SWEET RETRIBUTION

Ruthless Games #2

CALLIE ROSE

Copyright © 2020 by Callie Rose

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Books by Callie Rose

CHAPTER 1

DEAD EYES.

Wide open and lifeless, staring endlessly without seeing anything.

That’s the first thing I see when I blink my own eyes open. The sunlight seems too bright, and my eyelids scratch against my eyes as if there are a million grains of sand trapped behind them. A dull, throbbing ache fills my head, and I can’t keep my lids open for more than a second.

Blackness tugs at me, and part of me wants to sink back down into its depths.

It’s peaceful there.

Quiet.

Nothing hurts.

But I can’t, and there’s a reason I can’t. Something I need to see or do. Something important.

I can’t remember what it is. I don’t know where I am, or why dead eyes stare at me from just a few inches in front of my face.

Blink.

The scratch of my eyelids makes me wince, and I try to keep my eyes open longer this time, but a heavy weight tugs them closed.

Blink.

The eyes in front of me never blink. I can’t keep my eyes open, and those will never close again.

Blink.

The blackness in my head is fading away, consciousness slowly returning. Memories start to filter through my head, and with each flashing image that plays in my mind’s eye, my heartbeat begins to pound harder and harder.

My abduction. My rescue. Marcus, Theo, and Ryland explaining to me that they’re part of a deadly game.

We left the safe house. We were going to go somewhere else. And then…

A car collided with ours. They boxed us in, shooting at us—Dominic Roth and Carson Purcell. We split up, Theo and Ryland staying behind and Marcus pulling me through the network of warehouses at a dead sprint.

Marcus.

Oh god. Marcus.

We were cornered by Carson. He hunted us down and had a gun trained on Marcus. I tried to move, tried to stop it, to do something… but Marcus didn’t let me.

My body jerks as if it can still feel the impact of the three bullets as they hit his body. His arms were wrapped so tightly around me that I could feel each one hit him.

Then we fell.

Blood. There was so much blood.

Fear floods me like a shot of adrenaline, forcing my mind fully awake before it’s ready. My eyelids fly open again, and it feels like shards of glass prick my eyeballs as too much light fills my vision. I don’t let them close though, sucking in a gasping breath as I refocus on the dead eyes in front of me, forcing myself to really look at them.

Blue.

Just blue.

A sort of slate blue, darkened by death.

No brown anywhere. Both irises are the same color, unlike the earth and air of Marcus’s right eye.

It’s not him.

Relief makes my limbs feel cool and tingly, and I draw in another shaking breath. Now that I’ve been shocked awake, I feel like I might vomit at any second. My head hurts so bad that it’s hard to see—a strange halo of light seems to surround everything I look at, and when I roll over onto my side, the world spins around me.

The man lying beside me has short ash-brown hair. His slightly parted lips reveal a small gap between his front teeth, which are stained red with blood.

Carson.

He’s… dead?

I force myself to sit up, but the second I’m upright, my body rebels. I shift onto my hand and knees, balanced precariously as I retch painfully. I’m covered in blood, and the smell of it is overtaking my senses, coppery and sharp. I’ve been lying in a pool of it, and it soaks my clothes and sticks to my skin, matting my hair as it thickens and dries.

“Marcus…”

My voice is a low rasp, and speaking brings on another bout of retching. I almost collapse face-first on the ground as my left arm threatens to give out. The stump on my right arm aches, as if the trauma to the rest of my body has exacerbated old wounds.

Where is Marcus? The last thing I remember is his arms around me, the two of us going down together, the heavy weight of his body on top of mine.

The relief that flooded me when I realized the body in front of me wasn’t Marcus’s is beginning to ebb, replaced by a growing panic. Where is he?

“Marcus.”

It’s meant to be a shout, but it’s barely more than a whisper. I cast my gaze around, trying to ignore the way streaks of light fill my vision. My muscles are shaking, and despite the warmth of the sunlight streaming down on me, my body is cold.

Carson is sprawled on the ground beside me. He’s lying on his stomach, one hand still clutching the gun he aimed at us earlier. His limbs are spread out awkwardly, reminding me of the picture he showed me when he and Dominic had me tied to a chair in that abandoned house they brought me to.

The picture of Devin Brooks. The man Marcus killed the night I was shot two and a half years ago.

“Marcus!”

This time, the word bursts out of me on a harsh cry, and I surge to my feet, stumbling several steps like I’m drunk. I wrap my arm around my stomach, which is pitching and heaving again. If there was anything inside it, I would’ve barfed it all up already.

My knees shake—my entire body shakes—but I stay upright, turning to look down at the place where I was just lying.

There’s so much fucking blood. It’s spread over the ground like some kind of macabre painting, dark red and shiny. I can see the spot where my body fell, where the blood couldn’t pool as deeply.

But I don’t see Marcus.

A thick red smear leads away from the bloody patch of ground, and my gaze follows it, tracing its path as it disappears around the corner of a building.

Oh, fuck.

Did he crawl away?

I want to run, to race around the corner of the building, but all I can manage is a slow, uneven shuffle. I catch the side of the large warehouse with my hand, steadying myself as I round the corner.

The trail of blood continues for several yards, growing a little more faint as it goes. Then it disappears.

“Marcus!”

My yell nearly splits my head open, but I don’t care. I don’t care that I’m not sure what time it is, that the game might not be over yet, that Dominic could still be out there, hunting us. I don’t care that I’m so lightheaded I feel dizzy, or that my legs feel like they might give out at any moment.

All I care about is finding Marcus.

Fixing him.

Helping him.

He got shot three times; I’m sure of it. I felt the impact of every single one, and I felt his blood, warm and wet on my back. Some of the blood pooling on the ground behind me might be Carson’s, but a lot of it is Marcus’s.

And if he’s lost that much blood…

Goddammit. Where the fuck is he?

Worry chews at my stomach like a dog with a bone as I stagger past the place where the trail of blood dies out. I reach another wide cement pathway between buildings and look left and right. But there’s nothing.

No sign of Marcus. No sign of anyone.

My heart lurches in my chest. Using the wall for support, I turn around and retrace my steps, heading back to the place where Carson’s body lies. My footsteps grow a little smoother, my muscles gaining strength as adrenaline overrides all the other signals flowing through my body.

When I round the corner and take in the scene before me, the gruesomeness of it hits me all over again. My entire body rebels at the sight and smell of the blood, but I force myself to walk over to Carson and kneel beside him.

He’s been shot in the head.

I missed the bullet wound at first because it’s just behind his temple, hidden in his hair. But I can see it now, the dark round hole where the bullet entered. He probably died instantly.

Did Marcus shoot him? How? When? And where the fuck did he go after he did it?

My fingers tremble as I extend a hand toward the corpse in front of me.

I fucking hated Carson Purcell. He abducted me and tried to use me as bait to lure out three men I care about, to use me like a pawn in this dangerous game. I’m not all that sorry he’s gone, but right now, I wish I could bring him back to life for just a minute so he could tell me what happened.

What happened between the moment when blackness overtook me and now?

I hit my head when I went down. I remember the sharp pain in my temple, the impact of my skull smacking against the ground. The spot where it hit still hurts like a son of a bitch, pounding out a heavy rhythm like it’s got its own heartbeat.

But I can’t remember any of the shit that happened after we fell. Not even vague flashes.

I brush my fingertips over Carson’s face, cringing at the unnaturally lax feel of his skin. He’s cool to the touch, which makes me think he must’ve been shot a while ago. More than an hour maybe? Fuck, I don’t know. I’m not a forensics expert.

Pulling my hand away, I dig into my back pocket for my phone. It’s streaked with blood, and I grimace as I press a button on the side to illuminate the screen.

Eleven thirty-three.

The game ends in thirty minutes. It’s not over yet.

A fresh wave of fear surges through me, and I stumble to my feet again. If the game isn’t done, that means Marcus is still vulnerable. If he’s out there somewhere, hurt and bleeding, he’ll be an easy target for Dominic or any one of the other players to take down.

And what about Theo and Ryland? Where are they? Are they alive?

I have Theo’s number in my phone. He gave it to me the night he drove me home from Marcus’s house. With my stomach twisting itself into knots, I pull up his contact, but my thumb hovers over the screen.

Should I call him? What if he and Ryland are hiding out somewhere, and the noise of his phone draws attention to them? Even if he’s got it on silent, the vibration could be enough to put a spotlight on him.

Should I text? Is that better?

Before my throbbing brain has time to sort through the random panicked thoughts flitting through my head, a voice calls out from behind me.

“Ayla!”

My heart jumps in my chest, crashing against my ribs as I shove the phone back in my pocket and whirl around. The move is too fast, my muscles too uncoordinated, and I almost just keep twirling like a ballerina doing a pirouette. But then my gaze locks on the face of the man who called my name, and for the first time since I woke up, everything seems to settle around me.

The world stops spinning as I stare into a pair of blue-green eyes.

Theo.

Ryland is behind him, and the two of them break into a run as soon as our eyes meet, sprinting toward me as I stagger toward them.

Theo’s body hits mine so hard it makes stars dance in my vision and fresh pain explode in my head, but I hardly even notice. My arm goes around him, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back as I cling to him like a fucking life preserver.

His heart beats against my cheek as he crushes me to him in a fierce hug, and it occurs to me vaguely that I’m getting blood all over him. But I don’t fucking care, and apparently, neither does he.

“Fuck, Rose. Jesus, Fuck.” His voice is rough. “What happened to you?”

“Carson.”

The word scrapes over my vocal chords. Anger burns in my belly, I’m filled with a sudden wild impulse to run back to his body and kick his corpse until his ribs break. He might be dead, but that doesn’t undo what he did when he was alive. And I want to kill him all over again for it.

“Cars—” Theo’s voice breaks off as his body stiffens in my hold. I have a feeling he just looked over my shoulder and caught sight of the dead man on the ground. “Oh, fuck.”

“Ayla, what happened?”

Ryland’s voice is hard, and when Theo releases me from his hold, the man with dark hair and hazel eyes takes hold of my shoulders, lowering his head to meet my gaze. The tattoos creeping up his neck look more vivid than usual with the strange halo effect that still colors my vision.

I swallow. “Carson chased me and Marcus down. I thought we lost him, but he found us. We stopped for a second, just a second, and when we stepped out, he was there with a gun. He…” The words stick in my throat, mixing with the bile that’s rising into my mouth. “He shot Marcus.”

Ryland’s eyes widen, his tan skin paling. His head turns quickly as he looks at the corpse lying a few yards away, like he’s afraid he might’ve been wrong about who it belongs to. His nostrils flare, and he turns back to me, his grip on my shoulders tightening.

“Ayla, where’s Marcus?” he demands gruffly.

A hollow pit opens up in my stomach, making me feel empty and insubstantial. I reach up to grip his forearm as I shake my head.

“I… I don’t know.”

CHAPTER 2

MY ANSWER HANGS in the air between us for a long moment, seeming to grow heavier with every second that passes.

“Is he with you? Did he find you?” I ask desperately when neither of the men speak, even though I’m sure I already know the answer. I didn’t see Marcus standing with them when they walked up, and if he’d somehow managed to make his way to them, why would they be asking me if I know where he is?

Ryland shakes his head, his eyes shuttering as his jaw sets. “No. He didn’t.”

Something about the change in his expression and the tense lines of his face makes fear creep through my veins. It’s like he’s bracing himself. Hardening himself. Putting a layer of armor around his heart so that pain can’t penetrate it.

I squeeze his forearm tighter, looking from him to Theo and back. “Then where is he? I woke up and he was gone. He was just… gone. I can’t find him, and I don’t know who killed Carson, and—”

My tongue feels like it’s growing thicker. It’s too slow and unwieldy, making it hard to form all the words that want to spew out of my mouth. But it hardly matters anyway. It won’t make any difference if I convince Ryland that Marcus should be here. He’s not, and that won’t change no matter what any of us believe. I can’t argue my way out of this awful, basic fact.

I stop talking and drag in a breath, trying to refocus my thoughts. When I speak again, I force the words to come out slowly and evenly.

“I hit my head and blacked out. When I woke up, Carson was lying next to me, dead. And Marcus was gone. He was shot three times before we both went down. He was bleeding. A lot.” My throat tightens. “Maybe he could’ve regained consciousness and shot Carson somehow. But I don’t think he could’ve walked away. I don’t see how.”

Ryland’s face is still that same taut mask, as if he’s shoving down every emotion he’s ever had so he can process all of this rationally.

I wish I could do that. I wish I could fucking think straight, but the only thought that keeps running through my head is, where is he? Where is he? Where is he?

“Fuck,” Theo mutters, and I try not to let myself hear the heartbreak in his voice.

I glance between the two of them again, my stomach knotting itself into a hard lump. “What? Where do you think he is?”

“It’s not the first time someone has gone missing in the game.” Theo shakes his head. “When Xavier and Jack were killed, their bodies were never found. It makes cleanup easier and keeps evidence from leading back to any of us, or to Luca. There’s no rule that says you have to leave a body where it falls.”

Leave a body where it falls.

His words tear through my heart like a rusty knife, and I step back, shrugging out of Ryland’s grip. I want him to wrap his arms around me the way Theo did, to envelop me in his embrace and block out the world—but I don’t think I can handle being touched right now.

My skin hurts, as if it’s shrinking around my bones. As if I’m about to collapse down into nothingness like a black hole.

“You think he’s dead.”

It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out as a statement, monotone and blunt.

“No, Rose. I didn’t say that. We don’t know.” Theo’s voice is emphatic, but there’s a roughness to it that he can’t hide, and his eyes are haunted. I can’t tell if he’s lying to me or himself.

“Come on.”

Ryland is already moving before he finishes speaking, striding toward the body on the ground. He squats to examine Carson’s corpse, carefully keeping his feet outside the smeared puddles of blood that surround it. Theo takes my elbow, and although I flinch at his touch, I let him help me walk over to stand above Ryland.

The dark-haired man looks up at me over his shoulder. “Did you touch him at all?”

“His… his face.”

I gesture to the spot on Carson’s cheek that I brushed my fingertips over, and Ryland uses his sleeve to wipe it clean.

Fuck, I didn’t even think about that. I touched a dead man at what will undoubtedly become a crime scene, unless the guys are able to clean all this up before the cops get here.

That thought sends an added rush of urgency through me. We need to find Marcus so we can get out of here. We can’t afford to wait too long.

“There.” I point to the trail of blood I noticed before. “That goes around the corner and then continues on for a little way. And then it stops. Maybe Marcus—”

I break off, because I don’t know how to end that sentence. Maybe he what? Walked away from getting shot three times? Miraculously stopped bleeding somehow?

I’ve been shot. I know what it’s like. And it’s not the kind of thing you walk away from. At least, not fast enough to disappear completely.

Ryland’s head turns as his gaze lands on the bloody smear. He presses to his feet and follows it, tugging a gun from the waistband of his pants as he walks around the corner. Theo and I trail in his wake, and this time, we don’t stop where I stopped. We keep going, peering into the wide alleyways between buildings, scouring the ground for droplets of blood or any other sign that Marcus might’ve left.

My head still aches, and my heart feels like it’s working harder than it should to pump my blood, but I keep pace with the men, occasionally calling out Marcus’s name. None of us speak beyond that, an uncomfortable sort of silence that prickles with everything we’re not saying.

As we walk along the side of a low, squat building, the little hairs at the back of my neck rise, and my footsteps stutter. I start to turn around, praying to a god I’m not even sure I believe in that it’s Marcus—please, please, let it be Marcus—but before I can even complete the turn, I’m yanked backward roughly, shoved behind Theo as Ryland raises his gun.

My instinct wasn’t wrong. Someone was behind us.

But it’s not who I hoped.

Dominic steadies his own weapon with both hands. He’s a few yards away from us, having just stepped out from between two buildings. He’s got his gun aimed right back at Ryland, finger resting on the trigger.

A horrible feeling of déjà vu washes over me as the two men stand off.

No. God, no fucking way.

I can’t let this happen again. I won’t be able to survive it.

“You guys are being loud as fuck. You know that, right?” Dominic smirks. “It’s like you wanted me to find you.”

He’s got a black eye, and it looks a little like he’s favoring one leg. If he’s in pain, though, it’s taking a backseat to his smug excitement.

“Maybe we did want you to find us,” Ryland says evenly. He’s still as a statue, and his voice is so calm it’s almost hard to believe it’s coming out of a real person. It’s also impossible to tell if he’s lying or not. “Maybe we wanted to have a little chat with you. Where’s Marcus?”

Dominic’s brows twitch, pulling together for a second before relaxing. “How the fuck should I know? Last I saw him, he was running away from the car crash with her.”

He jerks his chin toward me, although he doesn’t take his gaze off Ryland. I know the only reason he hasn’t fired yet is because he’s not sure he’ll be able to take Ryland out without getting a bullet through the face first.

Ryland doesn’t even blink. He gives no outward reaction at all, just stares at Dominic with his gun aimed at the man’s heart. “Was he still there when you killed Carson? What did you do to him?”

Dominic’s eyes widen. “Carson’s dead?”

“Don’t act fucking stupid. And don’t think we’re stupid either.” For the first time since I told them Marcus had disappeared, emotion creeps into Ryland’s voice. He sounds pissed. Furious.

“I didn’t fucking kill Carson,” Dominic insists, glaring at him. “And I didn’t kill Marcus either, although I would’ve if I’d gotten the—”

He never gets to finish the sentence.

Like a bolt of fucking lightning, Theo moves. Dominic’s attention is focused on the obvious threat—the gun in Ryland’s hand—so he catches the movement too late.

He pivots, swinging the gun around to aim it at Theo, but Theo reaches him before he can fire. He pushes Dominic’s arms to one side as a shot rings out, and my whole body jerks at the sound as the bullet embeds itself in the side of the warehouse next to us. He keeps moving forward, using his bodyweight to shove Dominic backward. They stumble diagonally across the wide walkway between buildings before slamming into one.

Dominic lets out a deep grunt as his back thuds heavily against the wall. Theo grabs his hand and twists, and the gun falls from the other man’s grip, landing with a clatter on the ground. Ryland strides forward until he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Theo, jamming his own gun under Dominic’s chin and pressing up so hard that I’m worried he’ll snap the guy’s head off.

Not that I’d try to stop him if he did.

Dominic’s lips curl back in something like a snarl. He’s breathing heavily, pressed so tightly against the wall it’s like he’s trying to disappear through it.

“The only reason you’re not dead already is because I want answers, fuckhead,” Ryland growls, digging the gun into the soft flesh beneath Dominic’s jawbone. “So start talking before I paint this fucking wall with your brains.”

I’m not even sure Dominic can talk. I’m pretty sure the pressure on his lower jaw is pinning his mouth shut. Maybe Ryland realizes it too, because he eases off a little, although his knuckles are white as he grips his weapon.

Dominic’s blue eyes dart between the two men in front of him, then roll downward like he’s trying to get a look at the ground. He’s probably wondering where his gun is, and whether he’s got a chance in hell of grabbing it if he fights back.

I’m pretty sure the answer to that is no, but I dart forward anyway, scooping the gun up before he can even think of reaching for it. The metal is cool in my hand, and I grip it tightly as I straighten. The world swims in my vision from the sudden movement, making me grit my teeth as I try to keep from passing out.

“Talk,” Ryland demands.

Dominic’s chest is rising and falling fast. There’s fear in his eyes, but also an analytical sort of cunning—as if, even this close to death, he’s trying to find some way to spin this to his advantage.

“I didn’t kill Carson,” he finally says. “Or Marcus.”

“Then who the fuck did?”

Ryland’s voice is a low growl, and he digs the barrel of the gun into Dominic’s chin again, making the other man choke and gag. But when the pain on Dominic’s face fades, a small smile replaces it. He lifts his eyebrows slightly, his body relaxing.

“Check the time,” he says quietly.

Ryland freezes, his whole body going rigid as if Dominic hit him with an electric shock. “Theo?”

The tall blond man digs into his pocket for his phone, glancing down at it quickly. His shoulders slump. “Two minutes after twelve.”

“Fuck!”

Ryland fists the front of Dominic’s shirt, practically lifting him off his feet as he shoves the guy harder against the wall, digging the barrel of his weapon so deep into his skin it’s like he’s trying to use it as a knife instead of a gun. Dominic winces but remains relaxed. He stares steadily at Ryland, holding his gaze.

Finally, the broad-shouldered man curses again and steps back, releasing his grip on Dominic, although he keeps his weapon raised.

“That first answer was free.” Dominic rubs at his neck, stretching it from side to side to work the kinks out. “I didn’t have to tell you anything, but I’ve got nothing to hide. I didn’t kill either of them.”

“No,” Theo bites out. “You just teamed up with Carson and abducted Ayla, then ran us off the goddamn road.”

Dominic shrugs, still massaging his neck. “It wasn’t personal. You know that.”

“Well, it’s fucking personal now,” Ryland growls. “Tell us where Marcus is, or—”

“Or what?” Dominic shakes his head, looking oddly calm. “Seventy-two hours is up. The game is over. You know the rules as well as I do.” He hesitates for a second, then adds, “But I wasn’t lying about that either. I don’t know where he is. Whoever killed Carson probably killed him too. Dumped the body somewhere, maybe.”

My stomach pitches at the casual way he discusses death, as if it’s as mundane a part of life as brushing your teeth. I get the feeling he didn’t like Carson very much, that their partnership was one of convenience based on mutual benefit, but he doesn’t seem even a little upset at the idea that Carson is dead.

He probably isn’t, I think numbly. This puts him one step closer to winning the game. Every other player has to fall or swear allegiance to someone for that person to win, and Carson didn’t really strike me as the type who’d bow to anyone. Maybe Dominic is relieved to hear that his onetime ally is dead.

“Yeah, I do know the rules, Roth.” Ryland narrows his eyes, his finger still teasing the trigger of his gun. “But I swear to fucking god, if you are lying, you’ll pay for it. Fuck the game. Fuck Luca. If you killed Marcus, I’ll end you with my bare hands.”

Dominic cocks his head slightly, a small smile playing at his lips. “Careful, Bennett. You never know who might be listening.”

He casts a glance around at the large warehouse buildings that surround us, his gaze focused high on their walls, and my heart jumps as I dart a quick look that way too.

Cameras.

Fuck, if there are security cameras here, there must be cameras back near where Carson’s body still lies.

A dozen wild thoughts flit through my mind as I try to sort through the implications of that. If security footage of the last several hours exists, it must’ve captured the moment Marcus was shot.

And whatever happened afterward.

My breath quickens as I glance from Theo and Ryland, my chilled skin seeming to flush uncomfortably hot all of a sudden. The throbbing pain in my head is like a brand on my fucking brain, but I ignore it as I lower Dominic’s gun a little.

“The cameras. Can you access them somehow?” I have no idea how the fuck we would do that, but I know these men have access to plenty of shit I don’t. “If we—”

My words break off as a wave of dizziness slams into me, hitting me so hard I actually stagger backward. I brace the heel of my hand on my thigh, still clutching the gun I picked up earlier, as I try to breathe through the fog clouding my mind.

“Shit. She’s probably got a concussion. She looks like fucking death,” Dominic comments unhelpfully, and I wish I could stand up straight or even see straight enough to flip him off. But I’ve only got one hand, and I need that one to stay exactly where it is or I’ll probably keel over.

“Shut the fuck up, man. She wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.” Theo’s voice is hard as glass, and a second later, Ryland’s arm loops around my waist.

He helps me stand upright, and when I wrap my arm around him, Theo plucks the gun from my hand. I don’t know what he does with it, but I’m pretty fucking sure he doesn’t give it back to Dominic.

“We gotta get her out of here,” Ryland says, his voice sounding a little muffled as my head swims.

“No!” I choke out, trying to push him away. “The cameras. You need to—”

“We can do both, Rose.” Theo steps forward, catching my face in his hands. The pads of his fingers are just a little rough, and the feel of his skin against mine grounds me a little. “We’ve got a guy who can help us. He’ll work on getting the footage while we get you looked at, okay?”

I want to argue. What he’s talking about sounds too slow. I want to see this guy. I want to stand over his shoulder while he works and tell him to go fucking faster. I want to keep threading our way in and out of the large warehouse buildings looking for Marcus.

But somehow, I know it would be pointless. Wherever Marcus may be, whether he’s alive or dead, he’s not here anymore.

“I’ll drive you,” Dominic offers. “You’re not gonna get your car to start.”

Ryland’s body stiffens next to mine, and his head snaps up. I get the feeling he’d rather grind Dominic’s face against the dirt until it was nothing but raw meat than accept a ride from him, but after a long, tense pause, he nods. “Fine. But we need to go. Now.”

Despite the throbbing pain in my head and the way the world seems to spin around me every time I blink, fear tightens my stomach.

This man helped kidnap me yesterday. He shot at us in the car and was in the vehicle that ran us off the road.

And now we’re going to accept a ride from him?

CHAPTER 3

I KNOW Theo and Ryland can sense my unease, but neither of them offers up much explanation as we thread our way through the quiet rows of warehouses, back toward the street.

When we reach Dominic’s car, Ryland hands me over to Theo before sliding into the front passenger seat. Theo helps me inside, keeping an arm wrapped around my shoulders as we settle next to each other on the seat. Ryland still has his gun in his hand, although he rests it on his thigh as Dominic starts the engine. It feels like some kind of insurance policy, but it hardly makes me feel any better.

Is this Luca D’Addario guy really that powerful? Powerful enough to both instigate a seventy-two-hour bloodbath and end it at the stroke of noon?

Theo and Ryland both appear to trust that Dominic won’t try to kill us, and it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around that fact. Just a few hours ago, he was shooting at us. Hell, less than thirty minutes ago, he almost did shoot us.

I don’t fucking understand it—although maybe that has something to do with the fact that my brain is splintering apart inside my skull. Eventually, I give up trying to keep my gaze on the road and lean into Theo’s embrace, burying my head in his shoulder and concentrating on taking deep breaths through my nose.

Ryland mutters directions to Dominic in the front seat, but those are the only words anyone says. After an indeterminable amount of time, Ryland says, “Here is good. Pull in up there.”

The car rolls to a stop. It dawns on me that I’m still a bloody mess, and I have a second to hope I wrecked Dominic’s back seat before Theo is opening the door and pulling me out after him. Ryland’s door slams shut, and a second later, his large body is on my other side.

They sandwich me between them as we walk toward a heavy metal door, and I realize we’re in an alley. I don’t know where we are, but I’m guessing we’re back in Halston proper, no longer on the outskirts where the warehouse district was.

As we near the door, it opens from the inside, and a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard appears. He’s wearing a long white lab coat over a button-up shirt and slacks. A slight twitch of his eyebrows is the only outward reaction he gives at the sight of me, and he nods at Ryland as the three of us reach him.

“Mr. Bennett. I’ve got everything ready. If you’ll just follow me.”

We step inside the building, and the man who I’m sure is a doctor leads us down two intersecting hallways and then into a small exam room. Theo and Ryland stick close to my side, but as soon as I’m settled on the table, Ryland pulls his phone from his pocket and steps back outside of the room.

The man in the lab coat glances at Theo quickly before turning his gaze to me. I can still pick out just a hint of shock in his expression, but he’s doing a good job of schooling his features. Based on the carefully neutral way he’s looking at me, I could almost imagine that I don’t look like a horror movie come to life right now.

“I’m Doctor Adelman,” he tells me. His voice is gentle and mellow, but it doesn’t do much to relax me. “I’m going to take a quick look at you, okay…”

He trails off, waiting for me to supply my name.

My knee-jerk reaction is to not tell him anything, to refuse to hand over any information he asks for. But Theo and Ryland brought me here, which means they trust this guy—enough, at least. And despite everything, despite the secrets they kept from me and the lies they told, I trust them.

“Ayla,” I mutter.

“Ayla,” he repeats, dipping his head in a nod. “I’m just going to do some tests to make sure you didn’t cause too much damage to your head when you fell. Ryland told me you hit it, is that right?”

“Yes.” I start to nod, but stop when pain flares in my temple again.

“All right. We’ll take care of that.”

With Theo hovering protectively over my shoulder, Doctor Adelman asks me questions and does a series of tests, tracking the movement of my eyes and shining a light into them.

At some point, Ryland slips back into the room, and I glance over at him.

“Did you talk to your guy? Can he get the footage?”

He nods. “He’s working on it right now.”

“How long will it take?” I press as Doctor Adelman gently turns my head back toward him so he can continue his examination. I know the guys wanted me to get checked out, but now that I’m sitting here in this sterile, quiet office, it doesn’t seem nearly as important as figuring out what the hell happened to Marcus.

“Not long, hopefully.”

Ryland’s answer is clipped, and I can still see the same blank mask over his features that I noticed before. He’s always been good at controlling his emotions, keeping them locked down tight—it’s why I was so sure he hated me for so long—but now it’s almost like he’s shut them off entirely.

The room is quiet, but tension fills every inch of it as Doctor Adelman finishes up his exam. When he’s done, he steps back and leans against the small desk set along one wall.

“Well, Ayla, the good news is, I don’t think you’ve got more than a very mild concussion. I’m not seeing signs of a serious brain injury. I believe that some of the symptoms you’re experiencing are the effects of shock.” He shoots a quick look at Ryland and Theo before shifting his gaze back to me, speaking carefully as he continues. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I’m going to guess that it was… somewhat traumatic. Shock, on top of the concussion, accounts for all of your symptoms. I’ll write you a prescription for pain medication and an anti-inflammatory, and you’ll need to take it easy for the next few days. All right?”

I nod, although I barely heard everything he said. The gist of what I picked up was that we shouldn’t have come, that I’m not hurt badly enough to really need medical attention.

That we should be out there trying to find Marcus.

“Thanks, Doc,” Theo murmurs, and for the first time since they found me, he sounds relieved.

“No problem. I’ll just go get those for you.”

Doctor Adelman steps out of the room, and I move to slide off the exam table, but Theo stops me with a hand at my waist.

“Don’t get up until you have to. He said you need rest.”

The concern in his gaze is almost enough to quash my nervous impulse to pace around the room. He’s right, and I know it. But sitting still feels like doing nothing. And I can’t do nothing right now.

Ryland’s phone rings, and he swipes the screen quickly and lifts it to his ear. “Yeah? What do you have?”

I sit up straighter, staying on the exam table but leaning forward as if I’ll be able to pick up the other side of the phone call if I get close enough. I can hear the indistinct murmur of a deep voice talking on the other end, but I can’t understand the words. So I just watch Ryland’s face, trying to read the answers in the strong lines of his face and the curve of his lips.

He listens in silence for a moment. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and my stomach clenches.

“All of it?” There’s a pause as he listens again. When he speaks, there’s something in his voice I don’t recognize, something I’ve never heard before. “Yeah, okay. Keep looking. Call me if you find anything.”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and presses a button to end the call, then stares down at the screen for a moment. I realize I’ve stopped breathing, and although my head still pounds with an angry, throbbing pulse, I can barely feel it right now. I’m staring at the phone just like Ryland is, my gaze zeroed in on it like it possesses the answers to every question in the damn universe.

Then, suddenly, Ryland’s fingers curl around it, gripping it tight. With an inarticulate roar, he hurls it across the room.

It hits the wall so hard it dents the plaster, breaking into pieces and clattering to the floor. Chunks of black plastic, glass, and little electronic pieces scatter across the hardwood.

But it’s not enough.

In three long strides, Ryland crosses the room, slapping one palm against the wall before smashing his fist into the spot where his phone hit. Another ragged yell pours from his lips as he punches the wall over and over. He’s not even forming words. Just… sounds.

His fist breaks through the plaster, and he punches two more times, widening the hole. Then he braces both hands on the wall, dropping his head as he breathes heavily.

He looks like a wounded animal.

Feral.

Dangerous.

Broken.

The sounds of his breath fill the sudden quiet of the room, and as I stare at him in shock, my heart cracks open in my chest.

I was holding on to hope. All this time, despite the blood and the pain and the uncertainty, I was holding out hope that Marcus would be okay. But witnessing Ryland’s raw grief turns that hope to ash.

“What?” I croak. “What did he say?”

“The footage is gone.” Ryland’s voice is strained. “Everything from the warehouses and the surrounding area was wiped. There’s no footage left from today at all.”

“How?” There’s a note of desperation in my voice, and my fingers grip the edge of the exam table tightly.

“The same way we know it’s missing. Whoever is behind this has someone who knows their way around a computer, just like we do. Only they got to it first.”

“But then, Marcus could still be alive,” I blurt out. “We didn’t see the footage, so we don’t know. He might not be dead. I know he got shot, but maybe—he might still be alive.”

My heart pounds faster, as if it’s trying to pour more strength into my words, to bolster them somehow. But it’s true, isn’t it? The fact that we don’t know what happened between when I blacked out and when I woke up means that maybe, somehow, he’s still alive somewhere.

Maybe he was wearing a vest.

Maybe his wounds weren’t that bad.

But then why would he leave? If he was well enough to walk on his own, why would he just leave me unconscious on the ground next to a dead body?

