Aura had left.

Rhett stood there for a moment, staring down the street, his breath fogging in the cold. “Playing with fire,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see who burns first.” Then he turned and walked toward his car, the faint vibration of his phone buzzing in his pocket. A new message. Unknown Number: She’s prettier in person, don’t you think, daddy? Rhett stopped walking. The muscles in his jaw twitched. Unknown Number: Tell your men to relax. I only wa nted to say hello. And then, before he could even reply, another photo came through. Juno. At her bedroom window. Taken from across the street.

“She should wake soon.” Rhett nodded as he slid from the bed. Under the spray of the shower, he closed his eyes and tried to let the warm water clear his mind, digging deep, searching for the backbone to get through the next few days with Aislen and her temper. He flipped between excitement and dread, he admitted to himself as he dried and dressed. He desperately wanted Heath to be right, for things to work out as Heath had laid out, for everything to go to plan… But the pessimist within him kept offering a different dialogue. He braced his palms on the vanity. “Try, Salem,” he told his reflection. “For your Triquetra, do your best to make this work. Don’t f-k it up.”

*** Rhett sat in a luxurious café on the corner of the city, staring blankly at the cup of coffee in front of him. His heart churned restlessly, as if weighed down by something he could not shake off his shoulders. Today, he would meet the man who had captured his daughter’s heart—Maximilian Kingsley, a man known for his cold demeanor yet widely respected. The sound of firm footsteps approached, and Rhett looked up. Before him stood a tall man with calm yet piercing eyes. It was Maximilian—the man who had become Anastasia’s husband. Rhett rose to his feet, greeting him with a polite nod.

Cameron whispered bleary eyed as he gripped Rhett’s belt. “All these years of smoking?” Rhett suggested. “Shh,” he added. He could hear voices, but not the words. Sigrid’s voice, male voices, Meguitte’s… Leighton’s. “Fuck,” he hesitated. He and Cameron weren’t exactly going to be a big help walking in on a battle with Leighton, but what if that was where their mates were? “What are you waiting for Rhett?” Cameron whispered. “Shit,” Rhett started forward again. He was so fucking far out of his comfort zone it wasn’t funny, he grumbled to himself. He wasn’t meant to be a hero. He was just a fucking tattoo artist.

“I want to go home.” “Soon. Very soon.” A peck to her forehead reassures Bren, her head rolls to the other side and I smoothen the cover over her legs. Joshua smiles at me from his position on the couch. His jacket is off to reveal the cow head on his grey polo. Will he still love me if he finds out I did it all for nothing? Will Mother hate me or herself? Joshua sighs. I join him on the couch once Bren falls asleep. He throws an arm over the couch, we look out the window to the spot El’s car occupied. There are other cars under the tent but her spot is empty.