A sudden vivid memory comes to mind: Marcus, walking into the bedroom at the safe house and asking me if things were okay between us. That was right before we left to head to a new, supposedly safer, location. I can picture every detail of him in my mind’s eye, and he wasn’t wearing a vest.

No, the bullets pierced his body.

I felt the blood.

I’m still covered in it.

Ryland doesn’t answer. His head is still bowed, as if he can’t physically lift it. His fingers curl into fists again, the heels of his hands pressing against the wall.

My chest aches. I want to slip off the table to go to him, to wrap my arms around him and rest my forehead against his back. To let my breath fall into sync with his as I let him know that he’s not alone.

But I’m pretty sure he feels the same way I did earlier. That it would hurt him more than help him to be touched tenderly right now.

I hate that he’s like that.

I hate that I’m like that.

A long moment passes before Theo speaks up. “You’re right. He could still be alive.” His voice is more subdued than I think I’ve ever heard it, as he steps closer to the exam table, resting his hand over mine. “We don’t know. And until we do, we’ll keep looking for him. We’ll keep searching.”

My fingers release their death grip on the table’s edge and interlace with Theo’s. “Okay.”

We’ll keep looking for him. We’ll keep searching.

Without meaning to, without even knowing he’s done it, Theo just echoed a promise I’ve been telling myself for years. I’ve spent more hours than I can count trying to dig up information on my little brother, searching relentlessly with nothing more to go on than an old picture and a story from a girl I knew in foster care.

Now there are two men I’m searching for.

Two men I’m desperate to find.

And I don’t have any idea if either of them are still alive.

CHAPTER 4

A COUPLE MINUTES LATER, Doctor Adelman walks back into the room. He barely glances at the pieces of Ryland’s phone or the hole in the wall, and I wonder how fucking much they pay this guy to keep him from asking any questions.

It must be a lot.

“All right, Ayla.” He hands me a small slip of paper with the prescription scribbled on it. “Take it easy for the next few days, and if you notice any changes at all, any blurred vision or changes in speech, have one of these guys bring you back to see me, okay?”

I nod automatically, releasing Theo’s hand so I can take the prescription. Doctor Adelman hasn’t even given my amputated arm a second glance, I realize. I wonder if it’s because he’s a doctor and is used to stuff like this, or because the rest of me is such a shit-show it distracts the eye.

Ryland steps away from the wall, his spine going rigidly straight again. He glances at the hole his fist made. The plaster is torn through in a rough circular shape and a few red smears mar the wall around the hole. He must’ve split his knuckles open.

He doesn’t apologize or say anything else to Doctor Adelman, and the bearded man doesn’t seem to expect it. Instead, the doctor opens the door and gestures for us to follow him, leading us back out the way we came. When we step into the alley, it occurs to me that we’re stranded without a ride. Dominic is long gone—thank fuck—and there’s no way in hell we can hail a cab with me looking like this.

The guys don’t look much better, honestly. Theo’s front is stained with blood from when he hugged me, and both of them have dirt, scrapes, and more streaked blood on various parts of their bodies.

But as we step out onto the street, Ryland doesn’t even hesitate. Keeping me sandwiched between him and Theo, he steers me toward a slate-gray car I don’t recognize.

“Is this yours?”

I glance at him. It’s not a car I’ve ever seen him drive, but that doesn’t really mean much. I know all three of the men who invaded my life are loaded, so it’s not hard to imagine he has several cars.

“No. It’s a friend’s. I called a favor in.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Something in his tone suggests that this person isn’t actually much of a friend, and that the favor owed is more like a debt owed. I don’t bother pushing for more details though. Doctor Adelman’s pronouncement that I’ve just got a concussion was reassuring, but my head still pounds, and now that some of the adrenaline is wearing off, I feel shaky and exhausted.

The keys are stashed on top of the front tire, and I glance around as Ryland retrieves them and unlocks the doors. I don’t see anyone around, which means the owner of the car must’ve left, either on foot or in a cab or something.

Fuck. That’s some favor.

Theo slides into the back with me again, and Ryland starts the engine and pulls away from the curb. The blood on my clothes, skin, and hair is mostly dry by now, so I’m not fucking up the seat as badly as I probably wrecked Dominic’s.

We stop to pick up my prescription, and as we’re driving away from the drug store, a new thought hits me like a ton of bricks.

“My apartment…”

I haven’t thought about it since yesterday. So much has happened since then that it feels like the fire must’ve been years ago instead of barely twenty-four hours. Carson enlisted Natalie’s help to lure me out of Marcus’s house by torching my apartment building, and even before my abduction, I could see my apartment wasn’t going to be salvageable.

Everything I own, except for the duffel bag I packed for the weekend, was in that apartment.

I don’t have a place to live.

That thought should probably cause more panic than it does. Despite all the shit I went through during my time as a foster kid, I managed to avoid ever being truly homeless. No matter what else happened, I always had a roof over my head, and now I’ve lost that.

But it doesn’t seem to matter all that much right now. Not when I compare it to everything else that’s happened.

It was just a place. It was just stuff.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” Theo murmurs, turning his soft blue-green eyes on me.

Ryland doesn’t say anything, but as he takes a left turn, I realize where we’re headed. Where we’ve always been headed. He never even started driving toward my neighborhood, taking us instead to the part of Halston where the three men each have houses close to each other.

Something warm spreads through my chest, an antidote to the bitter pain that’s taken up residence there. I glance from Ryland to Theo as a lump forms in my throat.

“Thank you.”

It’s barely a whisper, and it’s not enough. Not enough to convey everything I need it to.

But it’s all I have.

Theo smiles at me sadly, threading his fingers through mine again and squeezing my hand. “Of course.”

Ryland pulls up outside a large house a few minutes later. It’s similar in size and style to Marcus’s place, and that similarity makes my stomach clench. I didn’t realize until this moment how comfortable and familiar Marcus’s house had started to feel. I felt safe there, in a way that had very little to do with physical protection.

You were safe there, a little voice whispers in my head. That’s why Marcus told you to stay.

But he never told me why I should stay, never told me that I might be risking my life if I stepped outside the protection of his walls. He was trying to protect me, to keep me insulated from the world he and his friends live in, but I can’t help but feel mad at him for it.

If he hadn’t lied to me, I wouldn’t have left his house. I wouldn’t have become an unwilling pawn, and the three men wouldn’t have had to abandon their position in the game to come get me.

And Marcus wouldn’t have gotten shot.

Like a series of dominoes falling, one lie set off a chain reaction that culminated in three gunshots I can still hear echoing in my ears.

Why couldn’t he have just told me?

“Hey. You okay?” Theo catches my elbow, and I realize my steps have stalled halfway up the path to his front door.

“Yeah.”

I try to give him a smile, but I know he doesn’t buy it. It feels more like a grimace even to me.

Shaking away my dark thoughts, I follow him inside the house, followed closely by Ryland. But as soon as I’m safely inside, Ryland turns around and heads for the door again.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

Maybe it’s a stupid question. He doesn’t live here, after all, so there’s no real reason to expect him to stay. But a strange flutter of panic ripples through me at the idea of him leaving. I feel like I need him here, even though I can’t quite articulate why.

He hesitates, glancing at me over his shoulder. For just a second, the hard lines of his face smooth out a little, his hazel eyes softening. “I’m gonna run over to Marcus’s place to get your stuff.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “Thank you.”

He dips his head in a nod. “Sure. Who knows, maybe there’ll be some sign of Marcus there. Maybe he…”

Ryland trails off, as if he knows he sounds like he’s grasping at straws. I can hear it too, but I can’t help the little spark of hope that lights inside my chest. “That’s a good idea.”

His jaw clenches, and the hardness I’m used to seeing on his face returns. He gives one more nod, then leaves.

“Come on, Rose.” Theo grabs the bottle of pills out of the little bag they came in, tosses the bag on a small table by the entryway, then pours a couple tablets into his hand. “First, get some painkillers in you. Second, shower. Sound good?”

I nod. All I really want to do is curl up in the fetal position and hope sleep comes for me, but I know it won’t until I do both of those things.

Theo leads me to the kitchen, where he gets me to eat a few crackers before handing me a glass of water and the pills. I swallow them down, then follow him upstairs. My mind is in too much of a daze for me to absorb much of my surroundings, but I notice that Theo seems to have a thing for art. He’s got several big pieces on the walls, paintings with bold colors and indefinable shapes. It’s not exactly what I would’ve expected from him, but somehow, it makes perfect sense.

He leads me down a hallway on the second floor, then opens a door and gestures me inside.

“Guest room,” he says as he steps in after me. “There are towels in the bathroom, and shampoo and shit in the shower.” His brows drop a little, and he steps forward, framing my face with his hands as he looks down at me. “You gonna be okay? You can get in bed right now if you want. I don’t give a shit about the sheets. I just thought maybe you’d want to…” He trails off, his gaze flicking down my body.

As if called up by his words, the lingering coppery scent of blood teases my nostrils. I’m sure I’ve smelled like this the whole time, but I’ve been able to tune it out a little, my mind focusing on other things.

My stomach roils, threatening to expel the crackers, pills, and water I just consumed. I grit my teeth and nod. “I do want to. Thanks.”

“Okay. Call if you need anything.”

Theo lingers near the bedroom door as I head toward the bathroom, watching me go. I can almost feel the conflict in him, the unwillingness to leave. It seems almost like he’s debating whether to stay and offer to help me, and a part of me wishes he would.

Things between us have always been a little confusing. Something has hovered in the air between us, even as my relationship with Marcus deepened and intensified. The way he looks at me sometimes, that kiss in the alley, the feeling of touching him while Marcus fucked me—it all speaks to something more between us.

And right now, with my world blown to smithereens, little pieces of it floating through the air like dust, Theo and Ryland feel like the only two people in the world I can trust.

The only real things that exist in a world that barely makes sense anymore.

I need them, in a way that scares me a little to think about.

My steps slow a little as I reach the bathroom door, giving Theo a chance to speak up if he wants. But when he doesn’t say anything, I slip into the bathroom and close the door softly behind me.

Maybe it’s for the best. I’m fucked up in the head right now anyway. Maybe I just need to be alone.

As I step toward the shower, my gaze snags on the mirror over the sink. I blink, a fresh wave of nausea washing over me.

Jesus.

How did the men look at me without grimacing? How did Doctor Adelman do his exam without running screaming from the room?

I look like an extra in a horror movie—one who dies in the first fucking scene. Blood mats my dark hair, giving the dark locks an odd auburn sheen. My hair is a tangled mess, and I’ve got a few scratches and bruises on my face. My skin and clothes are caked with blood, and now that it’s drying, it’s starting to flake off in little red particles.

The red flowers of my tattoo blend in with the blood on my arm, and a shiver runs down my spine as I stare at the ink. I remember thinking once how much the roses looked like pools of blood, and now it’s impossible to get that thought out of my head.

With a sudden vicious movement, I yank my crusted shirt over my head and throw it into a corner of the bathroom. I unhook my bra and hurl it after my top, then shove my pants down as I kick off my shoes. I’m usually pretty good at doing shit like this one-handed, but my muscles feel sluggish and uncoordinated, and I have to grab the sink counter to steady myself when I overbalance and almost fall over.

When my clothes are finally all in a pile in the corner, I turn on the water and step under the spray. It’s cold at first, and I hiss out a breath as the cool droplets cascade over my skin. The painkiller is starting to kick in, but I’m careful to avoid the large knot on the side of my head as I run my hand slowly through my dark hair, letting the gradually warming water break up the clumps of clotted blood.

I don’t look down as I scrub my hair and then my body, not wanting to see the pink-tinged water as it swirls down the drain. The coppery scent gets worse before it gets better, hanging in the steamy air until I massage shampoo into my hair twice.

When I step out of the shower and glance at myself in the steam-fogged mirror again, I look slightly more human—but still half-zombie. My fingertips ghost over the three scars on my chest before moving up to brush across a bruise on my collarbone. Now that all the blood that wasn’t mine is washed off, I can see the bruises and scrapes on my own body better. None of them are bad, nothing that won’t heal, but they dot my skin at regular intervals, each one a reminder of everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours.

“Hey, Rose? You decent?” Theo’s muffled voice comes through the door, and I wonder if he’s been waiting to hear the shower turn off. “I’ve got some clothes for you.”

“Thanks.”

Tearing my gaze away from the mirror and the girl with pale skin, dark hair, and haunted blue eyes, I grab a towel from the rack and wrap it around myself.

Steam billows out of the bathroom when I open the door, making me wonder for a second how long I was in the shower. Time doesn’t seem to mean much right now; it could’ve been hours or minutes, and I wouldn’t know the difference.

Theo’s gaze travels down my body quickly as if he’s assessing me for damage. It looks like he’s showered too, changing out of his blood-stained clothes into fresh ones. Concern shines in his blue-green eyes, but when he meets my gaze, he offers a small smile and hands over some pajamas I recognize as ones I left at Marcus’s place.

I take them, my heart skipping unevenly in my chest. “Ryland’s back? Did he find—”

“No.” Theo’s smile slips. “The place was empty. No sign that Marcus has been there.”

Goddammit.

I expected that answer, but it breaks my heart anyway.

“Fuck.” My fingers tighten around the clothes, twisting and bunching the fabric. “What else can we do then? Can we—”

“You can sleep,” Theo interrupts gently. “Doctor Adelman said you need to take it easy, and Marcus will kill us if we let you push yourself too hard and end up making things worse. Ry and I talked after he got back. We’re expanding our search for security footage to a wider perimeter to see if we can pick anything up. A car. A license plate. A face. Anything.”

It still doesn’t seem like enough. But they’re already doing more than I could, and despite the anxious energy pouring through me, my exhaustion is winning.

“Okay,” I murmur. “But tomorrow, I want to help.”

Theo nods, and I step back and close the door. I towel dry my hair and then put on the sleep clothes Theo brought me. I wore them both nights I slept in Marcus’s bed over the weekend, and as I slip the tank top on over my head, his scent tickles my nostrils—clean and fresh, with a hint of something like rich leather.

It’s an addictive aroma, something that I’ve come to associate purely with Marcus. As I breathe in the lingering smell of him, tears I haven’t allowed myself to cry yet burn behind my eyes.

Please. Please, Marcus. Don’t be fucking dead.

I blink hard, clinging with everything inside me to the last scraps of hope I have, then hang my towel up and step back into the bedroom.

Theo is sitting on the bed, and I start a little when I see him. I expected him to be back downstairs with Ryland by now, but he’s obviously been waiting for me. He stands up when he sees me, stuffing his hands into his pockets and tilting his head slightly.

“Anything else you need?”

“No. Thank you.”

He nods, then crosses to the window and closes the curtains, turning the room gray and semi-dark. He tugs back the covers on the bed and gestures for me to get in.

The second my body hits the mattress, my eyelids start to droop. I’ve been going on pure determination and adrenaline for a long time, but I’ve got nothing left.

Theo tugs the blankets up to my shoulders, then leans over and presses a kiss to my temple. “Sleep tight, Rose.”

He straightens back up, but before he can step away, my hand reaches out from beneath the covers, snagging his.

Theo pauses, looking down at our tangled fingers before glancing at my face. I can see the question in his eyes, and the answer comes easily to my tongue.

“Stay,” I whisper. “Please.”

There are a million reasons why he might say no. I’m being needy right now, and I know it, my defenses and layers of armor broken down by everything I’ve been through this weekend.

But Theo doesn’t say anything at all. He just kicks off his shoes and crawls beneath the covers beside me, looping an arm around my waist and pulling me into the warm cradle of his body.

My head tucks under his chin, and the last thing I’m aware of before sleep claims me is the soft, steady drum of his heartbeat.

CHAPTER 5

PAIN SEARS THROUGH MY BODY, radiating from the three points where the bullets pierced my flesh. Blood pools around me, warm and wet, and my vision goes in and out of focus as I stare at the three figures above me.

Marcus, Theo, and Ryland.

Marcus’s face hovers over mine, concern hardening his handsome features as Theo and Ryland flank him on either side. His sentinels. His partners. His brothers.

Earth and air churn violently as those beautiful, mesmerizing eyes gaze down at me. He’s speaking, but I can’t hear the words. I can’t make out what he’s saying.

I open my mouth, trying to speak back, but all that pours from my lips is a trickle of blood.

I have to talk.

I have to tell him.

I have to warn him.

He cups my face with one large hand, calloused fingers threading through my hair, and then he lowers his face to mine and kisses me.

It’s everything.

Pleasure.

Pain.

Hope.

Redemption.

Destruction.

It’s a promise made and broken at the same time, and I kiss him harder, ignoring the coppery taste of blood that lingers between our lips. My right arm lies useless on the cold pavement, nerves and tissue already fraying, but I palm the back of his head as our kiss deepens.

Pop, pop, pop!

Three sharp sounds pierce the night air, and Marcus’s body jerks three times. His body goes limp, his weight growing so heavy that it feels like it might crush me to dust.

But I keep trying to kiss him, lips and tongue moving against a mouth that’s gone lax.

Unresponsive.

Dead.

“No,” I mutter against his lips, my voice raw. They’re still warm. They’re still full and soft. But he won’t kiss me back. “No, no, no. Please.”

His head slumps to one side of mine, our cheeks pressed together, and I wait for the feel of his breath to tickle my ear and stir my hair. But it never does.

Blood pours from his wounds, mingling with mine on the pavement beneath us. My fingers clutch at his hair, holding tightly to the rich brown strands as my own heartbeat slows.

“You promised,” I whisper. “You promised you’d never let me go.”

A HARSH, ragged sob jolts me from sleep.

I suck in a gasping breath, and as I do, I realize the sound came from me. Another sob follows it, wracking my lungs as it tears out of me.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe, Rose.”

Strong arms wrap around me from behind, a body curving around mine as I curl into a ball. Theo keeps whispering soft words into my hair as I cry, rubbing his hand gently up and down the remainder of my right arm. He doesn’t try to stop me from crying, just holds me until the heartbreaking terror of the dream subsides a little.

My throat is tight and scratchy, and my head hurts again—although nowhere near as bad as it did earlier.

It’s hard to catch a full breath. Every time I inhale, the exhale turns into another gasping sob, but finally I’m able to let out a shaky sigh.

We lie like that for a while, Theo’s body still tucked around mine, the warmth of him seeping into my cold bones.

It’s barely light outside. A few soft rays creep in through the cracks in the curtains, and I’m pretty sure it’s morning sunlight. That means I’ve slept for over twelve hours. Did Theo stay with me the whole time?

I burrow deeper into his embrace, shifting backward until my back is pressed against his front. Everywhere we’re connected feels like a place where pain can’t get inside, and I want more of that. I want him to envelop me completely, somehow.

“Bad dream?” he murmurs softly, tightening his grip a little.

I nod. Flashes of the dream parade through my mind, making my stomach sour. There were others throughout the night, I’m almost sure of it. I wonder if I cried during those too, and if Theo got any fucking sleep at all, curled up next me.

“I tell myself he might still be alive,” I murmur thickly. “I keep telling myself that. But I’m…”

“You’re grieving anyway.”

New tears sting my eyes as I nod again. Something in Theo’s voice tugs at me, and I turn around in his arms, rolling over onto my other side so we’re face to face. His arms stay wrapped around my waist in a loose hold, and we’re so close that my eyes have to bounce between his.

I wasn’t wrong about the roughness I heard in his voice. Tears glisten in his blue-green eyes, turning his irises a deeper, more vivid color. He makes no effort to brush them away or hide them, but his throat works as he swallows.

“My dad died five years ago,” he says quietly.

I bite my bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, dislodging a tear that was hovering at the corner of his eye. It slides down his temple, soaking into the pillow.

“It’s fine. We were never all that close. When he died, I felt sad, but in a way that made sense. In a way I could handle. Honestly, I was worried for my mom more than anything. My dad founded a massive tech company that made him billions, and ever since his death, my fucking uncle has been trying to take over the company.”

“Can he do that?” I frown. “Just take it over?”

Theo scoffs. “No. But my dad left the company to him and my mom, and my uncle keeps trying to push her out. I never really wanted anything to do with running the company, but if I step away entirely, he’ll steamroll my mom.” He shifts his arms around me, resting one hand on my hip. “I keep trying to get out, to build a life of my own, but I always end up getting dragged back into it.” His jaw clenches. “My uncle was the one who convinced my mom to sign me up for this fucking game.”

My eyes widen. When the guys explained the arrangement Luca D’Addario has set up to choose his successor—the person who will basically run Halston when Luca steps down—I could barely wrap my head around the fact that their own parents had signed them up for this shit. I still can’t, really.

I grew up in foster homes that ranged from hellish to merely shitty, so it’s not like I have an actual reference for what a healthy family dynamic should be.

But even I know that signing your kids up for what’s essentially a battle to the death is super fucked up.

Theo catches the expression on my face and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. My uncle’s a fucking asshole.” Then his expression grows serious again, pain reflecting in his eyes. “When my dad died, I just focused on getting my mom through it. I felt sad, but it was manageable. Now…”

He trails off, blowing out a breath.

“What?” I whisper, leaning a little closer as if I could lend support that way.

Theo makes a noise in the back of his throat. “There’s no body. We don’t know for sure that Marcus is dead. But I feel fucking wrecked anyway. I feel…”

“Empty,” I whisper.

I’m not entirely sure whether I’m filling in the answer for him or just describing how I feel, but Theo nods.

“Yeah.” His jaw clenches, and the hand resting on my hip flexes convulsively, digging into my flesh a little through the thin, soft material of my pants. “Ryland and Marcus are like brothers to me. More than fucking brothers. Better than brothers, because we chose each other. We aren’t in each other’s lives because of some accident of DNA or whatever. We’re in each other’s lives because we want to be. I’d do anything for either one of them. Lay down my fucking life.”

He stops, closing his eyes for a second as another tear slides down his temple.

“If someone told me where to go, what altar to lay myself down on to bring him back in one piece, I’d do it. I’d fucking run to do it.” His eyes open again, and the pain inside them burns so bright it nearly steals my breath. “But I don’t know where to go or what to do. I don’t know how to fucking fix this, and I don’t know how to live without him.”

Theo’s body shudders slightly, and I feel it in my own. His heartbreak is a visceral, palpable thing. I realize with a sudden rush of clarity that what he was doing yesterday—taking me to Doctor Adelman, making sure I took painkillers, bringing me a fresh change of clothes—was the same thing he did for his mom after his father died. He was trying to help me through it, to shoulder his own pain and help me bear mine at the same time.

And he’s known Marcus for most of his life. I’ve only known him for less than a month, even though it’s impossible to remember my life without him in it anymore.

My grief is eating a hole in my heart.

Theo’s must be a hundred times worse.

Bringing my hand up between us, I rest it against his chest. His skin is warm, and I can feel the heat on my palm even through his t-shirt. His heart gives a little stutter, pounding hard against his ribs as if in reaction to my touch.

I don’t think, don’t logically decide what to do next. I just reach out to the pain inside him, trying to soothe it and my own.

My head shifts forward on the pillow, and my lips press against his. The salty taste of tears lingers at the corner of my mouth, but it’s better than the taste of blood, and it’s tempered by the dark cherry and oak scent of him.

Theo reacts to my kiss immediately. His body doesn’t go stiff, exactly, but I can feel each of his muscles responding, coming alive under my touch. His lips move against mine, soft and unhurried, and his hand slides around to my lower back to pull me a little closer to him.

Our first kiss, in the alley the night Marcus beat the shit out of Greg, was hot and overwhelming, something that built from zero to one hundred so fast it almost scared me.

This kiss isn’t like that.

It builds slowly, achingly slowly, starting with little brushes of our lips and gentle swipes of our tongues, with breath shared in the space between us.

It’s… gentle.

This is the most gently I’ve ever been kissed, and it’s everything I need right now.

Theo rises up onto one elbow, rolling me onto my back and draping his upper body over mine as his tongue licks the seam of my lips. He pulls my lower lip between his, then releases it to pepper soft kisses to my cheeks, across the bridge of my nose, and along my jaw line.

I know he’s tasting salty tears just like I did earlier, and I get the strangest feeling that he’s trying to kiss the remnants of each teardrop from my skin.

With a soft noise, I turn my head and capture his lips again, sliding my tongue into his mouth as our kiss deepens.

It’s like we’re drawing the pain out of each other, exchanging pieces of our heartbreak through the connection between us, and although it doesn’t lessen the hurt, it diffuses it somehow, making it a little more bearable.

The slow, steady build of heat between us begins to burn hotter, and my chest rises and falls as I try to catch my breath. Theo breaks the kiss to glide his lips down the column of my throat, and my stomach clenches as my clit throbs. I roll us again, pressing him onto his back and draping my body over his, my legs straddling his lean hips.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he must’ve kicked off his pants to get more comfortable, and I can feel the growing shape of his cock through the thin material of his boxer briefs and my sleep pants. Resting my chest against his, I brace my hand on the mattress, my dark hair falling around my face like a curtain as I kiss him like I might never stop.

Honestly, in this moment, I don’t want to.

I want to keep rocking against him, tasting him, breathing him in. Stoking the slow-burning fire that flickers between us.

I want him to know that I’m still here. That he’s still here.

That we still have each other, and that we’ll get through this somehow.

He’s fully hard now, his cock throbbing between us, hitting the perfect spot on my clit each time I roll my hips against him and drawing little gasps of pleasure from me.

The room is quiet, our sounds muffled and soft. Small.

But what’s happening between us doesn’t feel small. It feels big. It feels meaningful, and I remember what Theo told me about being closer than brothers with Marcus and Ryland.

They chose each other.

And I choose them.

Theo’s fingers dig into my hips, some of the gentleness of the kiss fading as need flares between us like a physical force. He holds me tightly, guiding my movements as his hips thrust up against me—slow at first, then harder and faster, hitting my clit with each thrust.

I whimper into his mouth, breaking the connection of our lips to press my forehead against his, our noses practically touching as our gazes lock. His face is so close to mine that I can barely focus on him, but somehow I feel like I can see all of him.

I can see the way his mouth drops open slightly, his lips tight with effort as his sharp breaths collide with my own. I can see the way his eyes churn like a stormy sea as he pauses his strokes, grinding his clothed cock against my pussy as his grip on me shifts slightly, his palms sliding lower to grab handfuls of my ass.

My toes curl and my breath catches as I grind down on him too, using the thick length of him to chase the pleasure building in my core. We’re hardly moving anymore—just small, intense pulses as we hover on the precipice, rubbing against each other as if we’re trying to fuse our bodies together.

“Fuck, Rose.”

The words are a shuddering, whispered groan. Theo lifts his head off the mattress, finding my lips with his again as his whole body goes rigid. He thrusts his hips hard, and the pleasure rising up inside me reaches its peak, sending me tumbling over the other side.

I writhe against him, breath coming in choppy gasps, and as the orgasm cascades through me, I feel the warm, wet heat of his release. His cum spurts into his boxer briefs, soaking into my pajama bottoms as his cock pulses again and again, spilling every last drop.

My arm gives out, and I collapse on top of him, my face buried in the crook of his neck.

We’re both breathing hard, our chests pressing tighter together with each of our inhales. His skin is warm, flushed with arousal, and he wraps his arms around me, hugging me against him.

His cum is a sticky mess between us, but he doesn’t let go of me. He doesn’t roll me off of him and slide out of bed to get cleaned up. He just holds me.

And when I start to cry again, slow tears that seep from my eyes like molasses, he presses a kiss to my temple, reaching up to run his fingers through my hair.

CHAPTER 6

I FALL ASLEEP AGAIN for a while after the tears stop, my body still draped over Theo’s and his arms still wrapped protectively around me.

Whether because of the orgasm or because of Theo’s touch, I sleep peacefully for a few blessed hours before blinking my eyes open again.

He’s awake already—hell, maybe he never slept—and when I lift my head from the crook of his neck, he smiles at me softly. The sadness still lingers in his eyes, just like I’m sure it does mine, but I think he looks a little less haunted than he did earlier.

He tilts my head up a little with a knuckle under my chin, meeting my gaze. “Hey. You okay?”

I nod, and he presses a small kiss to my lips before letting my head drop back down again.

For a few moments, neither of us moves. The smell of his skin is like a drug, better than any fucking anti-anxiety medication out there, and I let myself breathe him in with long, steady inhales.

I don’t know what this means, and I can’t quite bring myself to think too hard about it.

My heart is in rough shape already—I don’t think it can handle the monumental, life-altering truth that hovers just outside of my conscious thought. It’s there to see if I let myself examine it, but I’m too fucked up in the head right now to do it.

One thing I am sure of, though, is that I’m not giving up on Marcus.

Not until I see a body.

Not until I see evidence I can’t deny.

Until that happens, I’ll keep feeding the little scraps of hope that live in my chest, and I’ll do whatever I can to help Ryland and Theo find him. I lived through the night I was shot outside Club 47. So why couldn’t he live through this too?

Those thoughts churn in my head, making me anxious to get up and get moving, to do something.

I shift in Theo’s hold, and he hums in his throat. Keeping his arms wrapped around me, he rolls over to deposit me gently on my back. His face is a little wan and hollowed out as he gazes down at me, but his eyes are warm.

“I’ll let you get up and get dressed,” he says quietly, tucking a lock of my dark hair behind my ear. “I think Ryland slept over, and he’s probably up already. We’ll get some food, then he and I can go over to your place and see if anything is salvageable.”

“I’m coming with you,” I say automatically. It’s a knee-jerk response, out of my mouth before I even think about it, but I mean every word. I bashed my head pretty fucking good when I hit the ground yesterday, but Doctor Adelman cleared me. If there’s nothing seriously wrong with me, I’ll take some painkillers and keep going.

Theo opens his mouth, his brows pulling together in concern, but before he can speak, I add, “I can’t sit around doing nothing. I’ll go fucking crazy.”

He hesitates, understanding washing through his expression. Then he nods slowly. “You’ll have to convince Ryland too. But I’ll have your back.”

“Thanks.”

Theo nods. The fingers that tucked my hair behind my ear linger on my face, tracing the line of my jaw, and I can feel how much he wants to kiss me again. But instead, he pushes the covers back a little and slides out of bed.

There’s a stain on the front of his boxer briefs where his cum soaked through the fabric, and I swear he flushes a little as he adjusts himself. I look away, biting my lip to hide a smile, then watch him move toward the door and quietly slip outside.

Ryland grabbed my whole duffel from Marcus’s house, and it sits next to the bathroom door. I packed some extra stuff, so I’ve got enough clothes to last me for a couple more days in there—although I don’t have my prosthetic arm. I left that at my apartment, and there’s a good chance it melted in the fire.

It doesn’t really matter much. The prosthesis is cosmetic, something I wore when I didn’t want to deal with the looks I got from people as they ogled my stump. It wasn’t actually functional, and I’ve learned to get by just fine with only one hand and part of my right arm.

There’s a cum-stain on the front of my pants too, and something warm flickers in my chest as I shuck my clothes in the bathroom before stepping into the shower again.

I don’t know what that was, and I didn’t expect it—but I think I needed it. And I think Theo did too.

The shower goes quicker this morning than it did yesterday. I don’t need to comb chunks of clotted blood out of my hair, and I’m more coherent this morning than I was then, so I’m a lot more efficient. After I towel off and throw on fresh clothes, I glance at the bloody pile in the corner of the bathroom.

My stomach churns.

Fuck. I need to throw those away.

It hurts to look at them. To wonder how much of the blood on them is Marcus’s and how much is Carson’s.

Shoving that thought forcefully out of my head, I stuff the clothes into the small trashcan that sits under the sink, then carry the whole thing downstairs with me.

Theo and Ryland are in the kitchen, standing at the marble-top island in the middle of the space. They both have cups of coffee in front of them, and their hands are braced on the smooth countertop, their heads bent together as they converse in low voices.

I hesitate in the doorway, still holding the trashcan full of bloody clothes, as I take in the sight of them.

I see it now, more vividly than I ever have—the closeness between them, the way they complement each other and almost seem to share a brain sometimes. It was obvious from the minute I met all three of the men that they had a bond very few people ever experience. But now, with Marcus gone, it’s as if the threads that bind them have thickened and strengthened. As if the loss of one of their own has only strengthened the impulse to stick together, to function as a unit.

My chest aches softly.

I’m glad they still have each other. And I’m glad Marcus has them. I’m glad he has two friends who will search to the ends of the earth to find him—even if it’s just to give him a proper burial.

“Hey, Ro—”

Theo looks up when he notices me standing in the doorway, then stops when he sees what I’m holding. He steps forward quickly and grabs the trashcan from me, dumping it into the larger kitchen trash before tugging the bag out of the bin and tying it closed.

“I told Ry you want to come with us,” he tells me over his shoulder before disappearing from the kitchen with the large trash bag.

My gaze shifts to Ryland. I’m already formulating my argument, prepared to have to fight hard to get him to relent.

But to my surprise, he nods once. “You can come.”

“Really?” My eyebrows shoot up.

Ryland’s jaw tenses, and his nostrils flare as he draws in a breath. He looks like he’s already considering taking his words back, but he nods again. Then he takes a step closer to me, leaving the island as his hands fall to his sides.

“I spent weeks… months… years trying to convince Marcus that you’d be better off without us in your life. I wanted to pay your medical bills and then leave you alone, let you live your life without all this bullshit.”

He gestures around vaguely, seeming to encompass everything about their lives. Then his lips press together and he shakes his head.

“But it’s too late. You’re in it. Yesterday, you got thrown into the fucking deep end. We can’t force you out. We can’t undo what’s happened. All we can do is keep you safe.” His hands clench into fists. “I’ve already seen what happens when we try to keep you in the dark to protect you. When we try to push you away to keep you safe. I’m not going down that fucking road again. So you can come with us.”

My chest squeezes.

Ryland’s face is intrinsically harder to read than Theo’s. He keeps his emotions buried under a solid foot of concrete most of the time. His blowup at Doctor Adelman’s office was the most emotional I’ve ever seen him. It was like a flip had been switched, the feelings he keeps under such tight control bursting out of him whether he wanted them to or not.

He’s back under control this morning, his features carefully blank. But beneath his strong, dark brows, his hazel eyes glint with pain.

All three of the men who stalked me in the shadows for two and a half years did their best to protect me, even if it manifested in different ways.

I wish like fuck I could protect them back.

Nodding, I wrap my hand around the bicep of my opposite arm, fingers covering up the dark red flowers and gray-blue shading that covers my skin. “Thanks. I want to help.”

Theo steps back into the kitchen a second later, glancing between me and Ryland as he picks up his coffee cup. “We all good?”

“Yeah.” Ryland breaks his gaze away from mine and swipes his coffee off the kitchen island too. “We’re good.”

The guys insist on feeding me and getting more painkillers into my system before we go anywhere, and while I eat, they update me on what the hacker they’ve been in touch with has found—which is, unfortunately, pretty much nothing.

It only took a few minutes for him to realize that all the security footage around the warehouses had been wiped, but combing through camera feeds from the surrounding areas is more complicated and time consuming. So far, nothing has turned up, but he’s still looking.

My stomach turns into a ball of lead as they talk, and I have to shove away my plate with the rest of my breakfast half-eaten. Ryland shoots me a semi-disapproving look, but he doesn’t give me any shit for not being able to finish.

The fresh painkillers have taken the edge off my headache, and the bright rays of sunshine that glint off the other cars on the road as we drive over to my apartment don’t hurt my eyes like they did yesterday.

Theo’s driving today, and I’m up front beside him with Ryland in the back. I almost wish I’d sat in the back seat too, but I still don’t know quite where Ryland stands or how he feels about me. I don’t know if sharing his pain with someone would make it better or worse, so I don’t want to push him.

The drive is mostly quiet, broken only by the soft music that plays through the speakers. Theo slows the car to a crawl as he nears my apartment, and my skin prickles as the scent of smoke and ash reaches my nostrils even through the closed car window.

“Fuck…”

Theo’s voice is low, and I’m not even sure he meant to speak the word out loud. But it’s pretty much all there is to say about the burned-out shell of the building in front of us.

The lower stories don’t seem to have gotten hit as bad as the upper floors, but I don’t even think we’ll be able to get inside to check if any of my stuff survived the fire—or that it would be safe to walk upstairs in the fire-damaged building.

Sharp anger cuts through me like a knife.

Carson Purcell did this.

He destroyed not just my belongings, not just my apartment, but over a half-dozen other innocent people’s homes. Did he even care about the havoc he would wreak on their lives?

No.

I’m sure he didn’t even fucking think about it.

My hand tightens on the door handle as Theo pulls to a stop in front of my old building, cutting off the engine. But I make no move to open the door.

“It’s not fair,” I mutter, my voice harsh. “I want to kill Carson for this, but he’s already fucking dead. A bullet through the head was too good for that asshole.”

The vehemence of my words startles me, but I realize I mean them. Because I’m not just mad on my own behalf. I’m fucking furious that Carson treated innocent people—people he didn’t even know—as expendable in his bid to win the game. I have to believe none of the men who became my shadows would do something like that. Marcus killed Devin Brooks, but I can’t believe he would’ve willingly sacrificed innocent bystanders.

Hell, I was an innocent bystander who almost died, and he spent two and a half years following me, watching me, and obsessing over me.

If I’d stepped between a bullet and Carson Purcell, he probably wouldn’t even remember my name two years later.

“Vicious.”

Ryland’s voice from the backseat is a low growl, but it doesn’t sound like a condemnation of my words. If anything, he sounds proud.

Theo’s fingers drum over the steering wheel as he ducks his head, gazing out the window at the wreckage of the building that was once my shoddy home.

“You’re right.” He rests a hand on my knee, grounding me with his touch. “Carson’s gone. And we can’t touch Dominic until Luca starts the next game. But there’s someone else who had a hand in this. Someone else who played a part, and she still needs to pay for what she fucking did.”

I drag my gaze away from the charred apartment building and glance over at him. His gaze is serious, his lips set in a hard line, and I know exactly who he’s talking about before he even utters the name.

Natalie.

CHAPTER 7

WE DECIDE to track down Natalie on the University of Halston campus.

It’s not exactly a small school, so I’m not sure how easy our search will be. But beyond having an assload of money, Theo can also be charming as fuck when he wants to be. We make a quick stop at the registrar’s office, where he manages to flirt his way into getting a complete list of Natalie’s classes this semester.

The middle-aged woman behind the desk lets out an audible sigh as he gives her one last crooked smile and heads back toward me and Ryland where we hover in the doorway.

“I think she just came,” I remark dryly as we make our way out of the office. “She’s probably sitting in a fucking puddle right now.”

Theo shoots me a look that brings back a rush of memories from this morning, and a small shiver works its way down my spine. I guess I shouldn’t make fun of that poor woman. She’s not the only one who’s affected by this man.

Using her schedule as our guide, we find the building where her third class of the day is being held and stand in a tight knot as we wait outside. I can feel tension gathering in the men standing on either side of me as we wait—and in myself too. By the time Natalie emerges from the building about ten minutes later, it feels like all three of us are spring-loaded.

Ryland steps forward the second he sees her, and his movement draws her attention. Her green eyes widen slightly, a hint of fear appearing in their depths. Then she pivots on her heel and begins to walk quickly in the other direction.

That’s a fucking mistake.

You don’t run from a predator. It only feeds their hunter’s instinct.

Ryland doesn’t even break stride. He picks up his pace, and Theo and I hurry to join him as he bears down on Natalie like a fucking runaway train.

She glances over her shoulder as she feels us approach, and I can see the bluster she’s trying to put on over her fear. Finally, she stops and whirls around to face us, lifting her chin defiantly.

“What do you wa—”

The words aren’t even all the way out of her mouth when Ryland reaches her. He still doesn’t stop, grabbing her arm in a vise-like grip and dragging her around the corner of a building. There’s no pathway that cuts between this building and the one beside it, so there’s no foot traffic coming through. He pulls her along for several more yards until we’re well away from any populated areas. Then he shoves her against the wall.

I don’t believe in violence.

Or, I didn’t.

But a lot has changed in my life since I met these men, and I can’t work up even a single ounce of dismay over Ryland’s rough treatment of Natalie.

She lets out a soft grunt as her back hits the side of the building, and when Ryland releases her, she straightens quickly, glaring at all three of us.

“What the fuck do you want?” She tosses her strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder, her round face a mask of angry disdain. “If you mess with me, Carson—”

“Carson’s dead,” Theo says flatly.

Natalie blanches. In less than a second, the air of haughty annoyance drains from her, and her throat works as she swallows. “What?”

“You havin’ a hard time hearing?” Ryland narrows his eyes. “Your little sugar-daddy boyfriend is dead. So whatever protection you think he would’ve given you, don’t fucking count on it.”

Natalie’s jaw falls open a little. She licks her lips, her gaze shifting around between the three of us uneasily, as if she’s just now realized the kind of shit she got herself involved in when she hooked up with Carson.

I guess helping them drug and kidnap a girl wasn’t enough of a fucking hint for her.

“Who…” She licks her lips again. “Who killed him?”

“We’d love to know the answer to that question too.” Theo’s voice is hard. “So why don’t you tell us?”

Her eyes flare wide, panic bursting inside them like fireworks. “I don’t know!”

“Then what do you know?” Ryland growls. “What did he tell you? About his plan? About people he was working with? Tell us every fucking thing you can think of. Now.”

“I—” Natalie looks like she wants to argue or make some bitchy comment. But she cuts herself off, swallowing down her words as she shrinks back against the wall again.

It might’ve been satisfying to watch this, once. To see this about-face from the girl who’s taken such delight in tormenting me for no reason I’ve ever been able to figure out.

But a hole gapes in my chest, yawning wide and threatening to swallow me up.

This isn’t about some petty tit for tat. This is about actual, real things she did. Things that might’ve gotten someone I care about killed. I don’t care what Carson offered her, or how little she knew about what he intended. She’s complicit, no matter what.

“We hooked up a few weeks ago,” Natalie says quietly, her gaze dropping to the ground as she speaks. “He... things got intense really quickly. He bought me stuff and took me places I’d never been able to afford. He told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever—”

“Skip the dick sucking.” Ryland crosses his arms over his chest, glaring down at her. “Why did he rent you those two apartment units? What did he tell you about the fire?”

Natalie flushes, looking equal parts angry and terrified as she continues on.

“He rented the apartments so he could get close to her.” Her gaze barely flicks in my direction, but Theo steps closer to my side as if daring her to try something stupid. “He told me she was important to you guys, and that you guys had stolen from him. That you ripped off his family, and he was trying to get you back. He rented me another apartment—a nicer one, closer to campus—so that I’d have a place to live after…”

Her voice dies out. I get the feeling she doesn’t want to say the words, as if speaking them aloud will condemn her fully.

But it’s a little too late to play innocent.

“After he torched the place,” I finish for her, my voice like steel.

She shrugs. “Yeah.”

“And he offered you, what, more money to lure Ayla to the building once the fire started to spread?” Ryland demands. “Did you know he was going to drug her? That he and Dominic were willing to kill her if they didn’t get what they wanted?”

Alarm flashes across Natalie’s face, and she shakes her head. “What? No! I didn’t know that, I swear. Carson never mentioned killing anyone. He wasn’t like that. If anyone tried to kill her, it was probably that guy Dominic, or the other person Carson was working with.”

My heart lurches in my chest.

Other person?

Disregarding the fact that Natalie obviously doesn’t know shit about Carson if she doesn’t think he was capable of murder, I take a step forward, my body going tense.

“What other person?”

Her pale face twists into a frown as she darts a glance my way. “I don’t know.”

“Then how the fuck do you know there was another person?”

“I don’t!” Her lips curl, and she glares at me. “It’s not like he told me. I only met Dominic once or twice, and I never met anyone else. But I heard Carson on the phone a few times, speaking to someone else. From the way he was talking, I know it wasn’t Dominic.”

She huffs, managing to regain some of her superior tone despite the fear that still emanates from her like a thick aura. “You told me to tell you everything I know, so that’s what I did. God.”

Irritation prickles through me, but I ignore it, focusing on the words she just said.

Someone else was working with Carson and Dom. But they were either on the outskirts of the plan or played a role in it that I couldn’t see. Both during my captivity at the old house and later, when they drove us off the road in the warehouse district, I only ever remember seeing Dominic and Carson.

If there was a third person, who were they? Where were they?

And is there a chance they killed Carson?

It’s more likely than Marcus somehow regaining consciousness and shooting him.

“Give us something else,” Ryland says, stepping closer to Natalie as he lowers his voice. With his broad shoulders, tattoos, and almost-black hair, he’s intimidating even when he doesn’t want to be. But right now, he clearly does want to, and Natalie visibly quakes as she leans away from him.

“I don’t know anything else!” she blurts.

“Think of something.”

His voice is cool and even, but a threat hovers just below the surface of his words.

Natalie’s eyes dart back and forth as if she’s searching for a way out, and her breathing quickens as she shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t! He never used a name. I never heard his whole conversation, just little pieces. But he talked about the plan. Whoever the other person was, they knew about all of it.”

Ryland stays right where he is, looming over her as he stares at her with hard, unblinking eyes for a long moment. Then he nods and steps back, although his posture doesn’t relax at all.

He believes her.

So do I.

Natalie might be a bitch, but part of what makes her such a bitch is her selfishness. Telling us everything we want to hear would benefit her in this moment. Especially now that she knows Carson is dead, she’s got no reason to try to protect him. It’s possible she’s trying to cover up for Dominic and whoever else was involved to avoid their reprisal—but the more immediate threat is us.

If she had more dirt, she’d spill it.

And she already gave us something. Maybe Dominic wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t killed Carson. Maybe it was this third player who did it.

“Look.” Natalie turns her attention to me, fixing me with a wide-eyed look. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done it. But, I mean, come on. We do what we have to, right? We survive. You know that just like I do.”

My blood chills in my veins, numbing my whole body from the inside out as I blink at her.

No.

This fucking bitch didn’t just try to convince me that what she did was okay. That because she and I had shitty childhoods, that gives us the right to be shitty adults. That I would’ve gone along with it willingly if Marcus, Ryland, and Theo had come up with a plan to kidnap her and hold her hostage.

My heart thuds harder in my chest, crashing against my breastbone until it’s all I can feel.

Natalie lied to me. She betrayed me. She had a hand in every fucked up thing that happened over the weekend, and although she’s clearly afraid of Ryland and Theo, she’s not sorry.

Not even a little bit.

Fury explodes in my chest, flooding me with such pure rage that I literally see a wash of red in my vision for a second.

“Hold her.”

My voice doesn’t even sound like my own. It’s a deep-throated rasp, the only sound I can force past vocal chords that have gone as tense as the rest of me.

But neither Theo nor Ryland hesitate. The two men step forward in unison, each grabbing one of Natalie’s arms as they pin her against the wall.

Her green eyes flare wide with shock, and she struggles against their hold as it finally seems to dawn on her that these men aren’t the ones she should be most afraid of.

I am.

My fist flies out like a missile, cracking against her right cheek. Her head snaps to the side as a pained grunt spills from her lips, and I don’t wait for her to turn back to face me before I hit her again.

And again.

And again.

I haven’t been in a fist-fight since before I lost part of my right arm, so punching left-handed isn’t something I’ve perfected. But rage is a great substitute for skill.

And I have so much fucking rage.

My fist connects with her face over and over, a blur of movement punctuated by my harsh breaths and her grunts.

First, her cheek splits open.

Then my knuckles do.

But I still don’t stop.

I hit her because Marcus isn’t here, because he can’t do it. Because I don’t know if he would do it even if he were here. Because he’s a better person than she could ever hope to be, and because she took something from me that wasn’t hers to take.

Tears blur my vision. Pain shoots up my arm with every punch. My head pounds in time to the strikes of my fist as I let violence pour out of me until my knuckles are bruised and bloodied.

Finally, the torrent of movement slows. My arm feels like fucking lead, my hand hurts like a son of a bitch, and when I focus on Natalie, I hardly recognize her.

Her lip is split, blood smeared across her mouth. Her eyes are bloodshot, the right one swelling shut, and her head lolls as she sags between the two men.

Some semblance of rational thought pierces the haze of anger in my mind, and I realize how reckless I’m being. This is a bad fucking place to do something like this. We’re lucky she didn’t make too much noise or scream for help. We’re isolated, hidden in an out-of-the-way spot, but we’re still on a college campus.

I nod at Theo and Ryland, and they let go of her. She slides down the wall like a deflating balloon, landing hard on her ass as she groans. I step forward to stand over her as the two men frame me on either side.

“Look at me.” My voice is flat.

Hissing a pained breath, Natalie tilts her head up to meet my gaze, her face battered and swollen.

“Leave.” I flex my fingers, feeling the ache in my knuckles and the pain that travels all the way up my arm. “Go to whatever city you like. Fuck whatever men you like, and let them buy you whatever the fuck they think you’re worth. But if you ever come back to Halston, I’ll kill you.”

CHAPTER 8

WE LEAVE her leaning against the building and take the long way across campus back to Theo’s car, avoiding any heavily populated areas. Theo pulls out his phone and taps out a message as we walk, and I have a feeling he’s seeing what can be done to cover our tracks and erase any evidence we were here.

I appreciate that.

Not that I think Natalie will go to the police. She’d be an idiot to go down that road, given everything she’s been an accomplice to.

“Jesus, Rose,” he murmurs as he slips the cell back into his pocket. He glances down at me, and at the bloody knuckles on my hand. “I knew you were a badass, but I didn’t know you were that badass.”

“Stupid ass, more like.” I grimace, trying to make a fist. My fingers shake as they curl, and I make a low, pained noise as I stretch them out. “I could’ve gotten us all busted.”

“Nah. We’ll take care of it.” Theo glances over my head at Ryland as he speaks, and Ryland nods. “But you did earn yourself another trip to Doctor Adelman,” the blond man adds as he shifts his gaze back to me. I groan, but he just shrugs. “Hey, you brought it on yourself this time.”

We reach his car and pile inside. This time, Ryland holds the back door open for me and then slides onto the seat next to me. As Theo pulls out of the lot, Ryland lifts my hand, examining my knuckles.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” he declares, still holding my hand in the palm of his. “But we should have Adelman check you out, just to be sure.”

“Yeah. We can have him certify that you’re one hundred percent, grade-A badass,” Theo jokes from the driver’s seat.

Ryland chuckles dryly, and I crack a smile. I can feel how much all of us are trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, to pretend that a vital piece of the whole isn’t missing, but every bit of levity rings a little hollow.

It’s not time to grieve, I remind myself. Not yet. Not until you know.

Not so long ago, life without Marcus in it was my normal. Life without any of these men in it was normal. But now, I feel his absence as deeply as I feel the absence of my right forearm and hand.

That’s what it feels like, I realize with a start. Like I’m missing a piece of myself.

“What does it mean that Carson and Dominic had someone else helping them?” I ask as we drive away from the University of Halston’s campus. “Any ideas who it would’ve been?”

“One of the other competitors, most likely,” Theo says with a grunt. “Although it’s possible he was coordinating with someone outside the game.”

“But it’s a good bet whoever it was is the one who killed him,” Ryland adds. He’s still holding my hand, but I don’t comment on it. I don’t want him to stop, and I have a feeling if I draw attention to it, he will.

“So someone teamed up with him and Dominic to go after you guys, then turned on Carson and shot him in the head?”

“Yeah.” Theo glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Alliances in the game are about as stable as quicksand. They don’t last long, and they often end violently.”

“Why do you think Dominic showed back up at the warehouse district?” Ryland shakes his head. “We led him miles away before we managed to shake him. And I don’t think he showed back up there looking for us.”

“He was looking for Carson? To kill him?”

He shrugs. “Time was running out. He was probably hoping to get at least one kill in before the buzzer.”

My temples throb. I’ve only known about this insanity for about forty-eight hours, and it’s still hard for me to wrap my head around it all sometimes. The casual brutality, the way violence can flip on and off like a light switch. The lies and plots and manipulations.

It’s all too fucking much.

But I guess it’s to be expected when the prize for the game is the key to an entire fucking city.

“That means Dominic lied,” I say slowly. “When he said he didn’t know who killed Carson. I mean, maybe he doesn’t know, but if they were teamed up with someone else, then he must have a pretty good idea who it could’ve been. Who else would’ve known we were there.”

“Unless Dom didn’t know Carson had another ally.” Ryland finally sets my hand down on the seat, releasing it gently from his grasp. “Carson might’ve been double-dealing. I wouldn’t put it past the slimy fucker.”

I close my eyes for a moment, blocking out the scenery that rolls by outside the window. The bubble of hope that rose in my chest at the idea that we might have a lead is slowly deflating. It doesn’t feel like we’re any closer to answers; all we have are more questions.

Doctor Adelman greets us at the back door to his office just like he did last time, and his eyebrows twitch up in surprise when he takes in my most recent injury. But just like yesterday, he doesn’t comment, keeping his expression carefully neutral as he leads us down the halls and into a private room.

The broken chunks of Ryland’s phone have been cleaned up, and a large piece of white paper has been taped over the hole in the wall. I glance at Ryland’s hand, wondering if it still aches from his brutal assault on the wall yesterday. I know from experience how fucking painful letting your rage out through your fists can be.

Once again, I settle onto the exam table. Ryland and Theo stand on either side of me as Doctor Adelman cleans my wounds and examines my hand. He takes an x-ray to make sure there are no hairline fractures and then tells me I might want to wear a brace for a few days.

“I know it’ll be a bit of a hassle,” he says, his gaze flicking to the stump of my right arm. “But it’ll help you heal faster in the long run.”

“Okay.” I nod, testing my grip again as I make another fist. It’s easier this time than it was when we were leaving campus.

Doctor Adelman retrieves my x-rays and declares me free of fractures. He prescribes another painkiller but tells me that the one I’m taking for my head might be enough to ease the pain in my hand too.

As he leads us back through the office and out the door, I half expect him to comment on the fact that I’ve been to see him twice in the past two days. But he doesn’t say anything, just nods at Ryland and Theo before closing the door.

I wonder what he thinks of all of this. What story he’s made up in his mind to explain my injuries, both today and yesterday. Because even though he remains so carefully neutral and uninterested on the outside, he has to wonder, doesn’t he?

Well, Doctor Adelman, whatever you think it is, I promise you the truth is a hundred times stranger than whatever you’ve imagined.

We fill the prescription and pick up a brace, and as we drive back toward Theo’s house, an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu steals over me. This feels like a repeat of yesterday—only yesterday, I had some hope that tomorrow would be better, that we’d be closer to finding Marcus.

But it doesn’t feel that way now.

It feels like we spent the day running in circles, and if Marcus is out there somewhere, if he’s still alive, time matters. We can’t afford to waste it. I can’t afford to spend years searching for him, the way I have for the little boy in the faded picture I keep in my wallet.

The brother whose name I don’t even know.

“Marcus was going to help me find him,” I murmur, more to myself than either of the men in the car. But Ryland looks over from where he sits next to me in the back seat.

“Find who?”

My chest tightens. I’ve told almost no one about my search for my missing brother, or even that I suspect I have a brother. I only told Marcus because he went through my wallet without asking me and found the picture before I could stop him.

I hated admitting it out loud to him, hated how stupid and desperate it sounded when I put it into plain English.

But Marcus didn’t laugh at me. He just looked at the photo and then looked at me, studying my face with an intensity that made my skin flush. And then he told me he thought I was right—that the boy in the picture is my brother.

He offered to help me find him.

My heart thuds heavily in my chest as I reach into my back pocket and pull out the small metal cigarette case I use as a wallet. I fish out the picture, running my fingertips over the familiar lines before handing it over to Ryland.

It feels a little like handing over a piece of my heart and hoping he won’t break it, but after the way Marcus reacted, I don’t feel as terrified as I once would have.

When Ryland takes it from me, the delicate way he handles it eases the tightness in my chest a little. He touches it like he knows it’s important to me, and that makes it important to him.

“That little boy is my brother. Maybe,” I add quickly, hating myself a little for qualifying my words like that.

I tell them both the same thing I told Marcus that night, about how a girl from foster care gave me this picture and how I’ve spent countless hours and money I really couldn’t afford to spend trying to track him down.

They both listen in silence, and by the time I finish speaking, we’ve pulled back into Theo’s garage.

He turns off the engine and shifts in his seat, taking the picture from Ryland and examining it carefully before handing it back to me. His fingertips brush against mine as I take the small photograph, and he catches my gaze.

“I’m not surprised Marcus offered to help you look. He’d do just about anything for you, Rose.” He glances back at the picture as I tuck it away, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “And he knows what it’s like to miss someone. Ry and I are both only children, but Marcus had a little sister. She died when he was a kid.”

I snap the cigarette case closed, blinking at Theo in shock. “He never told me that.”

“Yeah.” Theo casts a glance at Ryland, his lips pulling to one side. “He doesn’t talk about her a lot.”

Emotions swirl around inside my chest, and I can’t tell if I’m angry Marcus didn’t tell me about his sister or… or what. He basically forced me to tell him about my brother, and then he didn’t even tell me he had a sibling too?

I hate that he didn’t. I hate that there’s still so much I don’t know about him. Pieces of himself he hasn’t trusted me with, no matter how deeply obsessed with me or attached to me he might be.

But then, I’ve kept parts of myself hidden too.

Despite the spark of chemistry that flared like white-hot lightning between us, despite the genuine feelings I’ve developed for him, I still kept parts of myself out of his reach. It was a self-preservation instinct born out of too many lessons learned the hard way over the years, but I wish I’d let him in more. That I’d trusted him more.

What if I never get the chance now?

“What was her name?” I murmur.

“Alexis.” Theo’s voice is low. “She died when she was six.”

“Did you know her?”

He nods, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Yeah. She was a sweet kid. Marcus fucking adored her.”

I can hear the truth of his statement in his voice, and I try to imagine Marcus as a little kid, doting on and protecting a little sister. A little girl with features that mirror his, who looks at him like he’s her knight in shining armor.

I bet he was a great older brother.

Stuffing the cigarette case back into my pocket, I glance between Theo and Ryland. “You guys have known each other almost your whole lives, right?”

“Yeah,” Theo says. “As long as I can remember, really. The three of us have always been a unit.”

“It’s why Carson and Dominic teamed up to take us down. Along with whoever else Carson recruited.” Ryland’s expression hardens. “Like Theo said, alliances between players don’t usually mean shit. But the three of us would never turn on each other; we’ll always have each other’s backs. It’s painted a target on all of our backs, because people know we’re stronger together. So they’ll do what they can to split us up so they can try to pick us off individually.”

He doesn’t say the next words, but I hear them anyway as my mind flashes back to the pool of blood I woke up in yesterday.

Maybe someone’s already succeeded.

CHAPTER 9

OVER THE NEXT THREE DAYS, my head and hand both begin to heal. The nasty knot on the side of my skull fades, and the cuts on my knuckles scab and heal over.

But my heart only seems to grow more and more broken, infected with a pain that refuses to ease.

Ryland and Theo, filled with the same sense of urgency I am, spend nearly every waking minute of every day searching for answers about what happened to Marcus. Ryland goes to see Dominic, which scares the fuck out of me despite their reassurances that no violence will erupt in this period of peace.

But Dominic continues to insist he has no idea who shot Carson or who might’ve taken Marcus.

Just that it wasn’t him.

“Do you believe him?” I ask in frustration after Ryland returns and gives us a run-down of his conversation with Dominic.

“I don’t fucking know.” He shakes his head, his hazel eyes hard. “His story didn’t change. And he claims he didn’t know about any third person working with Carson. Seemed really fucking pissed about it when I told him, actually.”

The three of us are gathered in Theo’s kitchen, which has become our de facto war room. It’s a big house with plenty of other rooms, but this seems to be the one we all gravitate toward no matter what. I’m still staying in the guest room upstairs. Clothes showed up in the closet one day—a variety of outfits in a style that matches my old clothes—and I know Theo or Ryland had them delivered.

Ryland is staying here too. I think he’s only been back to his own house once since we arrived here on the day the game ended, to get some of his own clothes and bring them here.

None of us seem to want to be far apart from each other.

I’ve called in sick to work the last several nights. The idea of going back to Duke’s and serving drinks to rowdy college students as if nothing is wrong makes my heart constrict painfully. I’ll have to figure something out long term, since I know Duke isn’t going to buy my excuses for too much longer. I’ve only called in sick once before since I started working there, and that was only for a single shift.

“Too bad we can’t fucking ask Carson. He got put in the ground yesterday,” Theo says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Police have ruled his death a homicide but have no suspects.”

I wonder how much of that is Luca’s influence. The fact that all that security footage was erased has to hamper the police’s investigation as much as it does our own, but it’s also pretty likely that he used whatever influence he has to nudge the cops toward back-burnering the case.

“Yeah. Dominic was at his funeral.” Ryland drums his fingers over the marble island. “He told me Gabriel and Michael were there too.”

“Two other players in the game,” Theo explains when he sees my confused look. “Both come from old mafia families.”

I blink. “So they spent seventy-two hours trying to kill him and each other, and then they went to his funeral?”

“Yeah. And they’ll probably be invited to…” Theo’s voice dies. His jaw tightens as he clears his throat and continues. “To Marcus’s wake.”

My stomach seems to drop out of my body. The room around me blurs a little, my vision going fuzzy around the edges as I press my palm against the countertop. “His… what?”

“The Constantines are having a wake for their son on Saturday,” Ryland says quietly.

My gaze flies to him, then back to Theo. I shake my head, the movement wild and desperate. “No. No, they can’t. We’re still looking for him. They can’t—”

“We’ll keep looking, Ayla.” His hazel eyes burn with inner fire. “We won’t stop. But we can’t keep them from doing this. They’re his family. They get to call this shot.”

“On Saturday?” I repeat, feeling like I’m asking when a guillotine will fall.

He nods. “You don’t have to come with us. It—”

“No. I want to.”

It’s a lie. I don’t fucking want to. I’d rather eat glass than go to a wake for a man I’ve been praying isn’t dead. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting Theo and Ryland face it on their own. I can still remember the haunted look in Theo’s eyes when he told me that the prospect of losing Marcus felt worse than losing his own father. I can still see Ryland’s grief in the taut lines of his face and the tension he carries in every part of his body.

As wrecked as I am by Marcus’s disappearance, so are they.

And if they can face going to his wake, so can I.

I’ve never believed in fate or destiny. I still don’t think there was any kind of divine intervention that led my path to cross with theirs on that night two and a half years ago when I got shot.

But it doesn’t really matter what brought us together. Because these men are in my life now, in my heart in a way I never expected anyone to be. Our lives are forever entwined.

And I will never let any of them go.

THE BLACK DRESS I pulled from my closet is a flattering a-line that gently hugs my curves. A bias-cut neckline shows off the pale skin of my throat, and my arms are bare. I secured my dark hair into a messy ponytail, but the messiness looks intentional somehow when paired with the dress.

I look classy and elegant, refined and understated—except for the bold tattoo that covers my arm and the scarred stump of my forearm.

Fuck it. And fuck anyone who doesn’t like it.

My prosthesis was destroyed in the fire, and I haven’t had time to get a new one made. We’ve been busy with other things, distracted by concerns that matter more than a fake arm. And considering that this dress showed up in my wardrobe a day ago, another gift from one of the guys, I’m guessing neither of them have a problem with me wearing something sleeveless. Hell, they picked it out for me.

I glance at my reflection one more time, dragging a little mascara through my eyelashes before screwing the cap back on one-handed.

I look… okay.

More okay than I feel, honestly. There are dark circles under my eyes, and the small bruises I got during the game have faded into unflattering greens and yellows. But I look functional. Normal, almost.

I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that a broken heart can’t be seen on the outside.

“Ayla. You ready?”

There’s a soft rap at the bathroom door, and I open it to find Theo standing there. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored bespoke suit in a dark charcoal color. His hair is styled, and the lines of the suit make him look even taller than usual. He looks older like this—or maybe it’s just the matching circles under his eyes that give that effect.

His blue-green eyes spark with warmth as he takes in my appearance. I feel his gaze drift over my tattoo and my scars, but the attention doesn’t make my nerves prickle with discomfort like it normally does when people look at my ruined arm. Instead, it sends a small spark of heat shooting through me.

Nothing has happened between us since the morning we found solace and comfort in each other as he kissed away my tears.

But the way he looks at me sometimes… the way I feel when I look at him…

It scares the fuck out of me.

Because it feels real.

As if drawn by my thoughts, Theo steps closer to me. His arm goes around my waist as he tucks a small, escaped strand of hair behind my ear. It’s an embrace that walks the fine line between platonic and so much more, and I find myself leaning into his touch, turning my head to chase the brush of his fingertips.

His hand lingers at my face, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw as he gazes down at me. His blue-green eyes hold more than I could ever hope to decipher, and the silence between us fills with things neither of us are ready to say.

The version of Theo I’ve lived with for the past week is more serious, more somber than the charming man with the laughing eyes I met at Duke’s all that time ago.

I miss that version of him. I hate seeing the light in him so dimmed.

Maybe it’s that thought that spurs me to reach up and grab his hand, cradling it in mine as I turn my head to press a kiss to his palm.

He makes a noise low in his throat, and that small sound somehow manages to travel all the way through my body. When I look back up into his eyes, he threads our fingers together, giving my hand a squeeze.

“Come on. It’s time.”

Ryland meets us downstairs. His suit is pure black, and it fits him perfectly, setting off the deep, rich colors of the tattoos that crawl up his neck all the way to his jawline. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and a shadow of scruff dusts his jaw, making him look just a little disheveled.

His gaze flits down to where Theo’s and my hands are still clasped, and something passes behind his eyes. I can’t quite tell what it is, but it makes my stomach flip over.

Is he angry?

Fuck, I hope not.

Whatever the emotion is, it’s gone before I can identify it, and he nods to both of us before leading the way out to the garage. He takes the back seat with me while Theo gets behind the wheel, and we arrive at a large church in downtown Halston thirty minutes later.

People are already starting to arrive. Well-dressed men and women in expensive-looking black clothes walk up the wide steps leading into the church, and Ryland and Theo fall into place on either side of me as we join them.

Inside the church, the pews are filling up. We end up in one near the front, and as I settle onto the seat, a man with dark hair catches my eye.

Dominic.

He’s on the other side of the aisle, sitting next to an older couple—his parents, maybe?

My pulse jumps, adrenaline flooding my bloodstream as my body prepares for a fight that won’t come. Violence isn’t permitted right now. I know that logically, but the animal part of me looks at Dominic and sees only a threat.

The last time I saw him, he aimed a gun at Ryland. He almost shot Ryland, and it’s impossible for me to think of anything else as I stare at his angular face.

Theo rests a hand on my knee, probably feeling the discomfort pouring out of me. I force myself to draw in a shaky breath as I drag my gaze away from Dominic, sweeping it over the rest of the crowd.

“Michael and Gabriel,” Theo murmurs, inclining his head toward two other men who sit in the middle of the crowd. They’re the ones he said belong to mafia families, and both have dark hair and dour looks.

“And Victoria.” Ryland’s voice is a low rumble, heavy with dislike. I turn my head, my gaze following his.

The woman sitting several rows ahead of us has auburn hair that’s caught in a half-updo. Several long strands tumble down around her shoulders, and when she turns to survey the crowd herself, I get a glimpse of her profile. She has a long, elegant neck, a perfectly straight nose, and high cheekbones. Her face is stunning, honestly, but there’s something cold about her that gives a sharpness to her features. Like she’s been carefully carved out of ice.

“She’s the only woman competing to be Luca’s successor,” Theo tells me quietly.

My eyes widen a little, and I examine the woman more closely. She’s probably not more than a few years older than me, maybe twenty-five at the most. But I wonder if she ever looked childlike or innocent, even when she was an actual child.

Music begins to play, stealing my attention away from Victoria. The song continues as the last several people make their way to their seats, and when it stops, a priest steps up to the lectern on the raised dais.

“Ladies and gentleman, friends and family, thank you for being here with us today as we celebrate the life and mourn the death of Marcus Evan Constantine. He is survived by his loving parents, Norah and Gideon, and although he is no longer with us, his memory will endure in our hearts.”

At the mention of Marcus’s parents, I scan the crowd again. When I see them, I freeze. They’re up at the front, sitting on the other side of the aisle. I can only make out their profiles, but I can see the family resemblance between them and their son—particularly Gideon Constantine. The strong lines of his face and the set of his jaw reminds me so much of Marcus that my chest constricts painfully.

They’re both sitting rigid and still, their gazes fixed on the priest at the front. Neither of them are crying, and a sudden blinding rush of fury fills me.

They did this.

They condemned their son to death.

They should be wailing, sobbing, beating their chests and tearing their hair. They should be begging for forgiveness—from god or the devil or whoever might grant them absolution.

I know heartbreak isn’t always visible on the outside, but in this moment, I desperately want theirs to be. I want to know that Marcus’s loss has destroyed them. I want to know that they’re fucking sorry.

Gideon’s brown hair blurs in my vision, his features going out of focus as tears well in my eyes. My hand is barely recovered from the last time I punched someone, but I feel my fingers curl into a fist, clenching so tightly that my nails dig into my palm.

A large hand settles over mine, and I jerk slightly, pulled out of my thoughts. When I look over at Ryland, his jaw is set so tightly that the muscles in the side of his face bulge. Tears track in a silent stream down his face, slipping off his chin to disappear into the black fabric of his suit.

Something about witnessing his pain brings my own pain closer to the surface, and I close my eyes as the priest goes on with his eulogy.

The words the priest is saying mean little to me. The life he’s describing, the picture he’s painting, doesn’t fit what I know of Marcus’s life. There’s no mention of the game, no mention of the night he almost died two and a half years ago. It’s a sterilized, curated version of his life.

It’s not real.

Anger churns inside me, and to keep myself from leaping to my feet and screaming at the entire crowd, calling them out as hypocrites, liars, and murderers, I focus on the feel of Ryland’s hand over mine. On the warmth of Theo’s arm as it brushes against mine.

The feel of them sitting beside me doesn’t lessen my anger, but it sharpens it.

Focuses it.

Marcus’s parents signed him up to play Luca’s deadly game. They gambled their son’s life on a shot at incredible power, and they lost.

I won’t let the same thing happen to Ryland and Theo.

CHAPTER 10

I’M quiet on the way back from the wake.

There was a reception scheduled afterward so the gathered guests could give their condolences to Marcus’s parents and mingle among themselves. According to Theo, deals and negotiations are probably being done even at a time like this, everyone jockeying for position as the dust settles in the aftermath of the game.

I couldn’t stomach the thought of that, though, so we left pretty much as soon as the wake finished.

Ryland’s eyes are red, and he hasn’t spoken since we left the church. Theo doesn’t look much better, but I can feel his concern for the two of us as he glances into the rearview mirror.

“You okay?” he asks, catching my eye.

“No.” I swallow, shaking my head. My fingers dig into my thigh. “I want to fucking end this. You said the game only ends when you either kill all your opponents or win their allegiance? Then I want to help you do that.”

Ryland glances at me sharply. “No.”

“Yes.” I turn toward him on the seat, my nostrils flaring. “You said it was too late to keep me out of this. I’m a part of it already. So let me help you end it. There has to be something I can do. Some way I can help.”

“No.” His voice is just as forceful as mine, his hazel eyes hard. “It’s one thing to let you see into this world. It’s another fucking thing entirely to make you a player in this game, Ayla. Carson already tried to use you against us once, and look how that fucking turned out. Is that what you want? Huh?”

“No! I want to keep that from happening ever again. I’m not letting either of you get fucking hurt!”

“It’s not your choice,” Ryland shoots back. “It’s not your goddamn call.”

“Yes, it is. You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

We’re both nearly shouting, our voices drowning out the music that plays softly from the speakers. I catch Theo darting a glance at us in the rearview mirror, and I press my lips together, turning away from Ryland and staring out the window as I blink back angry tears.

Part of me knows this is just all the anger and sadness that built up in me during the wake pouring out, needing some outlet before it chokes me—but I can’t accept what Ryland is saying.

I don’t give a shit what he says. I’m finding a way to end this, with or without their help.

We pull into Theo’s garage several minutes later, and as he cuts off the engine, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers, speaking softly as Ryland and I unbuckle our seatbelts. Then he hangs up and turns around to face us.

“Dammit. I’ve gotta head back out. My uncle’s being a fucking cock, and I need to deal with him before he gets my mom to sign over her share of the company.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Can I leave you two alone without you killing each other?”

Ryland makes a noise in his throat that’s not exactly a confirmation or a denial, and I huff out a breath—but Theo must decide those answers are good enough. He leans between the two front seats, palming the back of my head before pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my lips. His eyes bounce between mine as he pulls back, studying me carefully. “Be good, okay?”

I nod, my skin tingling from the soft kiss. My entire body feels uncomfortably alive right now, like there’s too much inside of me. Too many emotions to be contained in one person.

I don’t say any of that though. I just slide out of the back seat before Ryland climbs out after me. Theo pulls out of the garage as Ryland unlocks the door to the house, and as soon as he steps inside, I brush past him, heading for the stairs to the second floor.

But before I can even make it across the kitchen, a hand closes tightly around my wrist.

I jerk to a stop, then whirl around to glare at Ryland, tugging against his hold on me. “What?”

“You think I don’t know what you’re fucking thinking?” He narrows his hazel eyes, his full lips pressing into a line. “I know how goddamn stubborn you are. I know you don’t give up. You probably think you can take on every single person in this competition, but you can’t.”

“I never said I wanted to do that.” I pull harder against his vise-like grip, wishing I had my other fucking hand so I could slap him. He’s twisting my words, twisting my intentions, making it sound like I have some kind of death wish. “I said I want to help! Why won’t you let me do that?”

“I’m trying to protect you,” he grits out, pulling me a little closer.

We’re less than two feet apart now, and I can see how bloodshot his eyes are, how sallow his face looks. It breaks my fucking heart. What would he look like if Theo died too? Would he even survive that kind of loss?

“I’m trying to protect you too, you asshole!” I yell, shoving at him with the stump of my ruined arm. He falls back a step, and instead of pulling away, I follow him, narrowing the space between us to less than a foot.

“You’ve already done enough.” Ryland’s body tenses, his shoulders squaring as if he’s facing off against an enemy in battle.

“What are you talking about?”

He yanks on my wrist, pulling me toward him so sharply that my chest crashes against his. I can feel the wild rhythm of his heart as he stares down at me like I’m fucking crazy.

“How do you not get it?” he rasps. “How the fuck do you not get it by now, Ayla? You didn’t just save Marcus’s life the night you took those bullets for him. You saved mine. You saved Theo’s.”

I blink up at him, completely thrown off balance. “What do you mean? The gun was aimed at Marcus. The bullets—”

“I’m not talking about the gun.” He shakes his head, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’m not talking about the bullets.”

“Then what—”

My words break off as I realize exactly what he means. He’s talking about this.

About the grief that’s eating through his soul like acid.

About having to go to a wake for one of his best friends.

About losing himself under a tidal wave of pain.

My stomach tightens. A small noise escapes my mouth, and I shake my head. “But I didn’t save you this time. I didn’t save him.”

Tears sting my eyes like shards of glass. It’s the first time I’ve spoken those words out loud, but as I say them, regret rises up inside me. I twist my arm out of Ryland’s hold and step back, my skin going cold.

“It should’ve been me. If Marcus just would’ve let me—”

Ryland doesn’t even let me finish. He moves into my space again, towering over me as he growls, “Don’t fucking say that.”

He looks furious. Unhinged, almost. The same way he looked at Doctor Adelman’s office when his bottled-up emotions exploded out of him.

“You don’t wish it had been me?” I challenge, lifting my chin. It’s a cruel question to ask, I know that. It’s going to hurt him or me or both of us, but I can’t stop myself. “I did it once. Why not a second time? Don’t you wish it’d been me who got shot instead of Marcus? Because I sure as fuck do.”

Ryland’s face freezes, his expression turning to stone. “Don’t ask me that. You can’t fucking ask me that.”

“Why not?” I blurt.

I’m on the verge of crying again. I’ve never felt so emotionally unhinged in my life as I have during the past week, not even after the first time my foster father raped me. Not even after I woke up in the hospital to learn that I’d lost my arm.

Ryland drags in a shuddering breath, his nostrils flickering. “Because you can’t ask me to choose between two things I love.”

The kitchen around us seems to fade away as I blink at him in shock.

There’s not a hint of a lie on his face as he glares down at me. Just anger and pain and… truth.

It’s too much. I should laugh in his face and tell him he has to be mistaken. That he can’t possibly love me when he’s only known me for a little over a month. That the years he and his friends spent hiding in the shadows of my life don’t count, and that this is his grief talking, or his obsession, or his lust.

But I don’t say any of that. I can’t. My traitorous fucking heart won’t let me.

Because it doesn’t care what logic says. It doesn’t care that this is insane.

It cares about Ryland.

It cares about Marcus.

It cares about Theo.

Maybe a tiny part of me, the part that’s been hurt over and over again and expects nothing else anymore, hoped that forcing Ryland’s hand would make him admit he doesn’t care about me. That he sees me as a useful tool, a human shield who kept his friend safe once, and nothing more.

I wanted him to push me away so I could run without feeling like a coward.

But he didn’t.

And I don’t think he ever will.

“I’m sorry.” The words are a choked whisper, and tears stick to my eyelashes as I try to blink them away.

Ryland’s face cracks. Every bit of careful control falls away as he grabs my face in both hands and kisses me.

It’s an immolating kiss.

The kind that ruins you.

The kind you don’t walk away from unchanged.

His lips are hard and demanding, his tongue forceful as it invades my mouth. There was a hint of this in our kiss at the safe house the morning after they rescued me from Carson and Dominic. But I could feel Ryland holding himself back, pulling himself away from me, resisting with all his might.

Now? He’s not resisting.

He’s not holding back.

He’s… unleashed.

His kiss doesn’t stop, as if now that he’s started, he’ll die if he breaks the contact of our lips. His arms wrap around me, pinning my body to his as we gasp and groan into each other’s mouths.

My skin still feels overly sensitive, my heightened emotional state making my nerves buzz and hum like live wires.

But even though I feel everything tenfold right now, it doesn’t hurt to be touched by Ryland. It feels good.

He lifts me like I weigh nothing, carrying me over to the kitchen island and perching me on the edge of it, still kissing me fiercely. His hands tug at the zipper of my dress, dragging it down partway before giving up on the zipper and yanking the top of my dress down. He spreads my legs wider with his thigh, shoving the hem of my dress up as he steps between my thighs.

As my legs part, I realize how wet I am. My panties are soaked from just his hungry, devouring kiss.

He manages to work my dress off my arms, leaving the fabric bunched around my waist as his palms glide over my bare skin, skating over my shoulders before moving down to cup my breasts. He pinches one nipple sharply through my bra, and I yelp into his mouth, a sharp zing of pleasure and pain shooting through me. He does it again, and the noise I make this time is more like a moan. My nipple is hard as glass, the lace of my bra scratching against my skin as he rolls the little bud between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck, Ayla,” he mutters against my mouth. “I tried. Goddammit, I tried so hard not to want you. Not to fucking love you.”

I bite his bottom lip, dragging it between my teeth, and he grunts, wrapping his free arm around my lower back and hauling me closer to the edge of the kitchen island. His clothed cock grinds against my core, and we both shudder as he thrusts shallowly against me.

Releasing my breast, he reaches up to grab my chin, tilting my head up as he pulls his mouth away from mine. His spicy sandalwood scent permeates my senses, making me hungry for more of him.

“Don’t you see?” His hazel eyes burn into mine. “You’d be better off if I didn’t love you. If I didn’t need you. If we could let you go.”

Even as he speaks, even as he tries to talk both of us out of this, his hands don’t stop roaming over my body, and his hips don’t stop thrusting against mine.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe I would be better off. Maybe I would be safer.

But that’s not the fucking point anymore.

Because he doesn’t just need me. I need him too.

We’re in way too fucking deep by now. Might as well drown together.

I hook my legs around his waist and dig my heels into his ass, urging him closer, squeezing him tighter. My hand moves between us, awkwardly tugging at his tie to loosen it. I get it halfway untied before I get too impatient, moving on to his buttons instead, flicking them open until I can reach inside and run my palm over the hard, warm planes of his chest.

His muscles flex under my touch, and I pinch his nipple just like he pinched mine, drawing a growl from his lips. His mouth swoops down on mine again, capturing it in another eviscerating kiss as he slips a hand between my legs, shoving the wet fabric of my panties aside as he slides two fingers through my folds.

I shiver and tighten my hold around his waist, squeezing him with my legs.

“Ryland! Please!”

He growls again. It’s a warning, a promise that we’re going to do this his way.

His fingers dip inside me, just teasing me with the feeling of fullness I need so badly before he drags them up again, circling my clit with hard, fast motions.

I gasp into our kiss, sliding my hand down his stomach and tugging his shirt from the waistband of his pants before going for his belt buckle. It’s hard as fuck to get it undone one-handed, and I curse against his lips, whining in frustration.

The sound seems to penetrate his single-minded focus, and he reaches down to help me, the fingers of his other hand slowing a little on my clit. The change of tempo makes me moan. His fingers slide over my sensitive bundle of nerves, slippery with my own arousal, and it’s suddenly too much for me to take.

Pleasure blooms outward in a scorching wave, making my whole body shudder and jerk beneath his touch. He pulls away a little, his pants hanging half open as he watches the orgasm tear through my body, and the look on his face is one of almost tortured awe.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long,” he mutters, his pupils expanding as desire darkens his eyes. “That night, at the safe house. God, I wanted you.”

He had me.

Even then, he had me.

“All you had to do was take me,” I whisper, my words shaking slightly as the orgasm ripples through my system.

“I was too fucking scared I’d break you.”

A low laugh falls from my lips. I pull back a little, glancing down at myself—at the three bullet holes that mar my chest, the scabs on my knuckles, the faint scar that runs down the line of my left forearm. My eyes find Ryland’s again as I look up.

“Do I look like I break easily?”

His nostrils flare, a new kind of heat burning in his eyes. “No.”

Then his hands move to his pants again, shoving them down around his hips before retrieving his cock. He fists it at the base, gripping it tightly as his other hand hooks my panties.

I shift my weight, allowing him to pull them off and toss them aside. My shoes clatter to the floor, and Ryland slides his hand up my thigh again, teasing my entrance and smearing my arousal over my skin.

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he rasps.

My heart slams against my ribs as I hold his gaze. “I don’t care.”

With a noise that doesn’t even sound human, he guides the thick head of his cock to my entrance and slams his hips forward.

My mouth falls open as my head drops back, my back arching as every nerve-ending in my body screams. Ryland slides one arm around me, his broad palm coming to rest between my shoulder blades, holding me up as he pulls out and drives in again.

He didn’t lie.

Nothing about this is gentle.

But I didn’t lie either.

I don’t fucking care.

For most of the past week, I’ve felt anxious and on edge, disassociated from my body and untethered. But the hard thrusts of Ryland’s cock send me hurtling back to earth, grounding me firmly in the present moment.

There’s nothing else to think about. There’s nothing else to feel.

Just the connection between our bodies, the way he hits my clit every time he pounds into me, the way his lips slam down on mine with the same ferocity of his thrusts.

I loop my arm around his neck, holding on for dear life as he fucks me hard and fast.

My ass keeps sliding backward on the countertop, farther away from him, and he lets out a frustrated growl as he grabs my hips with both hands, hauling me back toward him. Now that he’s got me pinned, he drives into me even harder, and the punishing stretch of his cock filling me borders on pain.

But that doesn’t stop pleasure from spiraling through me too, building slow and steady inside me as a counterpoint to our frantic, desperate movements.

“Ryland…” I gasp his name, the word leaving my mouth in three syllables as my body shakes from the force of his thrusts. “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna… fuck… please…”

“Let me see you.”

He drives into me twice more and then stops, grinding hard against my clit and pressing into me so deeply that he hits the back of my channel. I gasp as pleasure turns to pain and back again, and he rears back, grabbing my chin and staring hungrily at my face as the orgasm crests inside me. He watches as my eyelids droop, my mouth drops open, a low cry falls from my lips.

And whatever he sees on my face pushes him over the edge too.

I feel his body shudder between my legs, and he draws back and slams into me again in three long, deep strokes as he comes hard. Sticky liquid spills out from where we’re connected as he strokes in and out a few more times, breathing harshly.

Then he wraps his arms around me and lifts me off the countertop, his cock still buried inside me as he carries me out of the kitchen.

We must look like a fucking mess. His pants are hanging low on his hips, the fabric of my dress is bunched around my waist, leaving me bottomless and topless, and his shirt is half unbuttoned, his tie half undone.

But I really don’t care about that either.

CHAPTER 11

I’M NOT sure where Ryland is taking me until we get there.

Keeping a firm grip on me with one hand, he opens a door with the other, stepping inside the guest bedroom where he’s been staying and kicking the door closed behind us.

I expect him to set me down on the bed, but instead, he takes a seat on the mattress, settling me on his lap with my legs straddling his waist. His cock pulses inside me, and we both give a little shudder before he pulls back to look me in the eyes.

His hazel irises are softer than I’ve ever seen them. Even the angular lines of his face seem less harsh.

He runs a hand through my hair, tangling his fingers in the dark locks, and I glance down at his disheveled clothes. I’m a little pissed at myself that I didn’t even get his shirt all the way off. I can see hints of the delicious ink that covers his torso peeking out from the opening where I managed to get his buttons undone. It’s beautiful, and I wish I’d gotten the chance to explore all of it.

As if reacting to my heated gaze, Ryland makes a noise in his throat. It draws my attention back up to his face, and the second my eyes meet his again, he leans forward to kiss me.

This is like our first kiss.

Soft and gentle, just the barest brush of our lips.

Only this time it’s better, because it doesn’t feel so much like he’s trying to pull away.

And neither am I.

The weight of what just happened settles over me as we break apart, and I tug my bottom lip between my teeth.

Is this totally fucked up? Is it insane for me to have feelings for all three of the men who’ve basically stalked me for the past two and a half years?

And did I just betray Marcus somehow?

Ryland shakes his head. I’m sure I didn’t say any of that out loud, but he seems to have read my thoughts somehow.

“Marcus knows.” His full lips, swollen and red from our bruising kisses, ghost over mine once more. “He knows how I feel about you. How Theo feels about you. He’s always known. And he meant what he said in the alley that night. I’m sure of it. We’ve never shared a woman before, but we all knew you were different from the very first moment you came into our lives.”

Something warm and sweet spreads through my chest. It’s almost painful how good it feels—the two feelings blending together, just like they did during our hard fuck earlier.

It’s not just Ryland’s reassurance that Marcus would be okay with this. It’s the fact that he’s speaking of his friend in present tense.

As if he’s still alive.

As if he could walk through the front door at any moment.

I didn’t realize until this moment just how much the wake had gotten to me. How much it hurt to hear Marcus referred to over and over as someone who used to exist, who used to be alive.

But Ryland doesn’t believe that. And even if it’s stupid to keep clinging to hope, I’ll be right there clinging beside him.

I lean forward again, stealing another kiss from Ryland’s addictive lips, chasing his mouth when he drops his head back a little. I press my lips harder to his, taking the kiss deeper as I let my tongue dart out to taste him. Then pull away a fraction of an inch, the first genuine smile in days tugging at the corners of my lips.

“I guess this means I won our fight.” I kiss him again, squeezing my inner walls around him and making him groan. “I’m helping you guys. Whether you like it or not.”

RYLAND DOESN’T LIKE IT.

At all.

But he relents, and that’s all I need.

By the time Theo returns, Ryland and I have put ourselves back together and changed into more comfortable clothes. We’re in the kitchen sipping whiskey when he walks in, looking exhausted and annoyed but satisfied. I’m guessing he was able to put out whatever fire he had to deal with between his mom and his uncle.

“Jesus. I need one of those.”

He walks over to join us, slipping off his tie and dropping it on the countertop before pouring himself a drink too. He joins us on the barstools that line one side of the island, taking the seat on my left side.

His blue-green gaze darts between the two of us, and I get the feeling he knows exactly what happened while he was gone, although unlike the night he picked me up from Marcus’s house, I don’t think I still smell like sex this time.

He and Ryland share a look, and something passes between the two of them. I don’t know quite what it is, but it’s not anger. I don’t even think it’s jealousy. More like understanding, maybe.

Theo takes a sip of his whiskey, and I lean my elbow on the countertop, resting my chin in my hand. “So, tell me about the other players in the game.”

He cocks one eyebrow, looking mildly amused. “Ah. So Ryland agreed to let you play, huh?”

I shrug. “I won’t be an official player. I know that. But he agreed to let me help.”

I can practically feel Ryland’s dislike of this plan radiating from him like an aura, but his surly expression doesn’t intimidate me like it once might have.

Theo purses his lips. “I can give you the rundown, Rose, but…” He grimaces. “I mean, we’ve been playing this game for four years now, and not much has ever happened in between the seventy-two-hour free-for-alls. People jockey for position all the time, but nobody’s really amassed any loyal followers. Everyone wants the prize too bad, so even if there’s only a slim chance they’ll win, they’d rather take those odds than swear allegiance to someone else and give up their shot at the crown.”

Worry curls through my stomach. Maybe it’s arrogant of me to think I can make any difference in this endeavor. I don’t know this world like these two men do, so what can I do to help?

But I shrug again, leaning back and picking up my drink. I swirl the amber liquid in the glass before taking a sip. “The alternative is to do nothing, and I can’t handle that. Maybe I can help you spot something you didn’t see before. Some leverage you can use against the other competitors.”

Theo glances down briefly, and I can tell it’s because he doesn’t want me to see the pain in his eyes.

Even as things settle between the three of us, feelings growing and deepening, there’s still a sense of wrongness that hangs over everything.

This isn’t right.

We’re missing a piece.

But all we can do is forge ahead.

“Okay.” Theo nods decisively. “Well, you saw three of them today. Four, counting Dominic. You already know Dom, which means you also know he’s a sniveling little weasel and a backstabber. He comes from old money. Old money. The Roths are one of the most powerful families in Halston to begin with, although their strength has been slipping a little over the past few years.”

I nod. Thinking of Dominic sends a chill down my spine, and my fingers twitch, unconsciously itching to curl into a fist. But I take in everything Theo says as calmly as I can, absorbing the information and storing it away.

“Michael and Gabriel both come from mafia families,” Ryland puts in. He still sounds reluctant, but when I turn to face him, he elaborates. “The Savianos and Morellos, respectively. They’ve been enemies for years, but they supposedly made a truce to help them win the competition. So far, it’s holding up, but as more players fall, it’ll start crumbling as they start looking for ways to take each other down.”

“Got it.” I chew my lip, thinking of the two dark-haired men I saw in the church. Then I narrow my eyes. “What about Victoria? What’s her story?”

“Victoria Tatum,” Theo supplies. “She’s the opposite of Dom. Her family rose to power about ten years ago. Came from pretty much nothing, but a couple of risky investments paid off and put them on the map. She’s smart and cunning as fuck. If there’s anybody who’s got a shot at winning through political maneuvering alone, it’s gotta be her.”

“No. It’s gotta be us,” I correct fiercely, and he shoots me a lopsided grin.

“You know, with you on our team, I’m actually starting to believe that.”

I bite my lip to hide my smile, then lift my chin. “Who else?”

“The only one left is Adrian Reyes.” Ryland’s lip curls. “His dad owns a massive law firm and has cut deals with most of the criminals in town. He’s dirty as fuck.”

“That’s it?” I count off in my head, tapping my finger against my glass. “So that means four out of the twelve are dead already.”

“Yup,” Theo says. “Jack, Xavier, Devin, and now Carson.”

None of us mention Marcus, but the kitchen grows silent for a moment, and I’m absolutely certain that’s where all of our thoughts have gone.

The guys’ search for him has yielded no results so far, and the only upside to that is that it means there’s still no body.

Until I see irrefutable evidence, I won’t let go of my hope.

“All right,” I say after the silence drags out a beat too long. “Then I guess the next question is, what do each of them want? What do they need? Or even better, what are they afraid of?”

Theo’s brows pull together a little, and he gives me an impressed look.

“Vicious.” He shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “None of us wanted to drag you into this world, but you’re adapting to it fast.”

I flex my fingers, remembering the pain that radiated up my forearm after I punched Natalie. Then I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Well, I’m pissed the fuck off.”

We spend the rest of the evening discussing the ins and outs of the power structure in Halston, and how the various families have interacted over the years. It’s a lot to take in, but I suck up every bit of information like a vacuum, determined to turn it into something useful later.

Like a weapon.

Over the next several days, Theo and Ryland continue my crash course in the underworld of Halston, where the criminal and elite classes war with each other and occasionally work together.

It helps, having something to focus on. It doesn’t fill the hole in my heart, but it distracts me from the gnawing pain.

On Wednesday, Theo and Ryland both drive me over to Duke’s. Theo pulls over outside the bar, and I peer out the front passenger window at the large, weathered sign that hangs out front.

I can’t work here anymore. I don’t need the money for rent, and there are other things I need to be focusing on. Besides, there are too many memories of Marcus in this place.

But a twinge of regret fills my chest anyway. I like Duke. He hired an amputee to work as a bartender, and he put up with my ups and downs in the months after I got hired.

He’s part of the reason I survived and got my feet back under me, and I’ll always owe him for that.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” I glance over at Theo and Ryland, wondering if they’ll accept my subtle hint that I want to go in alone.

It says a lot about how our relationship has changed that they both accept without question.

“We’ll be here.” Theo gives my leg a squeeze. “Take your time.”

I’m sure that’s not quite accurate. If I take longer than five minutes, I have a feeling both men will show up inside, ready to fight whoever they have to in order to get me out in one piece.

They’re still on edge. We all are. So I can’t really blame them for being protective.

I slide out of the car and close the door with a quiet thunk. When I walk inside the bar, the place is almost empty. I deliberately picked a time when it wouldn’t be crazy busy so I could have a word with Duke.

The stocky bald man stands behind the bar, and his eyebrows shoot up when he sees me walk in. I called in sick for about five days, and ever since then I’ve just been trading all of my shifts away. I know he knows something is up. He called me two days ago, but I didn’t answer. I wanted to do this in person.

“Ayla.” He sets down the glass he just rinsed, stepping toward me as I approach the bar. “Where have you been? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I lie. “I just… some stuff has come up, and I don’t really have the time to work here anymore. You probably already figured that out, but I wanted to tell you myself.”

Duke’s eyes narrow. He flicks a glance toward the front windows, taking in the car idling in the street outside. It’s early evening, but still light enough that I’m sure he can see inside the vehicle.

He scrubs a hand over his chin, turning back to me. “Are you sure you’re all right? Are those guys giving you a hard time?”

I huff a small laugh. I don’t have any idea how to describe my relationship with Theo and Ryland, and I’m also well aware that to an outside observer, nothing about my current situation would probably make any sense at all.

“No, they’re not.” I shake my head, letting my expression grow more serious as I meet Duke’s worried eyes. “It’s complicated, but I’m all right.”

He doesn’t look all that convinced, but he nods. “Okay.”

Then he surprises me by stepping out from behind the bar. He squeezes my shoulder, which for Duke is pretty much the equivalent of a hug. “Take care of yourself, will you, Ayla? Be smart. Be safe.”

My chest tightens a little as I blink at him. It’s the most fatherly piece of advice I’ve ever gotten, from someone I never would’ve expected to become a father figure.

I nod, feeling suddenly awkward. I’m not great with shows of affection. “Yeah. I will. You too.”

That’s a lie too, but it slips off my tongue easily. I’m done playing it safe or worrying about being smart. I’m out for vengeance, and I want the men to win, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

Even if it’s not safe.

“Good. If you need work again down the line, there’s a spot for you here.” He gives my shoulder another squeeze before stepping back.

“Thanks. For everything.”

I shoot him a genuine smile, then turn and hurry toward the front door before I do something even more awkward, like try to hug him goodbye or something. Duke’s a good guy, and those seem to be in dangerously short supply sometimes.

When I step outside, both Ryland and Theo are watching me from the car. I slide back into the front passenger seat, and Theo tilts his head a little, examining my expression. “How’d it go?”

“Fine.” I make a face. “Or as well as it could. He was understanding, considering he doesn’t really get any of this.”

“Well, the good news is, I don’t have to ask if you’re free on Saturday night,” he says.

My brows furrow. “Why? What’s happening Saturday night?”

“Luca D’Addario is throwing a party.”

CHAPTER 12

CRYING.

Someone is crying.

I’m in a big, empty room. Shadowy figures move around me, but none of the shapes have enough form to be recognizable. I’m alone, but not alone.

Invisible, maybe.

My fingers tighten around the stuffed elephant in my hands, gripping its large ears. The stuffed animal’s fur is dingy and it’s missing an eye, but I cling to it like it’s valuable anyway.

It is.

To me.

To him.

He’ll want it back.

The crying gets louder, so loud that it makes my skin prickle and my heart race. I look around at the shadowed, formless figures around me, wondering why none of them are doing anything. They’re the ones who can. They’re the ones who have the power to fix this.

But they make no move, and the crying continues. It goes on and on—until suddenly, it stops. And I realize with a flash of dread that that’s worse.

Because that means he’s gone.

I clutch the little elephant, holding it tight to my chest.

It’s all I have left.

I JOLT AWAKE, my heart racing as half-remembered images flit through my mind.

Fuck.

With a low groan, I roll over onto my side, curling up into a ball. Despite the fact that things are changing between all of us, I haven’t had the guts to beg Theo to sleep in the guest room with me again—or to crawl into bed with him in his room. And right now, I really fucking wish I had.

I pull the blankets higher, tugging them up until they’re all the way over my head. Darkness envelops me, and I blink into it, trying to calm my racing pulse.

For the past several nights, I’ve had new, strange dreams instead of the usual fragmented memories of the night I was shot.

I don’t like it. The new dreams don’t make any sense. There’s nothing outwardly all that upsetting about them, but I always wake up in a cold sweat or on the verge of tears without knowing why.

And I also don’t like that Marcus has stopped appearing in my dreams. I don’t believe in signs from the universe, and I remind myself of that frequently, but his disappearance from my dreams worries me in a weird way. As if his energy has ceased to exist.

That’s bullshit, Ayla. I clench my teeth, mentally chastising myself. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just your mind dealing with trauma.

I lie in bed for a while longer, distracting myself from the lingering terror of the dream by going over my mental roster of players in the game. I’ll be meeting most of them for the first time tonight, at Luca D’Addario’s party, and I want to be ready.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this. According to the guys, he throws a party about once or twice a year, often falling within a month or less of the most recent bloodshed. It’s a chance for people to realign themselves as the fallout from the period of violence settles, and a chance for Luca to evaluate his chosen competitors.

Everyone involved in the game will be there, as well as other wealthy or connected members of the Halston elite.

I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it, to be honest.

On the one hand, it could give the guys and me a chance to start maneuvering for power—we’ve decided to go after Adrian first since he seems the least connected to other players, which makes him the most vulnerable.

But on the other hand, despite Theo’s insistence that I’ve got a knack for this kind of thing, I’m not sure how good I’ll be at playing the political games.

I’m used to saying what I mean, if I say anything at all, and the idea of having to cover ugly truths with pretty lies like these people all do sets my teeth on edge.

Will Marcus’s parents be there? If I meet them, will I be able to keep my mouth shut? There’s a lot I want to say to both of them, and none of it is good.

My mind starts to wander as my head clears, the dream dissipating into nothingness. I doze in bed for a while longer before getting up. In the early afternoon, Ryland takes me to get a dress. Unlike the clothes that just showed up in the guest room closet for me, they want me to pick this one out myself.

He takes me to an expensive as fuck boutique in downtown Halston, and intimidates the fuck out of the saleswoman as he waits for me with folded arms, his expression impassive. Or at least, it’s impassive until I step out of the dressing room. Then hunger infuses his features, the heat between us flaring so strongly that the saleswoman flushes and stammers some excuse before making herself scarce.

Ryland strides forward to meet me, reaching out to run his knuckles along my bare arm and leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. The dress is a backless design, made of a deep royal blue fabric. It hugs my breasts and waist before trailing softly down to the floor, just hinting at the shape of my legs beneath. It’s sexy but understated, and its thin straps show off every one of my old wounds, which is just what I want.

I want everyone I meet tonight to know they’re dealing with a warrior.

Let them see my fucking battle scars.

“Fuck, Ayla.” Ryland’s voice is hoarse. “You look…”

He shakes his head, like he can’t come up with the right word to describe it. But he doesn’t need to. The burning heat in his eyes tells me plenty.

“Thanks.” I shiver as he drags his hand back up my arm, brushing his fingertips over my bare collarbone. My pussy clenches, heat pooling low in my belly.

I didn’t look at the price tag for this dress when I slipped it on because Ryland told me not to, but now that I know it’s a winner, I can’t resist glancing down at the tag. As I read the number, my heart skips a beat.

Holy fuck.

I stiffen, stepping away from him. “Jesus, Ryland. I can’t. This is way too much. I could buy a hundred other dresses for this price.”

He follows my movement, closing the space between us again as his fingers lift my chin slightly. Desire still sparks in his eyes, but there’s something else there too now.

Possessiveness.

Pride.

“A hundred other dresses wouldn’t fit you like this one,” he murmurs softly. “This is the one.”

I swallow, fighting down the surge of emotions that rises in my chest. I’ve never had someone spend this much money on me before. Not by a long shot. But more than that, I’ve never had someone take care of me before—not until Marcus, Ryland, and Theo came into my life.

It’s a foreign feeling, and one that goes against everything I’ve taught myself to believe. But I’m slowly learning to trust it. To accept it.

After all, I fought tooth and nail with Ryland to get him to let me help the men in their dangerous game. I want to take care of them too.

And maybe that’s not a bad thing.

I step forward, tilting my face up a little more and going onto my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. His grip on my chin tightens slightly, holding me in place as the kiss turns hungry and hard for a second. Then he releases me and steps back, scanning my body one more time as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’ll be the most gorgeous woman there.”

After he hunts down the flustered saleswoman and pays for the dress, we head back to Theo’s house to get ready.

As I shower, dry my hair, and dress, I wonder idly how much time Ryland spent over here before all of this, or how much time the two of them spent at Marcus’s house. I know they all have keys to each other’s places, trusted to come and go as they please. Did they ever think about just getting one place? A large house they could share?

I know we’re all still reeling from the trauma of Marcus’s disappearance, clinging to each other more tightly because of it, but the idea of Ryland not living here right now seems nonsensical.

We need to be together. To stick close by each other.

At seven, Theo comes upstairs to collect me. His reaction to the dress I picked out is similar to Ryland’s, and I flush all over again as he devours me with his gaze.

He doesn’t look half-bad himself. He’s wearing a tuxedo tonight, a sign that Luca D’Addario’s party is a more formal affair than the wake we attended last weekend. It makes him look polished and sharp, the crisp lines of his tux a beautiful contrast to the easy half-smile on his face. His eyes are still darker than usual, signs of strain still evident on his face, but I’m starting to notice it less and less—as if it’s simply become our new normal, a running constant that all three of us have to find a way to live with.

“Goddamn, Rose.” He shakes his head, looking at me with something almost like awe. “You’re fucking stunning.”

I’ve never had a low self-image when it comes to my appearance. Not because I think I’m some head-turning beauty, but because I like the way I look. I get self-conscious about my arm sometimes, but that’s part of why I got my tattoo—so I could find the beauty in my broken parts again.

Guys used to hit on me at Duke’s fairly often, and I always brushed them off. I never needed a man to tell me I was beautiful, and I tended not to believe overblown declarations of how “gorgeous” or “unique” I looked.

But the way Theo’s gazing at me right now?

It flips my heart inside out.

It makes me feel like I truly am stunning, in a way that goes far beyond physical appearance. Like he’s looking at the whole of me, my inside and outside, and can’t fucking believe how lucky he is.

My stomach dips, and I step forward, resting my hand on his chest as I kiss him softly. He hums against my lips—a warm, satisfied sound that travels through me like a shot of good tequila.

When we break apart, his blue-green eyes have lightened a little. He grins, making a small dimple appear in one cheek. “You ready for this?”

“To go to a party with a bunch of people who want to kill you?” I shrug. “Sure, why not?”

He actually laughs at that. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh in days, and although the sound is a little strange, it’s good to know he still can.

We meet Ryland downstairs, and the three of us pile into the car. I expect Theo to head toward Halston’s downtown, where the fanciest clubs and restaurants I know of are, but instead he drives west, taking us outside the city limits.

When we drive up to a mansion that dwarfs anything I’ve ever seen in my life, I crane my neck to peer out the window. “Holy motherfucker. Is this where Luca lives?”

“It’s one of his places, yeah. I don’t know if he lives here or somewhere else, but he’s hosted parties here before,” Theo says.

I blink, working hard to keep my jaw from dropping. I’ve never seen luxury like this before. A large, ornate fountain sits in the center of the circle drive, and the mansion itself is massive. It’s a visceral reminder of everything that’s at stake here, what all the players in the game are competing for.

This is the future for whoever wins.

A valet takes the keys from Theo when we pull to a stop and get out, and as the car rolls away down the drive, the two men come to stand on either side of me, sandwiching me between them as we all look up at the house.

Nerves make my stomach pitch, but I stoically ignore them. If I feel out of my depth, I’ll act out of my depth, and we can’t afford to show any weakness here. We’ve got a target—Adrian Reyes—and if we can walk away from the party tonight with him in our pocket, we’ll be one step closer to ending this fucking thing.

The silky fabric of my dress swishes around my legs as we walk up the wide marble steps to the massive double doors that lead into the house. It feels a little like walking into a palace, which I’m sure isn’t an accident. Luca D’Addario is the king here, and he obviously wants everyone to remember that.

The inside of the mansion is just as insanely elaborate as the outside, but I’m careful to keep my head from swiveling around as a guy who I guess is the butler leads us deeper into the house.

When we step into a sweeping ballroom, soft orchestral music greets us, courtesy of live musicians. It’s a barely audible backdrop against the buzz of conversation that fills the space as people gather in small clusters or move through the crowd.

It’s packed. Clearly, a lot more people than just the families involved in the competition were invited, and my gaze sweeps the crowd, searching for familiar faces from the church.

When I catch sight of a man with ash-brown hair and a haughty sort of face, I do a double-take. Then I blink slowly.

“Is that…?”

“Jeffrey Purcell. Carson’s dad. Yeah.” Theo nods, his gaze tracking mine.

“What’s he doing here?”

I can’t hide the shock in my voice. Less than two weeks ago, that man buried his son. And unlike the Constantines, there was no room for doubt or even a fraction of hope. I saw Carson’s body. And now he’s at a party hosted by the man who started this whole thing?

“Carson isn’t even in the game anymore,” I add, pulling my gaze away from the middle-aged man and glancing from Theo to Ryland. “What possible reason could his father have to be here? There’s nothing left for him to win. He lost.”

Ryland’s brows pull together. “Is that Sadie?”

I look back toward Jeffrey Purcell just as he takes the elbow of a young woman. The family resemblance between them is so strong that I’m sure she has to be his daughter, and she looks maybe seventeen or eighteen, tops.

“Yeah, it is.” Theo’s voice hardens. “He’s not going to—”

“Like hell he isn’t. Watch.”

I don’t get what they’re talking about, but I do what Ryland says and just watch. Jeffrey and Sadie are joined by an older woman who must be her mother, and the three of them make their way through the crowd in a tight knot. Jeffrey and his wife both wear stoic, determined looks, but Sadie looks miserable. Awkward and uncomfortable and… terrified.

When they’re about halfway across the ballroom, they stop in front of a man who’s holding a glass of amber liquid casually in one hand. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that’s just beginning to show streaks of gray at the temples. He’s got to be in his late fifties, but there’s something striking and vital about him, a power that makes him seem almost ageless.

The way he carries himself makes me certain I know who he is even before Ryland leans a little closer and murmurs in my ear, “Luca D’Addario.”

I nod, my gaze transfixed on the scene playing out across the room as Jeffrey steps forward to greet the dark-haired man. Luca nods and says something in response, then turns to greet the two women. After a moment of quiet conversation, Jeffrey tugs Sadie forward. She moves hesitantly, and even from this distance, I can see her eyes shifting from side to side as if she’s looking for a way to flee.

Jeffrey speaks again, his expression turning earnest and his gestures becoming more emphatic. Ryland makes an angry noise low in his throat, and the three of us watch as Luca raises a hand, cutting the other man off.

“What’s he doing? What’s going on?” I ask in a low voice as Luca speaks to Jeffrey and his wife, all but ignoring Sadie. The casual ease in the tall man’s body is gone, and he seems even taller now as his face settles into hard lines.

“Well, if my guess is right, Carson’s dad just tried to sub in a second string player.” Theo snorts, sounding angry. “And Luca didn’t go for it.”

“Wait, you mean he tried to put Sadie in the game as a replacement for Carson?” I turn to gape at him. “What the actual fuck?”

Beyond the fact that such a move obviously violates the rules of the game, it’s heartless to a degree I can barely comprehend. He just lost a son, and instead of mourning that loss, he’s offering up his daughter on the same altar, praying for one more chance to win.

“Jesus,” I mutter, nausea churning my stomach. Every time I think I’m getting used to this world, the level of depravity shocks me all over again.

“Yeah.” Ryland’s voice is hard. “And you can bet your ass it wasn’t Sadie’s goddamn idea. She looks like she’s about to piss her fuckin’ pants.”

He’s right. And I understand now why she looked so desperate to escape earlier. She must have a stronger sense of duty than I ever will to be able to stand there like that while her father tries to use her as a pawn.

Luca gives a sharp jerk of his head, a clear sign of dismissal, and the Purcell family all turn and walk away, cutting across the crowded ballroom. Sadie looks like she could cry, and I hope like hell it’s out of relief and not because her dad will take the failure of his little scheme out on her.

This needs to end.

The thought rises up in my mind, strong and more clear than it’s ever been. This ruthless, cruel game needs to come to a close before more innocent people get swept up in the violence and manipulation and greed.

“Okay.” I shake my head slightly to clear it, dragging my gaze away from Sadie Purcell’s retreating back. “Let’s get to fucking work. I want this night to be worth it.”

Theo shoots me that look of quiet pride I’m starting to recognize, then nods, grinning lightly. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Determination fills me as I spin in a slow circle, searching the crowd around us for any sign of Adrian.

I don’t see him on my first pass, so I start to scan the crowd again. But when my gaze drifts over the entrance to the ballroom, my entire body freezes.

My heart freezes.

My lungs freeze.

My skin flushes hot and then goes ice cold.

Earth and air.

At least ten yards separate us, but I can still pick out the sky blue and rich brown color that complement each other so beautifully. The man’s gaze settles on mine, and my entire world shifts on its axis.

Marcus.

CHAPTER 13

BESIDE ME, Ryland makes a strangled noise in his throat.

It’s the only sound I hear. The orchestra has faded away, and the hubbub of surprised voices around us is swallowed up by the rushing in my ears. I feel Theo stiffen beside me as he catches sight of Marcus too, and then all three of us move at once.

There are people standing between us and the doorway as they stare at the newest arrivals, but just like the music and the voices, those people seem to have faded into non-existence. Maybe I walk around them, maybe I walk fucking through them, I don’t know. All I know is that I need to get to Marcus.

To touch him.

To make sure he’s not a mirage or a hallucination.

My pulse picks up with every step I take, my heartbeat an insistent drum in my chest, and when I’m just two yards away, I open my mouth to speak.

But before the words can escape my lips, another figure finally breaks through the pinpoint focus I have on Marcus. Victoria, the girl I remember from the church, steps up beside him. She’s dressed in a blood red gown with a train that trails behind her, and her shoulder brushes against his as she looks straight at me.

It’s that look, that hard-edged, cool stare that brings me up short.

Instead of throwing myself into Marcus’s arms like I intended to, my footsteps stumble to a halt just a few feet from him.

His breathtaking multicolored eyes are still fixed on me, but I can’t seem to stop my gaze from bouncing back and forth between him and Victoria.

Something isn’t right.

Something is wrong.

Marcus’s face is a bit thinner than I remember, and a little paler too. His angular features, strong brow, and straight nose are just as beautiful as they’ve ever been, but something in his eyes makes my stomach tighten painfully.

“Marcus.” Ryland’s voice is a low rumble beside me, shock resonating through the word. It deepens and hardens as he adds, “Victoria.”

The girl with the green eyes and auburn hair styled in an elegant updo smiles, although there’s not an ounce of warmth in her expression. “Ryland. Theo.” Her gaze turns to me. “And you must be Ayla. I saw you at the church.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Theo’s voice resonates with suspicion. I feel him edge a little closer to me, as if he’s trying to physically protect me.

Victoria shrugs elegantly. “What’s the matter, Theo? I thought you’d be glad to see your friend isn’t dead.” Her smile widens, and she wraps one delicate hand around Marcus’s arm. “I hope you’ll at least congratulate us on our engagement.”

Marcus’s jaw ticks, his body stiffening.

The ring on her left hand glints in the light.

I stare at it, transfixed by the gleaming princess-cut jewel as all the blood seems to leave my body, replaced with… nothing.

There’s nothing inside me.

I’m empty.

I step backward, nearly tripping over the hem of my dress in my haste to escape. Ryland reaches for me, but shock has slowed his movements, and I slip from his grasp. Whirling around, I stride away as fast as I can, nearly running as I weave my way through the bodies in the crowded room. I don’t know where I’m going. It doesn’t even fucking matter.

Anywhere but here.

I need to get out of this ballroom, away from the hum of voices and the soft strains of the music. Away from Victoria. Away from the truth that grips my heart like an iron fist.

Marcus is back.

But he’s no longer mine.

Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision as I finally make my way through the thick of the crowd, slipping through an arched doorway and down a long corridor. I turn left when I reach another hallway, reaching out to steady myself against the wall as my legs shake.

I can’t breathe. Or maybe I am breathing, and my lungs have just gone numb.

I don’t understand. I don’t fucking understand.

“Angel. Wait!”

Marcus’s voice behind me hits me like a heavy weight, making my already weak knees threaten to give out. The sound of the nickname he gave me on his lips plucks a chord in my heart, but I don’t turn around.

“Fuck.”

I hear his low curse behind me, and a second later, a hand wraps around my arm, dragging me sideways. He yanks open a door that lines the hallway and pulls me inside, slamming it shut behind us and enclosing us in the space. It’s a small laundry room, with shelves full of sheets and towels and other household items. A washer and dryer sit in the corner, shiny and new.

Marcus stands in front of the door with his hand still resting on the handle. His grip is tight, and I realize with a start that he’s not just holding the door handle—he’s leaning on it, as if he needs the assistance to stay upright.

Of course he fucking does. He was shot two weeks ago.

The shock that’s been working its way through my system finally releases its death-grip on my tongue.

“You’re… you’re alive,” I choke out.

“Yes.” His voice is low.

“How?”

His jaw muscles ripple as he clenches his teeth. He looks even more haggard and worn out than Ryland and Theo have for the past two weeks, and there’s a rasp to his voice that I don’t remember being there before.

“Victoria.” He finally releases the doorknob, taking a step closer to me. “She found me. After Carson shot me. She killed him and dragged me away. She had a car parked between buildings and got me inside it.”

A memory flashes through my mind—a streak of blood leading away from the place where I woke up, fading out and then disappearing entirely. That must’ve been where Victoria got him into her car.

My gaze refocuses on Marcus as he continues, my teeth clamped so tightly around my lower lip that it hurts.

“I was bleeding out in her back seat,” he grits out, his mesmerizing gaze boring into mine. “Three bullets in my back. She offered me life, angel. She said she’d save me if I agreed to marry her.”

“And you accepted her bargain.” I force the words out past unwilling lips.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Marcus is alive. He’s alive.

The thing I prayed for, that I hoped for even when it seemed nearly impossible, is true.

So why do I feel like my heart is breaking?

“Yeah.” He nods, his face unreadable. “I did.”

“That’s…” I swallow, licking my lips. “That’s good. You should—”

Marcus growls, closing the space between us in three strides. His steps are a little uneven, and he grimaces in pain as his large hand wraps around my jaw, cutting my words off.

“No.” He sounds tortured. “Don’t fucking finish that thought, angel. Nothing about this is good.”

His hand is shaking, and I can’t tell if it’s from the effort of staying upright or the violent emotions cascading through him. His pupils are blown out, overtaking the blue and brown of his irises as his features twist with agony.

“There have been dozens of times over the past two weeks when I wished I hadn’t done it,” he says harshly. “When I wished I’d told her to go fuck herself and died in her goddamn back seat.”

He bares his teeth, his grip on my jaw tightening as he takes another step closer to me, his chest brushing against mine. He’s dressed in a tux just like the other men are, but not even a tuxedo can make this man look civilized.

He’s wild.

Rough.

Untamed.

His voice drops to a low murmur as he gazes down at me, a torrent of emotions raging through his expression. “But I couldn’t do that. I could never do it. I couldn’t let myself die without at least trying to live, Ayla. Because I had to come back to you.”

My breath catches, my heart pounding so hard and fast in my chest that it rattles my entire rib cage. A traitorous tear slips from the corner of my eye and slides down my cheek. “But you didn’t come back to me. You can’t.”

Something sparks in his eyes. Something feral and possessive and dangerous.

His arm wraps around me, his palm meeting the bare skin exposed by the plunging back of my dress, and he tugs me tight against him.

He’s hard. His cock throbs against my lower belly, hot and demanding as he stares into my eyes.

This man can barely stand, and yet he’s hard as a rock.

For me.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lowers his face the last few inches, closing the small distance between us. When his lips brush against mine, all the dead pieces inside of me spark back to life, my entire body responding to that featherlight touch.

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough, angel,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over my skin with each word. “When I said you were mine, I fucking meant it. And I’m yours.”

As if that last word is the spark that lights the flame, he crushes his lips against mine, kissing me with such ferocity that I stumble back a step. He comes with me, following me until we crash into the shelving unit behind me. With the shelves at my back, there’s nowhere else for me to go, and Marcus takes full advantage of that fact, kissing me even harder as his body grinds against mine.

My lip is cut, or maybe his is.

Blood flavors our kiss, and the coppery tang of it reminds me of the blood that caked my body when I woke up on the ground in the warehouse district. It reminds me of the warm, wet feeling of Marcus bleeding out on top of me.

It reminds me of how fucking fragile we both are, how tenuous life is.

We’re nothing but blood and bone, and it takes so little to end us.

But Marcus is here.

He’s here.

I wrap my arm around him, sliding my hand up to scratch at his scalp and tug on his thick brown hair.

“You’re here.”

I gasp the words into his mouth as our bodies collide with desperate movements, writhing and grinding against each other like we could each somehow disappear into the other person.

That’s what I want.

I want Marcus to swallow me up.

I want to lose myself in him.

I want our bodies to fuse into one so that no one can ever fucking take him from me.

He tears his lips away from mine, grabbing my hair by the roots and tugging my head back to expose the soft line of my neck. His mouth trails hot kisses down the column of my throat before his teeth scrape over my collarbone, his tongue darting out to lick away the sting.

When he bites down hard on the place where my neck and shoulder meet, I let out a muffled scream as sensation explodes inside me, my clit throbbing hard and fast. He doesn’t let go, just clamps his lips around my skin and sucks in long, deep pulls, making my eyes roll back in my head.

He’s marking me, I realize.

He’s staking his claim.

But more than that, he’s doing exactly what I wished he would. He’s trying to consume me.

I groan, hooking a leg around his waist as the fabric of my dress slides up. It hurts. He’s bruising my neck, and I can feel every bit of it. But I don’t fucking want him to stop.

His hips thrust into me, and he grunts against my skin like an animal, his hands roaming possessively over my body. He squeezes my breasts through the dress, then slides his large hands around to the back again, delving them under the fabric of the low-cut back to palm my ass.

Finally, he releases my skin with a wet pop, and the rush of blood through my veins makes me almost dizzy.

“I will always come back to you, angel. Do you understand that?” he murmurs, breathing hard as he gazes down at me. His eyes are almost entirely black, and he looks more like a devil than a man in this moment.

My devil.

My man.

I nod in response, unable to form words. I swear I can feel every minute I spent mourning him, missing him, needing him. Each one of those minutes fuels me as I pull him toward me to kiss him again.

He hauls me away from the wall, and the two of us stumble across the room, groping and panting and moaning. When my ass hits the washing machine, we jolt to a stop, mouths still locked together.

“I need to be inside you, angel.” Marcus’s words are a tortured rasp. “I need to be fucking sure you’re real.”

I know how he feels.

My skin is marked and bruised by him, my hair ruined and my pulse racing, but it still feels a little like I’m kissing a mirage.

Like he’ll vanish if I let go of him for even a second.

Like he’ll disappear into thin air.

Reaching between us, I fumble for the button and fly of his pants. As soon as I get them open, I shove my hand inside, relishing the feel of velvet steel against my palm.

Marcus growls, like he’s pissed I got my hand between his legs before he got his between mine. But he must not be that mad, because he thrusts into my palm, fucking my hand with harsh, uneven strokes.

Then he pulls away from me, stepping back so fast it leaves my body reeling. He grabs my hips and spins me around, folding me in half over the washing machine. The cool metal shocks the bare skin of my arms and chest, and a breathless gasp falls from my mouth as he fists the material of my dress and shoves it up around my waist, leaving my bottom half covered by nothing but my flimsy thong.

His sharp, desperate movements slow, although I can still feel him breathing heavily behind me as he takes in the sight of me like this. He was in a hurry a second ago, but now that he’s got me where he wants me, he seems determined not to rush.

“Mine.”

The sound is a low rumble, almost a purr. His calloused hands slide up my thighs, gripping and massaging my ass cheeks, spreading them apart, digging his fingers into the firm flesh. His thumbs slide under the waistband of my panties, and then he grabs the lacy material and shreds it off my body, hurling it away.

I don’t know where my ruined panties end up. I can’t focus on that, because his hands are on me again, hotter and more demanding than before. He groans again, kneading my flesh like he’s trying to bend it to his will, like he’s trying to alter the very form and shape of me.

The side of my face presses against the top of the washer as my eyelids droop, sensation ricocheting through my body. My fingertips latch on to the edge of the sleek machine, gripping tightly as I arch my back slightly, shoving my ass back toward Marcus.

“Fuck, angel.”

There’s a rustling of clothes as he pushes his pants down, and then I feel the smooth head of his cock against my ass. He shifts his stance slightly, grabbing my hip with one hand as he presses his hips forward, sliding his cock through my wet folds. His thick length brushes against my clit, and I clamp my lip between my teeth, whimpering softly.

He does it again, pulling back and sliding slowly forward, fucking my slit without ever breaching my entrance.

It’s torture.

It’s too much and not enough all at once, and I press back against him harder, moving my hips to try to draw him inside my body.

But his grip on me tightens, stilling my movement. One broad hand traces the line of my bare spine all the way to where the fabric bunches at my lower back as his cock slides through my pussy lips again.

“Do you want this? Do you want me?”

His tone is full of a filthy, beautiful promise.

“Yes,” I gasp out, so far beyond lying that I’d tell him any fucking truth he wanted to know right now.

Our loud, harsh breaths are still filling the small room, and I can feel the tension in his body, the effort it’s taking him to hold back. He wants to be inside me. He needs to be inside me.

But he won’t give either of us what we need until he’s ready.

“Are you mine, angel?” he demands. “Do you believe that?”

“Yes.”

There’s no hesitation. No hint of doubt in my voice. And it’s not just because I want him to fuck me so badly I’m literally shaking. It’s because I do believe it.

I hate that it took him almost dying to break down the last of my walls, but everything I felt when he was gone burns in my chest ten times stronger now that he’s here with me again.

I’m done pretending this thing between us makes sense.

I’m done pretending it needs to.

Marcus hums in satisfaction, stroking his cock through my folds again and coating himself in my slick arousal. His hand skates up my spine again, destroying what’s left of my updo as he grabs a fistful of my hair.

“And am I yours?” he murmurs roughly. “Tell me I’m yours.”

Now I do hesitate.

The words sit on my tongue, trapped behind my lips as I suck in air through my nose.

I saw the fucking ring.

I saw the look in Victoria’s eyes.

Marcus tugs my hair sharply. I gasp, tears springing to my eyes as all my focus rushes back to him. To the feel of his body looming behind mine, his cock so close to where I need him. To the electric current that passes between us, so strong I swear my skin must be sparking.

“Say it, angel,” he rasps. “Say it and fucking mean it.”

“You’re mine!” I shout. My body is shuddering, already so close to an orgasm that I can feel the warm wave spreading through my limbs. I bump my ass harder against him, punishing him just like he’s punishing me, feeding the desperate need inside both of us. “You’re fucking mine, all right? You’re mine! You’re mine! You’re mi—”

The last word is driven from my lips as Marcus draws back and then pitches his hips forward, filling me in one hard thrust. Our bodies slam into the washing machine, drawing out an unholy screech as the heavy appliance moves a little, grating across the floor.

We both stop moving for a second, lost in the feel of our bodies connected like this.

Joined.

United.

Irrevocably one.

Marcus lets out a barrage of muttered curses, his cock pulsing inside me as it stretches my inner walls. My body knows this feeling, recognizes the shape and size of him, and I squeeze hard around him as if I’m welcoming him home.

He curses again, finally drawing out and beginning to thrust in short, sharp strokes.

One hand is still wrapped around my hair, the other holding on to my hip, as his pelvis slaps against my ass, filling the little room with the debauched sounds of our fucking.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He took three bullets just over two weeks ago, and I could see in the way he held himself earlier that he’s weak. In pain.

But I know he wouldn’t stop even if I told him to.

And there’s no way in hell I’m going to tell him to.

My legs have turned to jelly, and the only thing holding me up anymore is the washer and Marcus’s firm grip on me. Pleasure is building to a glorious peak inside me, and when Marcus pulls out, I actually scream in fury.

“I have to see you,” he grunts. “I have to look at you.”

He pulls me upright, spinning me around to face him before heaving me onto the washing machine. I try to help him, bracing my hand against the top to lift some of my weight. I can see him grimace with the effort, and his face looks a little paler than it did before.

This is costing him, hurting him, but still, he doesn’t stop.

As soon as my ass is perched on the edge of the washer, he guides his cock to my entrance again, sliding in like he resents every second we had to be apart. The change of angle makes him hit a new spot inside me, and I hook my legs around his waist, looping my arm around his neck as he grabs my face in both hands.

His thrusts before were hard and fast, but now every movement in and out is slow—as if he knows he’s close to coming, and he’s trying to literally slow down time, to draw every bit of this out as long as he can.

Earth and air stare back at me as I gaze into his eyes, lost in their depths and everything I see there.

“Come with me, angel,” he whispers, a plea in his voice as he buries himself inside me again. “Come with me.”

And I do.

Just because he told me to.

Because I’m his and he’s mine.

My pussy clenches around him as pleasure breaks through me, and he grunts, his cock jerking and swelling as he empties himself in my womb.

My eyelids flutter, my vision going blurry at the edges, but I don’t look away from Marcus’s face. I watch every emotion that plays over his features as he comes, and I let him see every one of mine.

And for the first time since I met him, it doesn’t feel like either of us is hiding a single goddamn thing.

CHAPTER 14

WE KEEP WATCHING each other as we slowly come down from the high. Finally, Marcus presses a gentle kiss to my lips and then drops his head to my shoulder. He kisses the spot he sucked on earlier, and the bruise he gave me is so pronounced already that I feel a hint of pain from the pressure of his lips.

Good.

A feral sort of pleasure rises up in me at the thought. I hope he managed to suck out a piece of my soul.

He already has my fucking heart.

Marcus’s arms steal around me, his fingertips tracing lazy patterns on my back as he cradles me against his body. I have a feeling he wishes he could pick me up and hold me in his arms, but I’m glad he doesn’t try. I don’t know the extent of his injuries from the bullets that hit him, and I don’t know where he’s at in his healing.

There’s so damn much I don’t know.

But right now, none of those things seem as important as sitting here wrapped up in Marcus, breathing him in.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs finally, his breath warming my skin as he speaks. “I’ll find a way out of this. I won’t marry Victoria. Ever.” He pulls back then, his gaze serious, his jaw set. “I’ll kill her before I ever fucking marry her.”

He does mean it. There’s not an ounce of sarcasm or exaggeration in his voice.

I feel like I should tell him not to say that, but I can’t. The truth is, I think I’d kill her before I let him fucking marry her—and if that makes me as psychotic as Marcus, well, I guess we have more in common than I thought.

So I just nod, accepting his words at face value.

The situation is complicated and dangerous, even more so now that Luca undoubtedly knows about the engagement. I have a sudden memory of Theo telling me that the only person who could win this game through political cunning and social maneuvering alone is Victoria.

I can see why he thinks that.

She’s adopted a new strategy, binding herself to one of the other players through this forced engagement, effectively tying her fate to Marcus’s. And if Marcus follows through on his threat and kills her anytime outside of the allotted period of violence, the consequences will be dire.

Tension gathers in my shoulders as thoughts churn in my head, and Marcus makes a low sound, brushing his hands through my tangled hair. “I can see you thinking, angel. Hell, I can hear you thinking. What is it?”

“Just…” I huff out a humorless laugh, gesturing around us to encompass the whole house. The whole world. “Everything.”

He nods. “It’ll be all right. I promise.”

That’s not a promise he can keep, and we both know it. We’ve each got three bullet wounds apiece that disprove his statement. But hearing him say the words eases some of the tightness in my chest.

“Marcus?” My fingers slide through the hair at the nape of his neck, my nails gently scratching his scalp.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really fucking glad you didn’t die.”

My words are quiet. Simple. But their effect on the man in my arms is immediate. He smiles, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen on his face before. Even the pallor of his cheeks seems to lessen, the shadows beneath his eyes fading a little.

“How could I?” He traces the line of my jaw with his fingertips, his eyes warming. “I still owe you a hundred million heartbeats.”

He kisses me one more time, and just when I think we’ll never come up for air, he slowly breaks away, pulling out of me as he steps back. He tucks himself away and zips up his pants, adjusting his rumpled tux. Cum slips down my inner thigh, and he grabs one of the towels off the shelf and cleans me up before tossing it into the same corner where my panties landed.

When he moves to help me off the washing machine, he hisses out a pained breath, and I push his hands away, sliding off on my own and letting the fabric of my dress fall around my legs again. I look up at him, my concern growing deeper as I realize how truly reckless what we just did was.

Fuck, if I hurt him or set his healing back, I’ll never forgive myself.

As if he can read my thoughts, Marcus shakes his head. He grabs my chin and presses a hard, quick kiss to my lips.

“I’m all right,” he tells me firmly. “I’ve been healing well. It just hurts.”

I don’t like the sound of that last part at all, and I’m tempted to demand he strip off his jacket and shirt and let me examine his wounds, but before I can do that, he slips his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together.

“Come on,” he says softly, motioning with his chin toward the door. “Ryland and Theo are waiting.”

Right. The party.

Jesus, I can barely remember what our initial purpose was for coming here tonight. Everything got flipped sideways when Marcus walked through the door into the ballroom, and I’m still reeling a little.

Adrian Reyes.

We were going to try to put pressure on him. Theo said there’ve been several high profile losses for his dad’s law firm recently, so it’s possible his family is going through a rough time. We were going to try to leverage that weakness to our advantage.

It’s still a viable strategy, but with Marcus’s return, there’s been such a seismic shift in the game that I don’t know quite where things stand anymore.

But regardless, we can’t stay in this damn laundry room all night, as appealing as the idea might sound.

I nod, drawing in a deep breath. “How do I look?”

Marcus smirks, not an ounce of shame on his face. “Like you got fucked on a washer.”

I bite back the smile that tugs at my lips. The pride in his voice makes a little zap of pleasure shoot through me, and I realize I really don’t care what any of these rich, privileged, corrupt party guests think of me. And if my showing back up like this undermines the credibility of Marcus and Victoria’s sham engagement, so much the fucking better.

He holds the door open for me as we step out of the room, then leads me back through the wide hallways to the ballroom.

The party has continued unabated in our absence. People are still talking, drinking, and laughing as the orchestra plays in the background. My gaze settles immediately on Ryland and Theo. They’re on the far side of the ballroom, standing near Victoria, although they’re not speaking to her or even looking at her.

But I get the sense they know exactly where she is, and I also get the feeling that if she’d tried to follow after me and Marcus, she would’ve found two burly, intimidating men in her way.

My heart gives a little squeeze in my chest. I love that they look out for Marcus that way. That they look out for me that way.

I don’t know quite how it happened, but I somehow went from being alone to becoming part of a group that’s more tight knit than any I’ve ever seen, their loyalty to each other unwavering and constant.

That kind of loyalty is rare—mostly because it can’t be bought or won by threat. It has to be freely given.

I notice several heads turn in our direction as we make our way across the ballroom. Judging from the looks on people’s faces, I’m not the only one who was shocked by Marcus’s reappearance. Not everyone looks as happy about it as I am though.

As we approach Ryland and Theo, their hard expressions relax slightly and they step forward to join us.

“Everything okay?” Ryland asks seriously, while Theo just takes in my freshly fucked appearance and smirks.

“Yeah.” Marcus nods, and Ryland transfers his gaze to me, a question in his eyes.

“Yes.” I echo Marcus’s answer.

Victoria turns toward the four of us, and I swear I can feel hackles rise on the back of my neck as she strides over, her dress’s short train flowing elegantly behind her.

She looks like the kind of person who’s been wearing dresses like this her whole life, but I know it’s a practiced act. Unlike almost everyone here, she didn’t grow up surrounded by luxury and wealth.

That should probably make me like her more than I do.

She stops when she reaches us, the same cool smile I saw on her face earlier returning. Her gaze flicks over me quickly, and even though the glance doesn’t last more than a second, I get the feeling she’s just catalogued every single aspect of my appearance—my messy hair, the bruise on my neck, the pink flush to my skin.

But rather than commenting on it at all, she transfers her attention over to Marcus, holding out her hand. “Luca wants to congratulate us. Come with me.”

His fingers clench around mine, and I can physically feel how much he wants to tell her to go fuck herself, or maybe make good on his earlier promise to me and kill her right now.

But that won’t help any of us.

It would probably get us all killed.

And I just got him back. There’s no way I’m gonna lose him again so soon.

“Go,” I murmur.

Victoria’s gaze snaps to me quickly, her green eyes narrowing. She clearly doesn’t like me giving her future husband permission to do anything.

Well, suck my left tit, you bitch. Too fucking bad.

Marcus’s jaw clenches tight, his nostrils flaring. But he releases my hand and steps forward. Victoria turns on her heel, and the two of them make their way toward Luca.

I’m not sure I can watch this. It’s one thing to tell him to go, another thing entirely to witness him stand beside Victoria and announce his engagement.

But as it turns out, I don’t have much choice.

The orchestra stops playing a moment later, the crowd grows quiet as they register the lack of background music. There’s a small raised dais on one side of the room with a microphone, and Luca steps up to it, framed on either side by Marcus and Victoria.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, his deep voice filling the room. It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak, and I can hear the echo of power in his gravelly voice. This is a man who’s used to giving orders and having them obeyed. “Perhaps some of you are surprised to see who has joined us tonight. As you can see, Marcus Constantine is, in fact, alive. And on the heels of that revelation, I have a wonderful announcement. I’ve just been informed that Victoria Tatum and Mr. Constantine are engaged to be married. Please join me in wishing them a hearty congratulations.”

The gathered crowd breaks into applause, although I still see shock in several people’s expressions. Dominic is gazing up at the stage with furrowed brows, his expression unreadable. The Purcells look livid, probably angry that the Constantines are back in the game while there’s no chance at all for Carson to make a sudden and unexpected reappearance. I notice a few other people who look less than happy—either about the engagement or about Marcus’s “resurrection.”

Luca glances to his left and right, nodding slightly at the two people beside him. Then he speaks into the mic again. “May your union be bountiful and blessed. Love truly is a wonderful thing.”

There’s something a little odd in his tone as he says love, as if the word is loaded with meaning.

Huh.

He has to know that this engagement is a complete sham, and I wonder what he thinks of Victoria’s little stunt. From what the guys told me, Luca married for actual love. He cared about his wife so deeply that after her death, he never remarried or even took a mistress.

So what’s his opinion on using marriage as a tool for political gain?

The crowd applauds again, and Luca finally ushers Victoria and Marcus off the dais. He speaks to them for another moment, but without his voice amplified by the microphone, I can’t make out what he’s saying.

The music starts up again as people resume their conversations, and Marcus glances toward me. Although he’s more than halfway across the room, I feel the intensity of his gaze almost as strongly as I did back in the laundry room when our faces were just inches apart. An electric jolt bursts through me, making my already buzzing nerve-endings light up all over again.

Marcus’s posture shifts a little, and I wonder if he felt the same thing I did. He says something to Luca and barely casts a glance in Victoria’s direction before striding back over toward me, Ryland, and Theo.

I watch him make his way across the ballroom, noticing the way his gait hitches a little with each footstep. He’s still in pain, still barely recovered from being shot, and I can’t even imagine how much willpower it’s taking him to stay upright at the moment.

Ryland must see it too, because he makes a noise beside me. “Shit. We gotta get out of here.”

“Yeah.” Theo nods. “We’ll have to pin Adrian down another time.”

I can hear the undercurrent of worry in their voices, and it infects me too. They’re right. We need to leave, and we need to take Marcus with us.

In this deadly game of violence and intrigue, the appearance of strength matters. If Marcus collapses in front of an entire ballroom full of people, it will undermine the power we need to project as we try to sway people to our side. We can’t afford to show any weakness.

By the time Marcus reaches us, I can see the hard set of his jaw and the tension in his body. I slip my arm through his in what I hope is a lady-like gesture, and as soon as I do, I feel him give me some of his weight, allowing me to help support him.

“Can you leave? Can you come with us?” I ask quietly, hating that it’s even a question. I can practically feel Victoria’s gaze burning into the back of my head as we turn toward the door.

“I can do whatever the hell I want.” Marcus presses his lips together. “She doesn’t fucking own me yet.”

“Let’s go.” Ryland leads the way toward the ballroom door, carefully keeping his steps slow and even so Marcus can keep up.

I catch several people glancing at us as we leave, and I wonder what kinds of rumors and speculation will fly around in our absence. I hope like hell we’re not going to piss Luca off by bailing early on his party, but even that seems like a better option than staying.

As we slip out the door, leaving the luxury and finery of the ballroom behind, I glance back over my shoulder.

Victoria is standing in the same spot where she and Marcus talked to Luca D’Addario, although the older man is nowhere to be seen now. Groups of people talk and laugh around her, but she stands alone in the crowd, looking back at me with narrowed eyes. Her expression is unreadable from here, but as our gazes lock, I get the feeling I’m staring at a viper—one who won’t hesitate to strike if I get in her way.

A cold feeling trickles down my spine.

I hadn’t even met Victoria Tatum before this evening.

But in the space of a few hours, we’ve become enemies.

CHAPTER 15

THE VALET BRINGS Theo’s car around for us quickly after we step outside, and we all pile in.

Theo gets behind the wheel as usual, while Ryland and I climb into the back seat with Marcus. It would be less crowded if one of us took the front, but that instinct to stay close, to band together, feels even stronger now than it did when Marcus was missing. I have a feeling that if Theo didn’t have to drive, he’d find a way to cram into the back seat too, just to be near us.

Marcus’s body seems to deflate as soon as the car door closes behind us. As soon as Theo starts to roll around the curved driveway, his shoulders slump, and he leans back against the leather seat.

“What happened?” Ryland asks, his voice low.

Marcus repeats what he told me in the laundry room, filling in more details of the story now that we’re all together.

“After we split up at the warehouses, Carson tracked me and Ayla down. I took three bullets in the back, and we went down. After that, shit gets a little fuzzy. I was barely fucking conscious. But I remember hearing Carson’s voice. He was standing right over us. Gloating. About to put bullets in our heads to finish the job.”

He clenches his jaw, reaching over to rest a hand on my leg, as if to remind himself I’m still here.

“I heard a shot,” he continues, “and for a second, I was sure that’s what it was. The last shot, the one that would kill me. Then Carson’s body fell next to us, and a second later, I was being hauled away. Victoria dragged me to her car, got me in the backseat. She told me she’d get me medical attention if I agreed to her terms. If I agreed to marry her.”

“Motherfucker,” Theo breathes, shooting us a look through the rearview mirror. “That’s who was working with Carson. She knew where he was, and she took him out.”

“What?” Marcus’s voice is sharp, a little strength returning to it as he sits up straighter.

Ryland shakes his head. “That bitch Natalie told us that Carson was working with someone else besides Dominic on this, although we never found out exactly what that person’s involvement was or how much they knew about the plan. But it’s pretty likely that person was Victoria. Unless she just lucked into discovering Carson’s whereabouts.”

Marcus’s features turn hard, his grip on my leg tightening. “So she played fucking everyone.”

“Yeah.” Theo sounds pissed.

Victoria killed Carson and threatened to let Marcus die if he didn’t agree to marry her, but it occurs to me suddenly that she didn’t kill me. She could have. Easily. I was unconscious on the ground, the easiest target she’d ever have. But she let me live.

I almost point that out, but I don’t particularly feel like defending Victoria at all right now, so I close my lips around the words.

“What happened after that?” I say instead, turning my head to catch Marcus’s gaze. He told me Victoria offered to save him, but I don’t have any idea where he’s even been for the past two weeks.

“She took me back to her place. She’s got a doctor on call just like we do.” Marcus runs his free hand through his hair, wincing slightly at the movement. “One bullet hit my lung, but the other two didn’t hit anything vital. I’d lost a lot of blood, but her guy is good. He patched me up and has been monitoring my recovery daily.” He grimaces. “One of Victoria’s terms was that I couldn’t let anyone know I was alive until Luca’s party.”

“She always did have a flair for the dramatic,” Theo scoffs.

“Well, it fucking works.” Ryland shifts in his seat. I’m sandwiched between him and Marcus, and I glance at him as he speaks. “I guarantee you everyone at Luca’s party is talking about this right now. She just changed the entire game.”

I can feel Marcus’s muscles tense again, anger knotting his muscles. But there’s nothing we can do about it at the moment, and he needs to rest. To heal.

Placing my hand over his on my thigh, I thread our fingers together lightly, reminding him without words that I’m still here. That we’re together.

His body relaxes a little, and we all lapse into silence for the rest of the drive.

I don’t even blink when Theo pulls into his garage. This has become our home base over the past two weeks, and now that Marcus is back, I hope and assume that he’ll stay here too.

His steps are a little stronger as we head into the house, making me think that the time off his feet in the car was good for him. I’m sure he has recovery instructions from the doctor, and I make a mental note to find out what those are so I can make sure he follows them exactly.

Without even discussing it, Theo leads us into the living room. He, Ryland, and I often gather in the kitchen, but I know he chose this room because these chairs are more comfortable than the barstools that line the kitchen island. It’ll be easier for Marcus to sit in here.

The thoughtfulness of that small gesture makes something in my chest ache a little.

These men love each other.

Unreservedly and unabashedly.

Fiercely.

They love each other in a way that makes me want to be a part of that bond. In a way that makes me think there might be hope for humanity after all.

Marcus takes a seat in a large easy chair, and I linger close by for a second, wanting to make sure he’s okay without making it look like I’m hovering. When I turn to go sit on the couch, though, he catches my hand, tugging me back toward him and settling me on his lap.

My immediate thought is fear that I’ll hurt him, and I try to get up quickly. But he wraps his arms around my waist with a low growl, trapping me against him.

Ryland chuckles, settling onto another chair nearby while Theo takes a seat on the couch. “Give it up, Ayla. He could be bleeding out all over again, and he still wouldn’t let you go. In case you haven’t noticed, he can be a little fucking stubborn.”

Marcus chuckles, a deep, warm sound, and I feel the vibrations of it in my own body.

Ryland’s right. And the truth is, I don’t want to get up. I want to stay right here for as long as possible, absorbing every bit of Marcus that I can.

I tug against his hold just a little though, craning my neck to look at his face. “How’s your back? Am I hurting you?”

Marcus smiles, releasing his hold on me with one arm to reach up and run his fingers through my hair. “Never, angel. You couldn’t fucking hurt me if you tried. Not as long as you let me hold you like this.”

He sounds so sincere, so content, that I can’t help myself. I lean forward to press my lips to his, stealing a soft kiss.

He’s back.

How many more times will I have to repeat that to myself before I actually believe it? Before the knot of tension that’s lived in my stomach since the day he was shot finally disappears?

And now that he’s back… what does it mean?

In the two weeks since Marcus went missing, as Theo, Ryland, and I tried to hold on to hope that he was still alive and searched for clues to his whereabouts, things changed between the three of us. Emotions that had existed under the surface already spilled out into the light, and my feelings for both men deepened and grew into something… real.

When the three of us were focused on avenging Marcus, it was easy enough not to question what was going on between us, not to try to make our unconventional relationship fit into any kind of box.

But now that Marcus is back and our little group is whole again, it’s impossible not to look at the complete picture and wonder what the fuck it all means.

As if he can pick up on the thoughts spinning inside my head, Marcus tucks me a little closer to him, brushing his fingertips over my damaged arm. I’m sitting sideways on his lap, and I can feel his steady heartbeat in his chest.

“Carson double-crossed Dominic, Victoria double-crossed Carson, and Dom would’ve killed either one of them if he’d gotten the chance,” he tells me in a low voice. “This game makes it impossible to trust anyone. Families that used to get along, that used to be true allies, look at each other with suspicion now. That’s what Luca’s done to us.”

He wraps a few strands of my hair around his fingers, tugging lightly on the strands as he turns his head to gaze at me.

“It’s not like that with the three of us, angel.” He tilts his head toward Ryland and Theo, indicating the two other men. “We were brothers long before this fucking game started, and we’ll be brothers long after it ends. We won’t use each other or turn on each other or betray each other. We’ll always have each other’s backs. Do you understand?”

I nod.

Because I do understand. I’ve seen the truth of what he’s saying too many times to doubt it for even a second.

“That’s why I’m glad as fuck that you had Theo and Ry here with you when I couldn’t be.” His eyes burn with intensity. “There is no one else in the world I would trust you with besides the two of them. No one else I trust to take care of you.”

My breath catches in my throat. I can’t look away from him—from the serious, knowing expression on his face. I can feel Theo and Ryland watching us too, and something seems to hover in the air between all of us, making my heart beat a little harder.

“Angel.” Marcus’s fingers release my hair, trailing down the side of my cheek as he watches my face carefully. “Do you care about them?”

I can’t lie.

No one would believe it anyway. Not even me.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Do you want them?”

My pussy clenches at his words, and I nod, swallowing hard.

“Have you fucked them?”

My heart is slamming against my ribs now, heat and cold seeming to flood through me at the same time. Despite everything that’s happened between the four of us, I have a moment of pure terror that I’ve gotten this all wrong.

That I’ve misread every sign, every signal.

That Marcus would never even consider sharing me.

That when I answer his question, he’ll throw me off his lap and go after the other two men the same way he went after Greg Pruitt that night outside the bar. With single-minded determination and only one goal—to end them.

But I can’t lie about this either.

“Yes.”

The word slips from my lips and seems to hang suspended in the space between me and Marcus. I watch him as intently as he’s watching me, desperate to get inside his head, to know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling.

He nods, and I let out a shaky breath.

The light blue and rich brown of his eyes seem peaceful and calm for once, the colors clear and bright. He tugs his full bottom lip between his teeth slowly, seeming to consider something. Then he grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, a smile curving the corners of his lips.

“Show me.”

I blink at him, my eyebrows shooting up. “What?”

His smile widens a little, and now I see something else in his expression. Something almost like a challenge.

“Show me, angel.”

He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, then slips the thick digit into my mouth. Unconsciously, my tongue darts forward to taste it, and he makes a noise low in his throat as my lips close around his thumb. His gaze flicks up to meet mine, loaded with more emotions than I can identify.

“Show me how you feel about my brothers,” he repeats quietly. “Because I already know how they feel about you.”

CHAPTER 16

I CAN’T LOOK AWAY from Marcus’s heated stare. My tongue is still tasting the pad of his thumb, my chest rising and falling fast as my breath picks up.

A ripple of shock washes through me at his words, but it’s followed closely by a swell of desire.

My fears were unfounded. Marcus isn’t pissed off at the idea of me being with his two closest friends, the two men who are his brothers in everything but blood.

No.

He’s turned on by it.

The desire burning in his striking blue and brown eyes turns me on too, and I bite down hard on the tip of his thumb, wrapping my lips around it and sucking.

He growls, then yanks his thumb out of my mouth and palms the back of my head, dragging my face to his for a bruising kiss. His tongue delves between my lips, tangling with mine as our mouths clash.

Everything I need to know is in this kiss, and it lights my blood on fire.

I fist the front of his white shirt, pulling him closer to me as I angle my body toward his, forgetting to be gentle as need surges through me like a madness.

If I hurt him, Marcus doesn’t even seem to notice or care. He nips at my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as he groans softly. I can feel him stiffening against me, but he catches me with a hand around my throat, squeezing just hard enough to make me break our heated kiss.

My lips are tingling, and I gaze at him with a slightly dazed look, almost tempted to risk cutting off my air supply completely just for the chance to kiss him again.

Marcus smiles as if he can tell what I’m thinking, but then he jerks his chin to indicate the other two men in the room. “Show me, angel. I want to see.”

I nod, trying to catch my breath. He helps me slide off his lap, depositing me on my feet beside his chair, his hands hungry and possessive on my waist and hips. He gropes one of my ass cheeks and then gives it a sharp slap, making my entire body react as slick arousal gathers in my core.

Forcing my feet into motion, I step toward the chair where Ryland is sitting. The broad-shouldered man has taken off his bowtie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. His jacket is draped over the side of the chair, and his sleeves have been rolled up his forearms, showing off the colorful ink that covers his skin. He looks casual and confident, raw masculinity barely contained by his tuxedo.

He stares at me as I approach, his chin dropped slightly and his hazel eyes smoldering.

Once, the dark look in his eyes would’ve intimidated me. Once, it would’ve made me give him a wide berth.

But not anymore.

Not now that I know what it means.

Instead, the hard expression on his face draws me in, heat spiking in my veins as I come to stand before him. He’s watching me like a predator, like a lion who’s somehow made the gazelle come to him, and I can feel Theo and Marcus watching both of us.

Leaning over, I rest my hand on his chest. A smile pulls at my lips as I feel the quick cadence of his heart—the only thing that contradicts his outward appearance of calm.

I’m still smiling when I drop my head and press my lips to his.

It’s exploratory at first, a kiss to test the waters. To make sure this is really happening and that I’m not just dreaming.

We’ve only kissed a few times, but Ryland’s lips are familiar already. They’re full and firm, and as the connection between us deepens, I feel the exact moment when he gives up control.

The strokes of his tongue become fierce and insistent as it probes into my mouth, and he wraps an arm around me, tugging me down onto his lap. My dress restricts the movement of my legs a little, so I end up half straddling him and half draped over him, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He arches his hips up to grind against me, his large hands skating over my bare back as if he’s been waiting to do this ever since the moment he first saw me in this dress.

Maybe he has.

Maybe Theo has too.

Holy fuck.

I’m not dreaming.

This is really happening.

The thought brings with it a tiny thrill of fear, but riding fast on the heels of that is… relief.

This is happening.

It’s strange and terrifying and exhilarating, but so was the way these men found their way into my life. Nothing about our relationship is normal, which means we get to define what “normal” is.

And right now, kissing Ryland like my life depends on it while Marcus and Theo make low, appreciative sounds as they watch us?

It feels like the most normal thing there is.

It feels like everything I’ll ever fucking need.

Ryland’s hands move to my hair, and he cradles my head between his large palms as he changes the angle of our kiss. I’m panting into his mouth, trying to crawl up his body to get closer to him, my clit throbbing as need builds deep inside me.

When he pulls away a moment later, I gasp for breath, trying to regain my equilibrium.

“Theo’s turn, sweetheart.” He grins at me, making his strong features look almost boyish, then drops a small kiss to the tip of my nose.

It’s a small, sweet gesture, nowhere near as heated as the way he was just devouring my mouth. But the meaning behind it—the tenderness behind it—makes my body ache for him anyway.

Fuck. How can I want all three of these men so much at the same damn time?

I never want to leave Ryland’s arms. But at the same time, I’m dying to kiss Theo, desperate to feel his hands and mouth on me, to feed the connection that sparks between us.

Crawling off Ryland’s lap is a little awkward, especially since I’ve only got one hand to use for balance, but he keeps a firm grip on me to steady me until I’m back on my feet.

My skirt settles back around my legs, and I flick a glance in Marcus’s direction to find him watching me with smoldering eyes.

His cock is hard, a straining bulge trapped by the confines of his clothes, and as he meets my gaze, he reaches down and palms his dick through the fabric of his pants, running his hand up and down his length.

His eyelids droop as his nostrils flare, and liquid heat gathers in my core.

Marcus destroyed my panties back at Luca’s party, so there’s nothing to catch the slick arousal that seeps from me as my pussy clenches. I can feel it sticking to my thighs as I turn to face Theo.

The man with laughing blue-green eyes and sandy blond hair is watching me just as closely as Marcus is. He’s hard too, and I remember the feel of his thick cock pressing against my clit, driving away the sadness and pain until there was nothing but pleasure. Nothing but him.

I wanted him so fucking badly that morning. Wanted to feel him inside me. Wanted to wrap myself in his warmth and strength and goodness until I could find those things in my own soul again.

But I was scared.

I was terrified of what it would mean to admit I was falling for all three of the men whose lives had collided violently with mine. I was certain it couldn’t possibly be real.

As I watch him, Theo reaches down and grips his cock too, quirking a lopsided smile as he jacks himself off through his pants. He bites his lower lip, his body shuddering slightly as his hips thrust up into his hand, and I stalk toward him quickly. Something almost like jealousy tears through me as I grab his hand, pulling it away from the thick bulge in his pants.

He chuckles as I release my grip on him to gather the fabric of my dress, keeping it from trapping my legs as I climb onto his lap. The skirt of my dress drapes around my upper thighs as I straddle Theo’s sculpted hips. The hardness he was stroking a second ago presses against my bare clit, and I let out a soft groan as I rub against him, kissing him hungrily.

I’m completely soaked by now. My body has been on edge ever since Marcus fucked me in the laundry room—sated but still hungry for more—and after the way he and Ryland kissed me, I feel like I’m channeling an electric current.

“Fuck, Rose,” Theo grunts into my mouth. “You’re getting me wet. I can fucking feel you soaking through my pants.”

It doesn’t sound like a complaint, and as if to prove that fact, he grips my hips and grinds me down even harder against his cock, smearing my cream all over himself. It’s filthy and possessive… and I fucking love it.

He breaks our kiss to trail his lips down over my chin and jaw, and I tilt my head back, letting him continue his path all the way down my throat as I lean backward slightly. He growls against my skin and delves one hand beneath the fabric of my dress, readjusting my position on his lap slightly as he slides a thick finger inside me.

“Oh, god…”

The words are a half-choked whisper as my pussy walls clamp around the intrusion. I thought his cock against my clit felt good, but this is even better. My walls ripple around him as he adds a second finger, and I start to ride his hand, working my hips against his palm as I try to take more of him inside me.

“Angel.” Marcus’s voice is gruff and commanding. I crane my neck to look over at him as Theo drags his tongue across my collarbone. He’s unzipping his pants, delving his hand inside to fist his cock, and his eyes gleam with intensity as he catches my gaze. “Show me. Show us.”

I know what he wants, and the thought of giving it to him makes a wave of arousal pulse through me.

He wants to see.

Everything.

Forcing my unwilling muscles to work, I tug on Theo’s hair to bring his face back up to mine. I kiss him deeply, moving against his hand in the same rhythm as my lips as I chase my pleasure hard for a second. Then I slide off his lap, nearly groaning aloud at the feel of his fingers dragging out of my pussy. I miss them immediately, miss the feeling of fullness and the sweet pressure on my g-spot.

When I’m standing in front of Theo again, I reach up with my hand to push first one strap of my dress then the other off my shoulders. The fabric slides down over my breasts and torso, gathering at my waist for a moment before I shimmy it down over my hips.

Then it drops to the floor, pooling around my feet.

I’m not wearing a bra, and my shredded panties are still in the laundry room in Luca D’Addario’s house. So all that’s left on my body is the pair of heels Ryland bought me to go with the dress.

Acutely aware of the three gazes tracking my every move, I step out of my heels and kick both them and the dress to the side.

When my gaze meets Theo’s again, something has changed in his expression. Usually, there’s a hint of humor that gleams behind his blue-green eyes. It’s been mostly absent for the past two weeks, but I noticed it spark to life again when he realized Marcus had come back to us—as if color had been returned to the world again.

But right now, he doesn’t look like he finds any of this amusing. He looks serious.

Intense.

And hungry as fuck.

I can hear the sounds of Marcus and Ryland stroking themselves behind me, but I don’t turn around to look, as tempting as it is. Instead, I hold Theo’s gaze, letting the chemistry that’s simmered between us for weeks charge the air.

This is about all of us, about the four of us. But right now, this moment? It’s only me and Theo.

I let my gaze travel slowly down his body, soaking up the way his tux accentuates his lean, muscled form. There’s a dark spot over the bulge of his cock, and my clit pulses as I see the evidence of my own arousal smeared over his pants. My breath picks up as I drop to my knees in front of him, and Theo makes a strangled noise as I reach for the waistband of his pants.

I’ve gotten good at dressing and undressing myself one-handed, but I’m not as practiced at doing it to someone else. But his fingers move quickly to help me, and the two of us get his zipper down before shoving his pants and boxer briefs down around his hips too. Theo yanks off his bowtie and makes quick work of the buttons on his white shirt, shrugging out of the shirt and jacket in one go.

His pants aren’t all the way off, but it’s good enough. His cock is free, hard and heavy and slightly curved as it arches toward his stomach. As I shuffle closer on my knees, he spreads his legs wider, inviting me into the space between them. My fingers trail up his thigh, and when I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, something glints in the light.

A piercing.

Oh, fuck, the head of his cock is pierced.

I can’t believe I didn’t notice that when we were grinding against each other in bed that morning, although in all fairness, I’ve never been with a guy who had a piercing, so it didn’t even occur to me to wonder.

It’s surprisingly beautiful, and after I stare at it for a second, I can’t help myself—I lean down and flick my tongue over the smooth head of his shaft, feeling the texture of the small metal balls on either side. I swirl my tongue around them, and Theo groans, his hand falling on the back of my head.

He doesn’t fist my hair, although I can feel the effort it takes him not to do it. I have a feeling he wants to grab my hair by the roots and drag my lips all the way down the length of his cock, but instead, he just lets me explore him, teasing us both with light flicks of my tongue.

The skin of his cock is nearly as smooth as the metal of his piercing, and the way it pulses angrily in my hand sends another rush of arousal surging through me.

I’m on my knees in front of him, and with the way I’m bent over, I’m sure my bare ass and dripping pussy are on full display to the men behind me. But that thought doesn’t bring up an ounce of shame or embarrassment.

Only heat.

My pussy clenches, and I’m sure Marcus and Ryland can see it because they both groan—twin sounds of tortured satisfaction that wrap around each other in the air.

My stomach clenches, and I stop teasing, wrapping my lips around Theo’s cock and sliding down, taking as much of him into my mouth as I can. My saliva coats his length, and I swallow when he hits the back of my throat, feeling the strange sensation of his piercing there too.

His grip on my hair tightens, letting me know I’ve pushed through the last of his self-control, and he mutters several low curses as I begin to suck him in earnest.

“Fucking hell, angel.” Marcus’s voice is rough as sandpaper. “I’ve never seen anything as perfect as this. Touch yourself.”

My amputated arm is braced on Theo’s leg, and my fingers are still wrapped around his cock. I’ve never wished so much in my life that I still had my right hand as I do right now.

But Theo doesn’t miss a beat. Reaching down, he loosens my grip before fisting himself again, holding his cock steady as I continue to work him up and down between my lips. My hand is wet with a mixture of spit and precum as I drag it down my body, trailing between my breasts and down the line of my stomach before the pads of my fingers land on my clit.

Sensation explodes inside me at the first touch, my body so desperate for release that I’m almost shaking. My jaw aches a little from holding it open, my knees press uncomfortably against the hardwood floor, and I gag a little every time I deep throat Theo. But every one of those feelings takes a back seat to the pleasure racing through me.

My fingertips become a blur on my sensitive nub, flying over it in desperate, hard circles as my hips move restlessly.

When I come, I lose my rhythm entirely, nearly choking on Theo’s cock as my body bucks and writhes. Only his tight grip on my hair keeps me steady as sparks dance in my vision and a low groan spills from my throat.

There’s nowhere for the sound to go. It’s trapped by Theo’s cock, the vibrations traveling from my body into his.

He grunts, then tugs on my hair suddenly. When I release him with a wet slurp and look up into his eyes, there’s a wildness in them that sends a shiver of anticipation through me.

“Get up here, Rose,” he murmurs, his chest rising and falling fast. “I have to be inside you. I want to fucking fill you up when I come.”

He’s got a tattoo on his ribs, I notice—the only piece of ink I see on his body. I make out several letters, but I can’t decipher the words and am too distracted to try.

I rise unsteadily to my feet and am about to crawl back onto Theo’s lap when he stops me. When I blink down at him, he grins sinfully at me, then grasps my hips in his hands and turns me around.

“Marcus wants to see, remember?” he murmurs, his hands running up and down the outsides of my thighs. “So does Ryland. Let them see.”

A flush rises up my chest, heating my skin as I look at the other two men. They’re jerking themselves off as they watch us, and the expressions on their faces are… indescribable.

There’s heat—so much heat—but there’s something else too.

Something almost like awe.

Just as my gaze locks with Marcus’s, Theo wraps his hands around my hips again, tugging me backward to sit astride him. My legs fall open, draping over his and splaying me wide, and I feel another gush of wetness leak from me.

“Fuck, Ayla.” Ryland’s fist moves faster, his jaw clenching. “Jesus.”

He looks almost as undone as he did the night we fucked in the kitchen, just from watching me with his friend.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Theo tugs me backward a little more so that my back drapes against his chest. Then he reaches down to line himself up with my entrance and rolls his hips, sliding inside me.

We both catch our breath as he fills me, stretching my walls with his thickness. He can’t get as deep from this angle as he’d be able to from some other position, but he’s big enough that it doesn’t fucking matter. I feel him everywhere.

I feel his piercing, hard and unyielding as it drags against my walls.

“God, that feels good,” I breathe as my head lolls on Theo’s shoulder. My back is arched a little, putting even more of me on display for these men. I’m laid out like a fucking banquet as Theo begins to thrust shallowly inside me, gripping my hips to get leverage as he moves.

This time, Marcus doesn’t even have to tell me what to do. I just came, but my body is starving for more, desperate for more. My fingers move down to my clit again, pressing delicately at the over-sensitive bundle of nerves. Marcus and Ryland both match my tempo as I begin to swirl my fingers, and the three of us fall into sync as Theo fucks me from behind.

“I’m not gonna last long, Rose,” he murmurs into my ear, pressing a sloppy kiss to my hair and the side of my face. “I can’t. You feel too fucking good, and I’ve wanted this for too fucking long. I’ll fuck you slow next time, but right now, I just need to come inside you. I need to feel you take my cum. I need to make you mine.”

You’ve taken my cock. You’ve taken my cum. You’re fucking mine.

His words are an unconscious echo of what Marcus said to me once, and they make my toes curl as I grind my ass against his hips, clenching around him as I try to drag his cock in deeper.

I am his.

I belong to this man as much as I belong to Marcus.

As much as I belong to Ryland.

As much as I belong to myself.

Our beginnings were born of violence and pain, but maybe that’s why the bonds between us feel so unbreakable, so unquestionable.

They were forged in flame.

I make a noise that’s half groan and half whimper, squirming against him as another orgasm builds steadily inside me, threatening a hurricane of pleasure as warmth spreads through my limbs all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.

Since words are impossible at the moment, I just turn my head and capture his lips in a kiss, fingers strumming my clit with desperate movements. He kisses me back hungrily despite the awkward angle, plunging his tongue into my mouth as one hand grabs my waist, pulling me down on his cock as his hips thrust up hard from beneath me.

“Oh, fuck!”

The ragged shout comes from Marcus, not Theo, and it’s the sound of him coming apart that undoes us all, setting off a chain reaction like the first domino falling.

Pleasure detonates in my core, and Theo pulses and swells, his cock growing impossibly thicker as he empties himself inside me. Ryland gives a rough grunt, and the wet slapping noise of his fist around his cock slows.

All four of us are breathing hard, the sharp sounds filling the quiet room as tension bleeds from my body. My kiss with Theo slows and deepens, becoming less frantic and more gentle in the aftermath of our release. My heart is still thudding heavily in my chest, as if it got behind during the height of my pleasure and is doing its best to catch up.

Honestly, I’m not sure it ever will.

Theo’s hand leaves my hip, roaming up the side of my body before cupping my breast, massaging the soft flesh and plucking at my nipple. I gasp as a zing of sensation shoots through me, and he chuckles. Then he breaks our kiss, resting his head against mine as he glances over at his two friends.

They both look just how I feel. Sated and a little stunned.

“See what you did to them, Rose?” Theo chuckles again, a rough, warm sound. “It’s the same thing you do to me. We’re fucking gone for you, sweetheart. We’re wrecked.”

CHAPTER 17

WE’RE WRECKED.

Theo’s words settle into my chest, worming into my heart to take up permanent residence there.

He’s serious. I can hear it in his voice. And I know exactly what he means. The feeling is entirely mutual.

I’m wrecked too.

I never meant to fall, but now I’m not sure I’ll ever find solid ground again. At least, not without these three by my side.

The feelings between the four of us are obsessive and manic, violent and overwhelming. I’m sure the shrink I stopped seeing years ago would tell me it’s not healthy. That it’s not sane.

But I’ve tried sanity. I’ve tried playing it safe. And all it did was turn my world a dull, numbing gray.

I can’t go back to that, even if it would be safer.

“Goddamn, angel.” Marcus lets out a breath, reaching over to the small table set beside his chair and grabbing a few tissues. He wipes himself off, then tosses the box to Ryland before tucking himself away. “You’re gonna fucking kill me one of these days. But it’ll be so damn worth it.”

A smile tugs at his lips as he speaks, but the mention of him dying makes a wash of ice pour through my chest. He’s kidding, and I know that. But I spent so many days thinking he might be dead, trying to talk myself out of believing that he was dead, and praying that we’d at least find a body. My rational mind can’t push down the wave of panic, and Theo must feel the tension that fills my body.

He wraps an arm around my waist, his touch turning from heated to protective in an instant.

“Yeah, speaking of you being alive,” he tells Marcus, keeping his tone light. “You better get some fuckin’ sleep. We need you back at one hundred percent, and you’ve had a hell of a day. Ry?”

He shifts his gaze to Ryland, who nods and rises from his chair, tossing several wadded up tissues into the trash can set in the corner. He’s tucked his softening cock away too, but I can still smell our lingering arousal in the air. The entire room smells like sex, honestly.

“Come on, man.” He crosses to Marcus, reaching down to offer him a hand. “And don’t even think about telling me you don’t need help.”

Marcus rolls his eyes but keeps his mouth shut as he rises slowly to his feet. I can see him suppress a grimace of pain, probably trying to mask it so I won’t worry. He leans against Ryland, the flush fading from his cheeks as he pales a little. He catches my gaze and gives me a tired smile.

“Don’t worry, angel. I’ll be all right.” His smile widens a little, and now I see it reflected in his eyes too. “I’m home.”

This isn’t even his house, but that’s entirely beside the point. He is home.

Ryland loops an arm loosely around his waist, shooting a glance my way before the two of them shuffle out of the room.

Theo helps me shift forward as he slides out of me, and I pad across the room naked to grab the box of tissues, returning and holding it out to him.

He grabs a few and cleans himself up, then takes his time cleaning me up. I look down at him as he works, smiling softly. His touch is both sweet and dirty, just like the man himself, and when he slides a finger through my folds before brushing it over my clit, I hiss out a breath, then chuckle.

“Still want more, huh?”

“Of you?” He looks up, his blue-green eyes warming as he teases my entrance with his finger. “Always.”

I lean down to kiss him, burying my fingers in his hair. It’s meant to be a sweet gesture, but just like his attempt to clean me up, it morphs from tender to dirty in three seconds flat. He tugs me toward him, and I find myself straddling his hips again, facing him this time.

His cock twitches, hardening a little beneath me. His pants are still undone, and my hand roams over the skin of his arms, chest, and stomach as we kiss, touching all the parts of him I couldn’t reach earlier while he was fucking me.

The kiss goes on so long that it turns as slow and deep as molasses, as if our bodies are melting into each other, two separate forms joining into one.

Exhaustion is finally catching up with me when we finally break apart, and I can only imagine how fucking tired Marcus must’ve been. It’s a miracle he didn’t pass the fuck out the second we got back to the house, although I’m selfishly glad he didn’t. We’ll all just have to make sure he gets enough sleep over the next few days to make up for it.

That thought strikes a chord in my chest, and I lean back a little, gazing down into Theo’s eyes.

“So, what happens now?”

“Now?” He catches a lock of my dark hair, winding it around his finger.

“Now that Marcus is back. Does it change our plan? Does it change our strategy?”

He chews his lip as he considers his answer. “I don’t think so. It just changes our focus. We know who shot Carson now. The playing field has changed. But our endgame hasn’t. We need to end this shit, and we need to win.”

“And you’ll still let me help?” I press, suddenly worried that now that Marcus is back, they’ll try to protect me by keeping me on the sidelines.

Theo laughs softly, his hands skimming down my back. “Rose, I don’t know how the hell the three of us got lucky enough to have you in our lives. But I think we’re all—finally—agreed on the fact that this is exactly where you fucking belong.”

I can’t help the smile that blooms across my face.

In these men’s lives is a dangerous place to be. It’s a place where I’m as likely to get shot again as I am to live another year. As Ryland told me once, none of them expect to live long, and standing beside them puts me at the same risk.

But my smile grows anyway as I slide my fingers through the hair at the nape of Theo’s neck, gazing down at him. “Good.”

He grins, and I lean back a little more, skimming my fingertips over his shoulder and chest before ghosting them over his ribs and the tattoo I noticed earlier.

Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam.

My brows pull together as I cock my head. “What does this mean?”

His eyelids droop for a moment, as if he’s lost in the feeling of my touch. Then his expression hardens a little, and he answers.

“It’s Latin. It means ‘I will either find a way or make one.’ I got it after our first game. After I realized what the fuck my mom had signed me up for.”

He catches my hand, lacing his fingers with mine as he pulls me a little closer. Our bare skin brushes together, sending little sparks of heat scattering through me. His other hand reaches up to cup my face, and I lean into his touch like a cat.

“I never wanted this, Rose,” Theo says softly. “To play this game. Fuck, I don’t even want the prize. When you’re at the top of the heap, everybody’s eyes are on you. Everybody wants what you have, and they’ll do whatever they can to tear you down.” He shakes his head. “But now I’ve got another reason to win. We all do. It’s our best chance at keeping you safe.”

My chest tightens, and I drop my head to press a soft kiss to his lips. Then I slide my hand through his hair again, gripping it tight.

Tight enough to hurt a little.

To be a warning.

“You better fucking keep yourselves safe too.” My low murmur is almost a growl, and I kiss him again, harder this time. “I’m not losing any of you.”

He wraps his arms around me, pinning me against his chest as we kiss each other over and over, feeding an addiction that only seems to grow more consuming with every press of our lips.

I lose track of time, but after a while, Theo tightens his grip on me and pushes to his feet. He sets me down gently and zips his pants back up.

His cock is hard again, and I can’t help but ogle the piercing at the tip before it disappears behind the fabric of his black pants. He catches me staring, but instead of giving me shit for it, he just gives me a look that tells me I’m welcome to get as well acquainted with that part of his anatomy as I like.

He helps me get my dress back on, then leads me from the room. I expect him to turn toward the stairs that will take us to the guest bedroom on the second floor where I’ve been staying, but instead he strides down a hallway on the first floor. We pass Ryland’s room, and Theo opens the next door we come to. Even before I peer inside at the figure lying on the bed, I know who it is.

“He needs you,” Theo murmurs, opening the door a little wider. “And I think you need him too.”

Fuck. He’s right about that.

I was prepared to go back to my own room, but the truth is, I’d probably spend all night tossing and turning, fighting off nightmares in which Marcus never came back to us, or lying awake wondering if he was all right.

How the hell Theo could see that in me without me saying a word about it, I don’t know. But at the moment, I’m insanely grateful for how well my ex-stalkers know me.

Tiptoeing forward, I rest my hand on his chest and rise up to press a kiss to his lips. Then I step inside the room, keeping my footsteps light as I cross toward the bed.

Marcus is lying on his stomach, his face illuminated by the soft beam of light that streams in through the halfway open door. I can still see bone-deep weariness and signs of pain in his features, but his expression is peaceful as he sleeps quietly. His long, dark lashes fan across his cheeks, and the vulnerability of him in this moment hits me like a ton of bricks.

I want to both wrap myself up in him and wrap myself around him.

To be protected by him and protect him right back.

He has become my anchor in a world of chaos, and I hope like hell I can be that for him too.

“Goodnight, Rose.”

Theo’s soft voice comes from the doorway, and a second later, the light vanishes as the door shuts with a soft click. Ignoring the fact that I just put it back on, I shrug my dress off again and then crawl into bed beside Marcus.

He’s fast asleep, dead to the world, but when I lift the covers and slide in beside him, he makes a soft noise and rolls onto his side, snaking his arms around me and pulling me into his body. His face nuzzles my hair, and he takes one long inhale before his breathing pattern returns to normal.

I nestle deeper into his embrace, sleep already dragging me under. The last thought I have before I give in to the heavy pull is: he’s home.

And I am too.

I DREAM OF SOMETHING GOOD, for once.

Of course, of all the dreams I’ve had, this is the one I can’t quite remember when I slowly blink awake in the morning. But I know it was a good dream, because instead of a pounding heart and wildly racing thoughts, I feel peaceful. Calm. Happy.

The dream was about my brother, I think.

That realization makes me dig deeper into the scrap heap of my memory banks, searching for any hint of what passed through my mind while I was asleep. I come up empty, but I have the strangest feeling that I found him in my dream. That I came face-to-face with him, and he was alive.

Healthy.

Real.

“What’s that smile for, angel?”

Marcus’s voice is rough with sleep, and when I turn my head toward him, I find his blue and brown eyes focused on me. He’s lying on his side, one arm slung possessively over my stomach as I lie on my back. I didn’t realize he was awake. It’s still a bit early, and he should really be getting as much sleep as possible. But he looks better this morning. His face has more color, and he looks as peaceful as I feel.

“Oh, you know.” I turn toward him. “I had a pretty good night last night.”

He lets out a low laugh, his eyes sparking with amusement. “Fuck, I missed you.”

There’s nothing but honest truth in his words, and I nod, a lump suddenly forming in my throat. “I missed you too.”

He tugs me closer, pulling me into his embrace. He must’ve stripped down to just his boxers before he got in bed, and as my arm wraps around him, my fingertips brush the damaged skin of a fresh scar. My heart skips a beat in my chest, and I pull back a little.

“Can I see?”

Marcus lifts an eyebrow, shooting me a questioning glance. “You really want to?”

“Yes.”

I don’t know if want to is the right way to put it. I need to see the scars on his back left behind by the bullet wounds. I need to know how bad it is.

He hesitates for a beat, then nods. Releasing his hold on me, he rolls over onto his stomach, crossing his arms on his pillow and resting his cheek against them as he watches me carefully.

Tugging the blankets down a little, I scan his back. My pulse picks up, memories of my own trauma and slow, painful healing process rising to the surface as I stare at the three bright pink wounds on Marcus’s back. They’re concentrated in a tight cluster on the right side between his spine and his shoulder blade.

“Victoria’s a fucking bitch, but the doc she has on call knows his shit,” Marcus murmurs as I rise up onto the elbow of my ruined arm and lean over him a little, examining his wounds. “My lung had collapsed, but he was able to fix it. And the bullets made pretty straight paths inside my body, so there wasn’t as much internal damage as there could’ve been. The thing that almost killed me was blood loss.”

My stomach churns at the memory of waking up in a drying puddle of blood. Of being caked in it, my clothes and skin and hair matted with it.

I nod, unable to find words to respond.

How much blood has been lost between the two of us? How much more blood will be spilled before this thing is over?

“So does this make us even?” I trace my fingers in wide circles around each of his fresh, pink scars. I want to kiss them like he’s done to mine, but they’re too new for that, the wounds still healing. “I saved your life, then you saved mine.”

“Not a fucking chance, angel.” Marcus rolls onto his side again, stealing away the sight of his injured back. “The doc kept telling me how fucking lucky I was. That if I’d gotten shot on the other side, there’s a good chance the bullets would’ve hit my heart. The fact that I spun around at the last second? The fact that I had my arms around you? That saved me. I owe you twice as much now.”

I scowl at him. “That doesn’t count. That’s just a coincidence. Good luck, like the doctor said.”

His grin is fierce and feral. “It counts if I say it counts.” He pushes me onto my back, resting on an elbow to hover over me. “And you’re more than good luck, Ayla. You’re my fucking guardian angel, and you always will be.”

He kisses me, drugging me with the feel of his large, calloused hand roving over my body and his lips on mine. I wrap my arm around him, carefully avoiding his wounds as I pull him closer.

Marcus has been calling me his guardian angel ever since he crashed back into my life, and I never really believed him.

But as we kiss each other like our lives depend on it, like the other person is our air and water and food, I realize for the first time that I want to be.

I’ve found something with these men that I never knew existed, that I never thought I could have. And there’s no fucking way I’m letting anyone take it away from me now.

CHAPTER 18

IT’S close to noon by the time Marcus and I finally emerge from the bedroom. We find Theo and Ryland in the kitchen, and my stomach does a strange little flip-flop when I see them.

I can still feel the events of last night everywhere on my body, as if they’ve been permanently imprinted on my skin. When Ryland rises from his barstool and palms the back of my head before kissing me, it strikes me how much things really have changed.

Again.

Theo swoops in for a kiss as Ryland sits back down, and Marcus and I settle at the kitchen island. There are eggs and bacon that someone—probably Theo—cooked up, and we serve ourselves and grab some coffee. My stomach growls as I sprinkle on a little salt. I haven’t eaten since before the party last night, and I’m starving.

But I almost choke on my first bite when Theo glances over at Marcus and asks, “So, when’s the wedding?”

Marcus stiffens, and I chug hot coffee to try to keep from choking to death. There’s a scraping noise, and I realize that Ryland kicked Theo’s stool under the island.

Theo holds up his hands, shaking his head. “Hey, I just wanted to know what date I need to murder Victoria by, that’s all. We need to know what we’re dealing with. What kind of timeline we’re on.”

That’s the second time in less than twenty-four hours that one of these men has vowed to kill the elegant auburn-haired woman, and I don’t really care what it says about me that I like that.

“He’s got a point,” Ryland grunts. “I’m surprised she didn’t try to get a priest to do the honors while you were lying in bed all fucked up on pain meds and less likely to tell her to go fuck herself.”

Marcus’s jaw clenches. “That wouldn’t have given her what she wanted. This is a stunt. Something meant to cause waves and get people talking. Speculating. Everyone already knows the three of us won’t turn on each other, and now she’s trying to position herself as part of that. And she needed Luca to witness our engagement so that the wedding itself would seem halfway legitimate.”

“So then what timeline are we looking at?” Theo purses his lips.

I set my fork down next to my half-finished eggs. I really wish Theo had brought this up after we ate, although I know we can’t put off talking about it. But my stomach is now such a hard lump that the idea of eating anything makes me feel a little queasy.

“A month.” Marcus shoves his plate away too. “Maybe a little more. I’m sure she’ll want it done before the next game begins so she’ll have a shield against attack from any of us.”

“I think she’s counting way too heavily on our sense of honor,” Ryland grunts, anger resonating in his voice. “Thinking a fucking marriage license is gonna keep one of us from putting a bullet in her head.”

“No, she’s not.” I speak up suddenly, and all three men turn to look at me. I bite my lip. “She’s not stupid. And she knows you guys aren’t either. She’s not counting on your honor to save her. She’s counting on the fact that it would be suicide to kill her.”

“Angel.” Marcus’s jaw clenches.

I glance around our small group, meeting each of their gazes. “What would happen if someone murdered another competitor outside of the allotted seventy-two-hour window?”

There’s a moment of silence, as if none of them want to answer. Then Theo clears his throat. “Their life would be forfeit. They’d be killed, or hunted down and then killed if they tried to run.”

A shiver runs up my spine at his words, but I forge ahead. “And what do you think would happen if a husband killed his wife during the allotted window? Do you think Luca would stand for that?”

Marcus’s nostrils flare, and my mind flashes back to the promise he made me last night. I don’t doubt for a second that he’d kill Victoria rather than marry her.

But I don’t know if I can let him do that.

Two weeks of not knowing whether he was alive or dead nearly killed me. I can’t fucking lose him again.

“No,” Ryland says finally, his voice heavy in the quiet that’s descended on the kitchen. “He loved his wife. He fuckin’ worshipped her. I don’t think he’d stand for it.”

“Doesn’t mean one of us couldn’t kill her,” Theo says, a bloodthirsty note to his voice.

I nod. “Yeah. Maybe. But it’s risky. I’m sure Luca knows you guys are close. He probably won’t buy that one of you went behind Marcus’s back to kill his wife. He’ll know Marcus was behind it. Victoria changed the game entirely when she brought marriage into it.”

Marcus visibly winces at the word, and it falls from my tongue like a drop of poison. I grip the edge of the island with my hand, fingers digging into the smooth marble.

“What are you saying, angel? What are you getting at?” he asks, his voice low and hard.

My stomach twists. I’m trying to think through this rationally, but I can’t bring myself to speak the words we’re all thinking out loud.

Marcus might not have a choice.

Not if he wants to live.

“I’m saying…” I swallow. “I want to talk to her. Just me and her.”

“What?”

“Fuck, no!”

“Are you insane?”

The chorus of words comes so quickly that I can’t sort out who says what, but it’s easy enough to figure out how they all feel about my idea. They fucking hate it.

Their barrage of “no” continues for another second until I raise my hand, palm out.

“One of you can come with me,” I say quickly. “You’ll have to. I have no idea where she lives, and I doubt she’ll see me unless one of you gets me in. But I need to talk to her. Woman to woman.”

“She’s not a woman, Rose. She’s a pit viper.” Theo’s voice holds no trace of humor as he stands up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, whatever she is, she’s not like any of the other competitors in the game,” I insist. “She’s got tits and a vagina, and so do I. She’s obviously playing this game differently than anyone else, and we need to know what she wants. Maybe there’s a bargain that can be struck, something we can do to get her to drop this engagement. Because if she forces your hand…” My gaze slides to Marcus, and I let him see the raw pain on my face, for once not even trying to hide my emotions around him. Not like I used to. “I’m not letting you die over this.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression hard to read. I can practically hear Ryland’s teeth grinding together, and I know he’s probably regretting the day he let me get involved in this shit at all.

But I meant what I said. Victoria is playing a different angle than any of the men in the game are. She brought her own fucking deck of cards, and I’ve got a better chance of being able to play against her than they do.

Because I get it. As much as I despise her, I fucking get it.

She was thrust into a violent competition with astronomical stakes against a bunch of burly alpha men, and while she’s obviously no weakling, she must’ve realized that her odds of winning are greater off the battlefield than on it.

Her best odds of winning are by manipulating the game itself into her favor.

Marcus is quiet for so long that it makes my skin prickle uncomfortably. I remember my blowup with Ryland over whether or not I should be involved in all of this. I’ll go toe-to-toe with Marcus about it if I have to, but I really don’t fucking want to.

He’s supposed to be healing. And I have a feeling if the two of us fight about this, it’s gonna be long and messy and painful as fuck. I feel like an exposed nerve right now, all my emotions too close to the surface, and I can see the same look in his eyes.

Finally, he clenches his hand into a fist. “Okay. You want to talk to her? Fine. But I’m coming with you, angel, and if she so much as lays a goddamn finger on you, I’ll end her right then and there.”

I nod, my stomach relaxing a little.

He hates it, but he’ll let me try. It’s the best I’m gonna get.

THEO AND RYLAND stay home while Marcus borrows Theo’s car to take me to Victoria’s place.

They both wanted to come, but I knew the odds of violence erupting would increase exponentially with all three of them there with me. They’re all fucking pissed at Victoria, and they’ve all been under a fuckton of strain over the past few weeks. They’re on a hair-trigger, and it’s not worth taking that risk.

Marcus is silent on the drive over, stewing in his own thoughts. I couldn’t say exactly what they are, but his grip on the steering wheel is so tight that I’m pretty sure he’s imagining it’s Victoria’s neck.

She lives closer to Theo’s place than I expected, and the drive only takes us twenty minutes. It makes me wonder how many of the other competitors live in the same general area of Halston.

It wouldn’t surprise me. The city is pretty divided between the “haves” and the “have nots,” and everyone in the game is wealthy and well-connected somehow.

When Marcus pulls up outside her place, I stare out the window at it, blinking in surprise. Not because of how huge and elaborate it is, but because it’s neither of those things. It’s nice—modern and classy—but from the way Victoria carried herself at the party last night, I would’ve expected her to live in a fucking palace.

She carried herself like a queen. Like someone who’s had everything she could ever want handed to her all her life. But that’s not true. I remember what Theo told me about her, how she grew up with practically nothing before her family found their way into massive amounts of wealth.

Maybe that’s why her house isn’t some monstrosity dripping in gold. People who know what it’s like to go hungry tend to value what they have more than people who’ve never wanted for anything—at least, in my experience.

They’re also scrappy as fuck, which is normally a quality I admire. But it’s hard to muster up even grudging respect when this bitch wants to marry the man I’m falling in love with.

Marcus cuts the engine, then turns to me, his eyes burning. “You sure about this, angel?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation or doubt in my voice.

He curses under his breath. “Dammit. I swore to fuckin’ god I was done letting you step in front of bullets for me. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s what Victoria is. She’s a stray goddamn bullet.”

“No,” I say dryly, echoing my words from back in Theo’s kitchen. “She’s a woman.”

The men all know Victoria better than I do. But I can relate to her on a level they can’t.

Not that I think we’re gonna braid each other’s hair and paint each other’s nails like this is a fucking slumber party, but maybe she’ll say something to me that she wouldn’t say to them. Maybe she’ll let me see some opening, some hint of weakness.

“Right. Let’s get this shit over with.” Marcus scrubs a hand through his hair before shoving open his door.

He eases out of the car gingerly, and I wonder how much pain he’s in. He told me he spent the first week at Victoria’s place so out of it that the whole thing is a blur, but he improved rapidly after that.

Still, I worry that he’ll push too hard or too fast in his recovery and fuck himself up worse.

He opens my door for me, then leads me up the walk toward Victoria’s house. His grip on my hand is bruising, and his shoulders are rigid and tight. My stomach churns with unease as he raps sharply on the door with his knuckles.

I hope this isn’t a huge fucking mistake.

CHAPTER 19

NO ONE ANSWERS for a long moment.

Marcus bangs on the door again, harder this time. I know he didn’t want to come here, but now that we’re outside Victoria’s place, I get the feeling he’s not gonna leave until our business is done. He’s not about to back down and let her win.

A few seconds later, the door swings open.

Victoria cocks an eyebrow, her green eyes narrowing. Her auburn hair is piled on her head in a messy bun today, and although she still carries herself with a sort of elegant, swan-like grace, she’s replaced the extravagant evening gown with a pair of carefully distressed jeans and a thin t-shirt that clings to the curves of her body.

“Marcus.” She smirks a little as the surprise fades from her face. “I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon. Did you miss it? I’ve still got your room made up if you want to stay a while longer. Or did you come to discuss wedding colors? I really can’t decide on the perfect color palette.”

“Go fuck yourself, Victoria.” Marcus steps forward, pushing the door open farther. “Ayla wants to talk to you. And then we’re leaving. Both of us.”

It’s a testament to Victoria’s strength that she doesn’t give way before the force of Marcus’s wrath. He’s towering over her like a predator about to strike, but she doesn’t back up or quail. Instead, she shifts her gaze past him to focus on me, an assessing look flitting across her face.

“Does she, now?” she murmurs. Then she nods. “All right. Come on in.”

I keep my own face hard and blank as she ushers us both inside. Marcus’s gait is still stiff, and I can tell he’s refusing to show any weakness, but Victoria purses her lips as she scans him up and down.

“While you’re here, you should have Doctor Brenson come look at you,” she tells him.

“I’ve got my own guy.”

She chuckles dryly, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She’s barefoot, I realize, with toenails painted a deep red. Everything about her looks casual and unforced, and I wonder which version of her is the real one. This one, or the woman I met last night?

Or maybe they’re both lies.

She’s clearly a good fucking liar.

“I’m sure you do have your own guy, but Brenson’s been taking care of you since day one. He knows how far along you are in your recovery, and he told you to book a follow-up with him anyway. So do it now.” She tugs her phone out of her pocket and taps out a message. “I can get him here in five minutes.”

Marcus’s jaw clenches. I grab his arm and shoot him a look. I’m sure this is some kind of power play on Victoria’s part, but after all the things Marcus has done in the past twenty-four hours, I really would feel better if a doctor checked him out.

He stiffens under my touch, then nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin.

Victoria smiles, then sweeps her arm out in an inviting gesture, indicating we should move deeper into the house. We follow her through the space, and my gaze darts around, cataloguing everything I see.

The inside matches the outside—understated and clean. There are a few hints of wealth here and there, but they’d be easy to miss if I wasn’t looking for them.

“Luca wasn’t particularly happy the three of you left the party early last night,” Victoria notes, leading us down a hallway before stepping through a door into the back yard. She catches Marcus’s gaze. “I made an excuse for you, but you better be careful. He doesn’t like any hint that people are disrespecting him.”

“I can take care of myself,” Marcus grunts.

Victoria’s smile makes my stomach tighten. “Oh, I’m counting on that.”

The back yard is much larger than the front yard, and this is the first sign I’ve seen of Victoria openly throwing her family’s new money around. An Olympic sized pool takes center stage in the yard, bright blue water glinting in the sunlight. It’s not all that uncommon for even middle-class people to have pools in Halston, but they sure as hell don’t look like this.

Victoria catches me looking at it and shrugs. “I swim almost every day. It’s heated so that even when the nights get colder in the winter, the water stays warm. It relaxes me.” Her phone buzzes, and she glances down at it before catching Marcus’s gaze. “Doctor Brenson is here. You can let him in and he’ll give your injuries a check.”

Marcus doesn’t even bother responding to her with words. But his hand closes around my elbow, and he tugs me toward him, dropping his head as he murmurs, “Last chance, angel. You say the word, and we’re out of here.”

I shake my head adamantly. “I’ll be good. Go. I’ll only take as long as you do, so once the doc is done checking you out, we’ll leave.”

He nods, seeming mollified by that. He gives Victoria one last piercing look before striding back into the house.

As soon as the door closes behind him, her demeanor changes. The air she had earlier of a hostess giving a tour of her house at a dinner party evaporates, her expression turning cool and calculating as she levels her gaze on me.

“So, did you come here to beg me not to do it? To let him go so he can marry you instead and whisk you off to his castle for a happily ever after? Because it’s not gonna happen.” She laughs humorlessly. “People like us don’t get happily ever afters.”

My stomach gives a weird little flutter at the words “marry you.”

That’s not what I came here for. I haven’t even considered the thought of marrying Marcus, or his two closest friends either. What we have seems so much bigger than that, so much more chaotic and meaningful and intense. Marriage seems like too small a word to fit the thing that exists between us.

“I’m not really big on begging,” I say carefully, falling into step beside Victoria as she begins to walk along one side of the long pool. She’s still barefoot, but the marble slabs that border the pool are pristine and smooth. “I’m just trying to understand what you want. Maybe there’s something we can offer that you want more.”

“Are you sure you want to be a part of this?” she asks suddenly, cutting a glance my way. “You do realize that once you’re in, you’ll never get out, right?”

“Yes. And I don’t care.”

Her vivid green eyes are impossible to read as she shakes her head. “I think you will. When you finally realize what you’ve signed up for.”

“Why do you want to marry Marcus?” I ask, shifting the topic back to the reason I’m here. I get the feeling she’s trying to put me off-balance, and even though it’s working a little, I refuse to let her see that.

Victoria stops, turning to stare down into the clear water of the pool as she crosses her arms. “I don’t want to. I need to.”

We’re standing side by side, so I can only catch her profile when I glance over at her, and her expression is still hard to read. But there’s something in her voice that sounds almost sad.

“Why?” I press.

She shrugs a delicate shoulder. “Why do you think? I think he’s going to win, and if we’re married, that means I win too.”

“So you’re planning to just sit back and let him fight it out with the other men, then swoop in and claim the prize alongside him?”

I can’t hide the disgust in my voice, and Victoria looks over at me sharply. “No. I’m not planning to ‘sit back’ on anything. I’ve been holding my own in this game, and I’ll keep fighting.”

My skin chills a little. It’s hard to imagine this willowy, long-necked girl with bare feet firing the bullet that ended up in Carson’s head, but I know she’s the one who did. She’s capable of a lot more than she looks like, and I need to remember that.

“You killed Carson.” It’s not a question.

She hesitates for just a second, then nods. “Yes.”

“Did you help him plan that whole thing out? Did you help him plan to kidnap me?”

Her hesitation lasts longer this time, as if she’s weighing her answer. Then she shakes her head. “No. He was trying to sweet talk me into an alliance, but I draw the line at using people’s loved ones against them. So when I found out what he was planning, I told him no.”

“Then how did you know where he was? Where we were? How did you find us at the warehouse district?”

“The same way Carson did.” She smiles, although her eyes stay sharp and serious. “He put a GPS tracker on you, Ayla. In your clothes somewhere, probably, or your shoes. And I followed it just like he did.”

“So your plan all along was to kill Carson? To blackmail Marcus into agreeing to marry you?”

She scoffs. “Of course not. You can’t make plans like that in this game. The ones who try to do that are the ones who die. All you can do is stay alert, be smart, and take advantage of every opportunity that crosses your path.”

“And that’s what Marcus was? An opportunity.”

My voice twists around the last word. Victoria looks over at me, her brows pulling together.

“You really do love him, don’t you?” she murmurs, although the question sounds almost rhetorical.

I don’t bother answering it, because I don’t know how to. “Love” feels almost as inadequate as “marriage.”

I’m not sure there even is a word for the obsessive, soul-deep craving I have for Marcus.

Victoria’s eyes narrow as I remain silent, but her perceptive gaze scans my face. Then she shakes her head. “You’ll never get it to make sense, so don’t even bother trying.” She gazes down into the pool again. “It’s not fair. I know that. One day, Marcus and I will either be married or six feet under, and you’ll be left holding on to a faded memory of love, convincing yourself with every passing day that maybe you just imagined the whole thing.”

“I didn’t imagine it,” I snap, bristling. Her words are like a blade slipped between my ribs, making my heart sting.

“No.” She lets out a humorless laugh, staring so deep into the pool I’m sure she’s seeing something else entirely. “Neither did I.”

My brows pull together as I shoot her a look. Is she talking about Marcus? Is she, or was she, in love with him? It’s clear as fucking day that her interest in him now is purely political, but was it ever more than that?

I have the sudden urge to reach out and shove her into the pool.

To jump in after her and hold her head underwater until she drowns.

The violence of my reaction shocks me a little, and I clench my jaw, trying to focus. But before I can press her to explain her words, she looks over at me sharply.

“Tell Marcus to put some pressure on Michael and Gabriel. Their families have both been weakening over the past couple years. From what I hear, there’s a new player on the scene, someone called the Viper, and he’s been making their lives hell.” She rolls her eyes. “Of course, it doesn’t help that they’re both too busy playing against each other, forging and breaking their alliance over and over, to keep their guards up against an outside threat.”

I frown. “Why are you telling me this?”

Her green eyes glitter as a smile curves her lips. “Because Marcus won’t listen to me, but he might listen to you. And I told you—I want him to win.”

“So you can marry him.”

She shrugs. “All’s fair in love and war.”

My hand clenches as the earlier impulse to throw her in the pool rises again. It’d be a stupid idea for a lot of reasons, not least of which is the fact that she can probably swim better than I can. But I don’t quite know what to make of her. She’s obviously not interested in negotiating or bargaining over her engagement to Marcus. She’s chosen her tactic and is sticking to it.

But she did just give me a useful piece of intel. I’m not sure where she picked it up, but it’s not something that either Ryland or Theo seemed to be aware of. In all our war meetings, they made it sound like Gabriel and Michael were well-positioned, like they wouldn’t be easy targets.

Of course, Victoria only gave me the info because she obviously hopes I’ll tell Marcus, and that he and the other two men will act on it. She’s trying to get them to do her dirty work, pointing them toward mutual enemies and assuming that it will benefit her in the end.

I don’t know what to make of this girl, honestly. She’s blunt and hard-edged, mercenary and ruthless—but she doesn’t seem to revel in cruelty for its own sake the way Natalie used to. She’s doing all of this as a means to an end, not as the end itself.

That doesn’t make her any less dangerous than Natalie though.

The door to the house bursts open, and Marcus strides out. His gaze glides quickly over Victoria before landing on me, and he stalks toward us quickly, wincing just a little as he does.

Before he reaches us, Victoria takes a step closer, speaking low under her breath. “Oh, and if you ever pull some shit like you did at the party last night, you’ll pay for it in blood, you understand me?”

My lips curl, anger burning through me. “If you don’t want me to fuck your future husband in a laundry room, maybe try marrying someone who actually loves you.”

The look Victoria shoots me is pure anger.

Looks like I struck a nerve.

I don’t have time to smirk over it because Marcus reaches us a second later. His gaze darts between me and Victoria, suspicion coloring the lines of his face. “She give you any trouble, angel?”

His arm wraps possessively around my waist as he speaks, and I see Victoria’s gaze track the movement. Something like pain—like jealousy—burns behind her eyes, then her features settle into a mask.

“Don’t worry,” she drawls. “I wouldn’t fucking hurt her. Even though she’s not technically a part of the game, I’ve got more honor than Carson Purcell did.”

She grimaces as she says the name, then takes a step closer to Marcus. She’s an inch or so shorter than me, and she has to tilt her head up a little to meet his gaze, but somehow she manages it without losing her air of regal power. She rests a palm on his left pec, and Marcus’s free hand whips up like a snake, grabbing her wrist and forcing her hand away from him.

Victoria chuckles. “Don’t worry. I know what this is. I’ll never have your heart, and I don’t fucking want it.” She yanks her wrist from his grip. “But whether I have your love or not, you’re promised to me. I expect you to keep up your end of our deal. I saved your life—remember that.”

Marcus stares at her for a few seconds, and if looks had the power to kill, Victoria would be nothing but a scorch mark on the spotless marble. Then he turns away from her, not even bothering to respond to her words as he pulls me a little closer against his body. “You get what you need?”

I nod. I got something, at least, and I have a feeling it’s all I’m gonna get from Victoria.

“Then we’re out of here.”

Keeping his hold on my waist, he steers me around the auburn-haired woman and toward the back door. She makes no move to stop us, and she doesn’t even follow us inside as we make our way back through the house to the front.

There’s a man in a suit packing up a few supplies in the living room as we pass by, and I glance over at him quickly.

Doctor Brenson. It must be.

“How’d your checkup go?” I ask quietly as Marcus pushes open the front door and holds it for me.

“He said I’m not gonna die.” His gaze is dark as he glances toward the back of the house before following me outside. “At least, not from this.”

CHAPTER 20

MUSIC PLAYS through the speakers as Marcus starts the car up, and he glances at me as he pulls away from the curb.

“I was serious, angel. Did she give you a hard time?”

I shake my head, staring out the window as I try to organize my thoughts. “No, but she’s not willing to back down from this marriage idea. She wants to fucking win this thing, and she seems to think the way to do it is through you.”

Marcus grunts, drumming against the steering wheel with his fingers. As I sort through my strange, heavily loaded conversation with Victoria by the pool, her last words stick in my mind.

She saved Marcus’s life. Just like I did.

She claims she doesn’t want his heart, and Marcus seems to hate her. But his obsession with me began the night I stepped in front of those bullets for him. Will he fall for Victoria the same way?

My stomach twists into a tight, painful ball at the thought, and my hand curls into a fist. Marcus doesn’t miss the movement.

His gaze cuts to me, worry and suspicion in his eyes. “What? What else did she say?”

I lick my lips. I shouldn’t even go down this road, but that doesn’t stop my mouth from opening and words from falling out. “How is Victoria that much different than me? She saved your life too. Aren’t you grateful for that?”

Marcus slams on the brakes so hard that my entire body jerks forward. He throws an arm out, catching me at the same moment the seatbelt tightens across my chest. The tires screech as he pulls sharply to the side of the road, then he cuts the engine. We’re several blocks away from Victoria’s house, but nowhere near Theo’s yet.

I glance over at him, and when my gaze meets his, my breath catches.

There’s something almost wild in his eyes, something violent and unrestrained. He unclips his seatbelt and leans over, palming the back of my neck and pulling me toward him until we’re nearly nose-to-nose.

“You think I’m gonna fall in love with Victoria.”

It’s not a question. It’s like he reached inside my brain and plucked the words out of the darkest corner there.

I shrug, my lungs still struggling to draw in air under the crushing force of Marcus’s presence. “You stalked me for two and a half years because I saved your life. You were obsessed with me for no other reason than that. And now Victoria’s done the same thing.”

“Wrong.” His fingers dig into my neck, and I can feel his hand trembling a little, vibrating from whatever emotions roil inside him. “You are nothing like Victoria. And I will never, ever want her.” He leans closer, resting his forehead against mine as his mesmerizing eyes overtake my vision. “She used my life as a bargaining chip. She blackmailed me. You stepped in front of three bullets for a stranger, a man you didn’t even know. You risked your life for me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to understand.”

“Understand what?” I breathe.

“How you’re so fucking good.” He slides his hand through my hair, reaching up with his other to grasp my head between them.

I huff a little laugh, shaking my head as much as his grip allows. I’ve stopped trying to convince myself that I ended up in front of those bullets that night by accident, that some part of me didn’t know exactly what I was doing. But no matter what Marcus says, that doesn’t make me a saint. It doesn’t make me an angel.

“I’m not good,” I say.

“Yes, you are.” His voice is hard, almost angry, as if he can’t believe I don’t see what he sees. “You’re perfect, Ayla. Perfect for me.”

Pulling me closer, he crushes his lips against mine, kissing me hard enough to bruise both of our lips.

It reminds me of the first time he kissed me, and the barely restrained violence in his touch that day. As if he wanted me so badly that nothing was ever good enough, our bodies never close enough.

The deep craving inside of me flares to life, ignited by his touch, and our tongues tangle as we kiss wildly. When we finally break apart, Marcus doesn’t release his grip on my head, and I get the feeling he never wants to let go. That part of him resents every minute he has to spend outside the little bubble that exists between us in moments like these.

I never understood all-consuming love before—the kinds of stories where people would rather die than lose each other. The kinds where they burn the whole world down with their love.

But I think I do now.

“Angel,” Marcus rasps, his fingers sliding through my messy dark hair. “I followed you since that night, even though I knew I fucking shouldn’t, because I had to know what was inside you. I had to know what made you do that, what made you do… anything. What made you tick. And everything I learned? Every little piece of you I discovered? Instead of satisfying me, it just made me want more. I still want more. I want every fucking piece of you that you’ll give me, and I don’t care if it makes me selfish. I’m never giving them back.”

“I don’t want them back.” I reach up to cup his face with my hand, tracing the chiseled lines of his cheekbone and jaw. “They’re yours. I’m yours.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, and the tension drains from his grip. He kisses me again, this one soft and deep and lingering. When he draws back, he lets out a breath. “Don’t ever think you’re like her,” he murmurs. “You’re better than her. You’re better than me and Ry and Theo. You’re better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

I think he’s underestimating himself and his friends and overestimating me, but I don’t really care. Not when he’s looking at me the way he is right now.

“I want to help you find your brother,” he says suddenly.

My eyebrows shoot up, and I draw back a little in surprise. “What?”

“I said I’d help you before all this shit went down.” He releases his grip on my head, trailing his fingers through my hair before winding a lock around his knuckle. “I still want to do that. I hate that I haven’t been able to already.”

“Marcus, it doesn’t matter right now.” I shake my head, my brows furrowing. “We need to figure out how to keep you guys from getting killed in this game—find a way for you to end it and win. Then we can talk about finding my brother.”

He presses his lips together stubbornly. “I can do both. If something happens to me again, I’m not leaving you with an unfulfilled promise. With empty words.”

“I don’t need—”

He cuts me off with a finger to my lips, and there’s a moment of silence before he says, “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love like that, angel. I want to help you if I can. Please.”

His sister.

The knowledge beats against my chest, but I keep the words trapped behind my lips. That’s something I only know because Ryland and Theo told me, back when none of us were sure Marcus was even alive. It’s not something Marcus himself told me, which makes it feel like it’s not really mine to have.

“They told you, didn’t they?” His voice is quiet, the earth and air of his irises soft.

I bite my lip, suddenly afraid that the words escaped despite my effort to contain them, and Marcus smiles.

“I can see it in your eyes,” he murmurs. I blink in surprise, and his smile widens. Then his expression grows serious again. “I’m glad they told you. I should’ve told you myself when I had the chance.” He brushes a kiss over my lips, his touch featherlight. “I want you to have me too, angel. Every bit of me you want.”

I can’t help it. I palm the back of his head and pull him closer, straining against my seatbelt a little as I kiss him back hard. Whatever animalistic, wild thing exists inside him must exist inside me too, because there’s something fierce in my voice as I speak against his lips.

“Everything. I want everything.”

BY THE TIME Marcus starts the car back up and drives us the rest of the way back to Theo’s place, I feel like we’ve both purged the toxic effects of our visit to Victoria’s house. He spends the drive telling me about Alexis, and I listen with rapt attention, soaking up every word he says.

I learn as much about him as I do about her in the stories he tells, and the picture he paints is of a little boy fiercely protective of his sister, one who got her into trouble often but always found a way to get her out of it, and who lost a piece of himself when cancer claimed her.

The way his features soften as he speaks of her makes my chest ache in a pleasantly painful way.

I wish she was still alive.

I wish she could’ve seen the man her brother became, and I wish she could’ve been there for him when he got roped into this fucking game, sold out by his parents in the pursuit of wealth and power.

I wish I could’ve met her.

When I tell Marcus that after he pulls into Theo’s garage, he gets a strange look on his face. Then he leans over and kisses me, a gentle press of his lips.

“Me too. She would’ve loved you, angel.”

He helps me out of the car, and we head inside the house. Theo and Ryland both look up when we enter the kitchen, and I get the feeling they’ve been waiting for us. I know I would be if either of them had gone to Victoria’s house. With the way things stand right now, being apart from any of these men makes me feel antsy and on-edge, as if they might vanish into thin air unless I keep them close at all times.

“Well?” Theo stands up from the stool he was perched on, his blue-green eyes lighting up.

“What happened?” Ryland stands too, although he looks more wary than Theo, as if he’s expecting bad news.

Marcus and I go over our entire visit to Victoria’s house, and I repeat what I told him in the car, elaborating on my conversation with her now that we’re all together.

When I finish, Theo drags a hand through his hair, sending the blond strands into disarray.

“Huh. She thinks Gabriel and Michael are the weak spots, huh? I guess we could go after them one by one. Maybe even play them against each other. If their families are being edged out by this Viper guy, whoever he is, they might be willing to cut a deal if we promise them protection once the game ends.”

“I’m surprised Luca hasn’t dealt with the guy already,” Ryland grunts. “Not a single damn thing happens in this city without him finding out about it, so he’s gotta know there’s a new player on the scene.”

“Maybe he’s planning on leaving it for his successor to deal with.” Theo shrugs, then snorts. “Isn’t that the benefit of retiring? Letting someone else deal with all the bullshit that used to be your problem?”

“Well, either way, the threat the Viper poses to the Morello and Saviano families gives us the opening we need,” Marcus says. “We need to talk to one of them, make a deal, and try to break up their alliance—for good, this time.”

“Which one? Michael or Gabriel?” I glance between the three men, eyebrows lifted.

“Gabriel,” Theo answers immediately.

“Why?”

“Because Michael’s an asshole.” Ryland grimaces. “Well, they’re both assholes, but Gabriel’s at least smart enough to consider a deal that might benefit him.” He glances at Marcus. “We should do more digging before we set up a meeting with him. See if we can find out anything about this Viper dude. I’d never heard of him until today.”

“Yeah.” Marcus nods, then winces.

“We’ll do it,” I say firmly, gesturing between myself, Ryland, and Theo. “You’re going back to bed.”

Marcus grabs the waistband of my jeans and drags me toward him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Angel, the only way you’re getting me back in bed right now is if you strip naked and get in first.”

Heat pools low in my belly, but I wriggle out of his grasp and step back. “No. You need actual sleep. I know our injuries were different, but I also know what it’s like to survive three gunshots. It’s not the kind of thing you just brush off, no matter how lucky you were.”

I’ve been trying to keep my worry for Marcus under control, pushing it aside to deal with the other issues facing us, but as it comes surging to the surface, I can hear the strain in my voice.

He must hear it too, because the heated amusement vanishes from his face. He pulls me toward him again, but this time it’s to wrap his arms around me, tucking me against his chest.

“Okay. I’ll go rest,” he murmurs into my hair. He presses a kiss to my temple, his voice a rough whisper as he adds, “Thank you, angel. For caring.”

I let myself cling to him for a moment, careful to avoid the wounds on his back.

I do care. It scares me a little how much I care.

It’s utterly terrifying to realize that my heart now exists outside my own body.

But I meant what I told him in the car.

It belongs to him now. It belongs to Ryland and Theo.

And I don’t want it back.

CHAPTER 21

I EXPECT Marcus to be a terrible invalid. He’s stubborn and driven and impatient, and I have visions of myself having to drag him back to bed or lock him in his room to get him to slow the fuck down.

But I forgot that this man also won’t deny me anything I want.

I asked him to stay in bed—so he does.

For the next several days, he rests religiously, throwing all of his focus and dedication into getting stronger and healthier as the rest of us prepare for our meeting with Gabriel. There’s not much to be found about the Viper, but thanks to some connections Theo and Ryland have, we’re able to piece together a bit more information.

Ryland’s family does own a large hotel chain—he wasn’t lying about that—but both his family and Theo’s have their hands in several less-than-legal things along with their legitimate businesses.

It makes me wonder if there’s a single member of the wealthy elite in Halston who’s entirely above board. When I express that thought to Theo, he laughs, shaking his head ruefully. “Not a chance in hell, Rose. Nobody gets to a certain level of wealth and power without a few skeletons in their closet. Some with quite a bit more than a few.”

Marcus joins us whenever he’s awake, falling into deep discussion with the other two men as his fingers tangle in my hair or trace the patterns of the flowers tattooed on my damaged arm. We have a hard time keeping our hands off each other when we sleep together, so after his first night back at the house, I go back to sleeping in my room—although Theo joins me one night, and I slip downstairs into Ryland’s room on another.

After six days, which is more time than we need to prepare for a meeting with Gabriel, but less time than I would’ve liked for Marcus’s continued recovery, the guys decide we’re ready.

I think Marcus’s impatience has finally caught up with him, and I can’t complain too much. He looks better every day, the slight hollowness in his cheeks filling out again and the circles beneath his eyes vanishing slowly. The scars on his back are still shiny pink and angry looking, and I know they still cause him pain and probably will for a while yet. But he carries himself more like he used to, some of the tension draining from his shoulders.

His parents know he’s alive. He called them the day after Luca’s party to let them know he’s back. I could only hear his side of the conversation, but anger burned low in my belly as I listened anyway. His voice was clipped and curt, purposefully devoid of emotion, and it hurt my heart.

I think the Constantines are glad their son isn’t dead, but I honestly don’t know if it’s because they love their only remaining child or if they’re just glad their family still has a chance of winning Luca’s fucked up game.

That thought makes me even more determined to help Marcus and his brothers, to find a way to end this whole thing before any more of them get hurt.

After everything the men have said, I’m a little worried that Gabriel will refuse to meet with us, so I’m relieved when he agrees.

As we head out to meet him on Saturday evening, I tilt my head a little to take in the looming skyline of downtown Halston.

“What is this place?”

“It’s a members only club,” Theo tells me, glancing at me from the driver’s seat. “Gabriel’s family owns it, although it’s not a front like a few of their other places. We let Gabriel pick our meeting spot, and he chose his home turf.”

A ripple of unease washes through me at that thought. I’m not opposed to the idea of a public meeting place, as opposed to going to his house or having him meet us at Theo’s. But I don’t like the idea that he’ll have a natural advantage there.

“It’ll be okay, Rose.” Theo reaches over to thread his fingers through mine, giving a squeeze. “We’ll just talk. None of us is gonna risk breaking Luca’s rules for this, so the worst that can happen is Gabriel says no.”

“And if he does, we try Michael. He might be interested in cutting a deal just based on the fact that Gabriel isn’t,” Ryland adds, drawing my attention to the back seat.

He and Marcus are both wearing dark wash jeans and henleys, and Theo is dressed similarly. I’m in a pair of nice jeans and one of the fancier tops the guys bought me to replace my old clothes, which Marcus assured me is enough for where we’re going.

If I still had my prosthetic arm, this might be one of the occasions when I would’ve decided to wear it, just to avoid extra attention. I’ll have to see about getting a new one at some point, but it’s far down on my list of priorities.

Just as I expected, I get a few curious stares and sidelong glances as the four of us step inside the large, luxurious space.

The Saraven is less like a dance club and more like a very upscale speakeasy. It’s massive, with a dining area and bar, a lounge, and smaller private rooms spread around the space. Theo points out all of these things to me in a low voice as Marcus leads us confidently down a corridor toward a small room at the end.

Gabriel Morello is waiting for us when we step inside the room. A cocktail waitress wearing a form-hugging dress keeps her gaze demurely diverted as she sets several glasses down on the large table in the center of the room. She slips out the door like a ghost as the four of us sit down.

Gabriel openly studies the inked remnant of my right arm, and I can feel all three of the men around me tense a little, their bodies shifting closer to mine.

Fuck. I really don’t want them to get in a fight with him over something this inconsequential. Not when there are bigger things we need to worry about.

“What?” I cock a challenging eyebrow at Gabriel, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the table. “You’ve never seen a tattoo before?”

His gaze jerks up to my face in surprise, and when he sees the sardonic smile on my face, he blinks. Then he laughs. “You’re funny. I like that.”

I shrug. I’m not that funny, but my comment did what it was meant to—it got him to stop staring at me, and it relaxed the three overprotective alphas who surround me, at least enough to keep them from reaching across the table to grab Gabriel by the throat.

Gabriel’s chuckle fades, and he slouches a little in his chair, cocking his head as he examines me and my companions. “So, why are we here? What do you want from me?” A smile touches his lips. “Or more importantly, what can you offer me?”

“What do you know about a man called the Viper?” Marcus asks.

Gabriel’s expression changes immediately. His relaxed posture evaporates as his dark eyes turn hard as glass. “That motherfucker. Who gave you his name?”

“Not important.” Marcus brushes the question aside. “But we know his name, and we know he’s been giving you and your family a hard time. Stealing suppliers, shaking down business owners, encroaching on your territory. This goes on too much longer, and you’re gonna lose your foothold in Halston. It’s a slippery fucking slope from the top of the heap to the bottom, isn’t it?”

Gabriel’s jaw clenches. “That’s it, then? You came here to threaten me?”

“Nah.” Ryland shakes his head. “We came here to offer you help. If you help us.”

“Fuck you.”

Theo shoots me a glance out of the corner of his eye. “See? This is why shit rarely gets accomplished between games. Nobody’s willing to make a deal.”

He speaks in a low voice, but Gabriel doesn’t miss the words. The dark-haired man leans forward, narrowing his eyes. He’s got heavy, blunt features, and they turn even harder as his face contorts with anger.

“And why the hell would I make a deal with you, huh? Everybody knows the three of you look out for each other—you expect me to believe you’re gonna look out for me too? That you won’t turn on me the second you get whatever you want?”

Marcus shrugs. “No. But then again, you’re running out of options. Say the game goes on for another few years before someone finally wins. Is the Morello family name even gonna mean shit in Halston by then? Or will your legacy have been wiped out by the Viper?”

Gabriel’s jaw clenches as he shifts his gaze to the side, looking a little like a petulant child. “You don’t know shit.” Then he glances back at Marcus. “What would you even do about him anyway? You think you can stop him when we can’t? Luca hasn’t even stopped him, so why the hell should I believe his successor would?”

“I don’t know why Luca hasn’t gotten involved,” Marcus admits, taking a sip of the whiskey the cocktail waitress left for each of us. “He has his own reasons for doing what he does. But that’s all the more reason for you to take our offer. The sooner a successor is chosen, the sooner Luca will step down. And you have my word that we’ll help you stamp out the Viper when that happens.”

“If you win.” Gabriel scowls.

“If we win.” Marcus spreads his hands slightly, looking languid and confident. “But I still say those are better odds than you have of holding off the Viper on your own.”

Gabriel purses his lips, studying Marcus before shifting his gaze to Ryland, Theo, and then to me. He stares at me the longest, as if he’s trying to figure out how I ended up firmly settled between the three of them, how I became a part of this at all—and what my presence might mean for him.

Finally, he tilts his chair back a little, shaking his head. “No. Not without proof. I don’t want promises of what you’ll do in the future. Promises you can break once you’ve got the power. You want my help? You want me to step aside so you can claim victory? Then show me I’ll actually benefit from having you where Luca is now. Take out the Viper. You get rid of him, and I’ll swear fealty to you.”

He finishes speaking and nods in satisfaction, as if daring the men to admit they won’t actually follow through on their promises. But Marcus just nods.

“All right. We’ll be in touch.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows twitch upward slightly. I get the feeling he expected the guys to be a lot more thrown by his terms than they are. He was probably hoping he could laugh us out of here, and he seems a little unsure how to respond as the four of us rise in unison. He stands too, grabbing his glass off the table and downing the remainder of his drink in one swallow.

Then he looks at Marcus again, his expression more serious this time. He nods, looking thoughtful. “If you do this, if you protect my family’s interests… yeah, I’ll support you.”

“Good.” Marcus dips his chin. “It’s the only way this ends without more unneeded death.”

We leave Gabriel standing behind the table and step back into the corridor. The same cocktail waitress who dropped the drinks off earlier steps forward as we pass her, slipping back into the room. We walk by a few more waitresses as we make our way back toward the main part of the club.

“That went better than it could have,” Theo comments, keeping his voice low.

“It did.” Marcus nods. “I think he was serious about his terms. Which means the Viper is fucking shit up for his family worse than he was letting on.”

Theo makes a noise in his throat. “The only problem is, now we’ve gotta find a man who doesn’t want to be found. This guy is like a fuckin’ ghost.”

“We’ll find him.” The grim determination in Ryland’s voice matches the feeling that hums in my chest.

We will find him. We have to. We’ve been given an opening, and if we can get Gabriel on our side, it might become easier to force Michael to bend a knee too. The more dominoes fall, the more power we amass, the easier it will be to claim the last few pieces on the board.

I hate that Victoria was the one who offered us this lead, but we can’t ignore it just because it came from her.

My thoughts are whirling as we cut through a large, dimly lit bar area. There are cocktail tables spread around the space, and the low buzz of voices deep in conversation surrounds us as we make our way through the crowd.

I’m so lost in my mind that I crash into someone as he heads toward the bar, letting out a startled yelp as his hands grab my arms to catch me.

“Excuse me, I—”

The man breaks off, his eyes flickering as recognition passes through them.

I freeze, my gaze locked on his face.

The world seems to narrow to a pinpoint, everything else fading around us until all I can see is that face.

That face.

He’s older now, but he’s still got the same straight brow, dimpled chin, and square jaw. The same light brown eyes.

My stomach seems to fall out of my body. The places where his skin touches mine, where he’s grabbing my arms, burn with cold fire.

You’re fine.

The words echo in my head, just as much of a lie now as they were when he said them to me after the first time he raped me. When I held a pair of shredded underwear in my hands, clinging to them as if I could somehow put the damaged fabric back together. As if doing so might put the damaged pieces of me back together.

It became his mantra, his command, the only two words he regularly spoke to me, and he said it with more and more disdain every time—like he couldn’t believe I was ignoring his orders.

Every hour that’s passed since I finally escaped the foster home where Jordan McCabe tore away my innocence seems to melt away. It’s like no time has gone by at all, and whatever strength I’ve built inside myself over the past years vanishes in a flash.

I’m raw and bleeding.

Just the way he liked me.

“Sorry, miss.” Jordan smiles blandly at me, the recognition I saw in his eyes a second ago replaced by polite disinterest. He flicks a glance at the three men who surround me then steps away, disappearing into the crowd.

I blink after him, and Theo ducks his head to look at me. “Hey, Rose? You okay?”

My skin feels numb. It feels like I was standing face-to-face with my abuser for hours, but in reality, it must’ve been just a second or two. My heart is slamming against my ribs, blood rushing through my veins so fast I feel nauseated. But now that Jordan’s horrifying brown eyes are no longer focused on me, I manage to shove up the walls around my heart again, barricading the pain inside.

“Yeah.” I shake my head, swallowing. My mouth is dry as a fucking desert. “I’m okay. Let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t look convinced, exchanging a quick glance with the other two men, but I drag in a deep breath, forcing my voice not to shake. “I just need some air. That’s all.”

“All right.” Concern darkens his blue-green eyes, but he puts a hand at my lower back, guiding me through the crowd as the other two men fall in beside us.

I keep waiting for the sick feeling in my stomach to fade, but as we settle into Theo’s car, it only gets worse. I’m breathing normally, but it’s as if the air has thinned, leaving me oxygen deprived anyway. I try to pay attention as the men discuss plans for tracking down the Viper and dealing with him. I know I should focus on their words and try to help them, but my mind feels like it’s spiraling. Every half-formed thought ends in the same place.

Him.

Jordan McCabe can’t touch me now. I’ve been out of his house for years, and I haven’t seen him since the day I moved out. He has no power over me anymore.

But he did touch me.

I can still feel the outlines of his brutal hands on my arms, and even though his grip wasn’t rough, my arms physically ache at the remembered contact.

His hands were on me tonight. Hands that’ve forced my legs open, that have been inside my mouth, inside me. Hands that I feared for so long.

And with that single touch, my world came crumbling down.

I’m so trapped inside my roiling thoughts that I don’t even notice the conversation in the car has died out as we pull into Theo’s garage.

“Angel.” Marcus’s voice is wary, filled with the same concern I heard in Theo’s tone earlier. “What’s going on?”

I should tell him. I promised myself I wouldn’t keep things from these men, that I’d let them see all of me.

But I don’t want anyone to see this part.

I don’t want this part to exist.

A sudden sharp jolt of pain lances through me at the thought. I can feel all three of the men gazing at me, but instead of answering Marcus’s question, I fumble with my seatbelt, shove the door open, and flee inside the house.

CHAPTER 22

MY PULSE RACES as I take the stairs to the second floor two at a time. Every scar on my body seems to itch and burn, even the ones that weren’t caused by Jordan. It’s like he re-opened every single old cut and poured gasoline in the wounds.

Phantom sensation rushes through my ruined arm, making fingers I no longer have prickle painfully.

The hallway is dark as I practically run toward my room, and when I get inside, I don’t bother turning on the light in this room either. I shut the door and lean against the wall beside it, breathing heavily as my knees finally give out. I slide down the wall until my ass hits the floor, and then I wrap my arm around my legs, shrinking into a tight ball. My fingers dig into my calf, and I bare my teeth in a silent snarl as tears burn the backs of my eyes.

Motherfucker.

I want to kill him.

I wish I fucking had.

I wish I’d grabbed someone’s beer bottle and smashed it on a table, then shoved it through Jordan’s throat.

But all I did was stare at him. I didn’t even say anything.

The door opens silently, and I hate the way my body tenses with fear as it does.

“Rose?” Theo’s voice is quiet. “What the hell is going on?”

He closes the door behind him, and I realize he must’ve come alone. I keep my eyes pinched shut, but I’m still aware of his movement as he sinks into a crouch in front of me.

“What happened?”

His fingertips brush my face, and I let out a strangled noise, shoving myself harder against the wall as I cringe away from his touch. He pulls his hand away immediately, and I can hear a change in his voice when he speaks again. A hardness, as if he’s already guessed the answer to his question.

“Did someone hurt you?”

Gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches, I nod slowly. My eyes blink open, and even though it’s still dark, I can see the outline of Theo’s face and the soft gleam of his eyes.

“Fuck.”

There’s so much fury and pain carried in that single word that it makes my chest ache. I’ve carried the fury and pain of my abuse in my heart for years, but I’ve never had someone feel those emotions on my behalf before.

It lightens the burden a little, somehow, giving my lungs space to draw in a little more air.

As they do, a sharp sob escapes me, and Theo reaches for me again before stopping himself. His hand hovers in the air between us, and I know he’s remembering the way I reacted to his touch a moment ago.

I stare at his outstretched fingertips through the tears that cloud my vision. I want him to touch me, and at the same time, I don’t. My body still tingles everywhere, an unpleasant sensation—like there are ants crawling just below the surface of my skin.

For years, I avoided touch. I avoided sex. It wasn’t until I met Marcus, Theo, and Ryland that something opened up inside me. The way I feel about them, the way my body seems to crave them, is something I never thought I would experience.

But now it feels like it’s slipping away.

I’m sinking under a heavy blanket of numbness, and my body can’t seem to distinguish between threat and safety anymore.

“What can I do?” Theo’s hand is still poised between us, and his shadowed face looks tortured as he gazes at me in the darkness. “Tell me how I can help you, Rose. Please.”

Tears track down my face, gathering on my chin before dripping onto my shirt. I feel like I’m falling, like I’m drifting away from myself, losing the person I’ve built myself into. And I don’t want that.

I don’t want to lose what I’ve found.

I don’t want to let Jordan take this from me too.

So I drag in a deep breath and unclench my fingers from where they dig into my calf. My hand shakes, and I feel like I’m forcing my limb to move through drying cement as I reach out for Theo’s hand. When my fingers close around it, I feel him react, but he lets me guide our movements as I slowly drag it toward me.

Straightening slightly, I press his palm against my upper chest, just above the neckline of my shirt. The prickling feeling in my skin intensifies, and I hiss out a breath. Theo tries to pull his hand away, but I cling to it harder, keeping it smashed against my chest even as my heart slams against it.

Nausea flips my stomach over, and I clench my jaw, trying to breathe through the conflicting messages bouncing back and forth between my mind and my body.

“Did he hurt you here?” Theo’s voice is rough but tender, his gaze steady on the place where his fingers splay over my skin.

I nod.

I tried like fuck not to let him, but he did. I never cared about Jordan McCabe in a way that should’ve allowed him to break my heart, but somehow, he managed to do it anyway. He broke my faith in people, and that cracked my heart open.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Theo shifts a little closer to me, his hand softening against my skin. Every part of his palm molds to my chest, and his thumb drags back and forth slowly, making little bursts of sparks erupt inside me. It still hurts, but I keep my grip on him, breathing in time to the strokes of his thumb.

When I finally let my hand fall away, he keeps his pressed right where it is for a while, the single point of connection between us as we gaze into each other’s eyes.

Then Theo removes his hand too.

My body jerks forward a little, unconsciously chasing his touch, and my skin seems to chill in his absence.

Watching me carefully, he drops his head a little, and an exhale of warm breath over my skin makes me shiver.

“We will never hurt you, Ayla,” he murmurs. “I will never hurt you. Do you believe that?”

The broken part of my heart wants to scream that I don’t. That I can’t. That every bit of trust I give these men will be turned into a knife to hurt me with later.

But I don’t want to be fucking broken anymore.

My pulse thrums hard and fast as I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. I can’t form answers with words, so I reach out for Theo again, dragging him closer until his lips brush against the spot where his hand just was. A new wave of sensation bursts through me, pinpricks that could be either pleasure or pain, and I tilt my head, staring up blankly at the ceiling.

Theo doesn’t move.

He just keeps his lips pressed gently against me, inhaling my skin and warming me a little more with each exhaled breath.

Giving, not taking.

Healing, not hurting.

I’m pretty sure the tears dripping off my face are landing in his hair now, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. I get the feeling he’d stay here forever if I let him, and it’s that thought that finally begins to slow my racing heart.

The feverish prickling of my nerve-endings subsides a little, and as it does, I become more and more aware of the firm warmth of Theo’s lips, of the heat radiating from his body. He’s big, broad-shouldered and muscular, but his strength doesn’t scare me.

Because he won’t hurt me.

Slowly, tentatively, my hand finds its way to the back of his head, fingers sliding through his hair. In response to my touch, his lips begin to move too, tracing an exploratory path over my skin.

When he reaches my collarbone, my head lolls to one side, my eyes drifting closed as I give him access to my neck, a silent invitation to continue. He does, slowly and patiently, covering every inch of my skin with gentle kisses as a new kind of spark lights up inside me. I lose track of time as my head tilts to the other side, and when his hands slide over my legs, I let out a soft sigh.

I’m suddenly glad that Theo was the one who came upstairs after me. I know Marcus and Ryland would never hurt me either, but the violence of our craving for each other would’ve terrified me right now. Theo wants me just as much as they do, I’m sure of it, but there’s a sweetness and gentleness that tempers everything he does.

And in this moment, that’s exactly what I need.

I’m not even sure when I move or how it happens, but as Theo continues to pepper kisses across every inch of my neck and face, I rise up onto my knees before him. He matches my movement, hooking an arm around my waist as his lips finally meet mine.

Heat gathers in my core, but Theo doesn’t let our kiss rage out of control. He kisses my lips the same way he kissed every other part of me—with slow deliberation and tenderness, each one a promise.

A vow.

This man will never hurt me.

My arm tightens around his shoulders as I arch my back a little, and when I feel the press of his cock against my lower belly, a sharp zing of panic shoots through me, old memories trying to intrude again.

He tries to draw away, but I slide my hand down to his ass, pulling him closer, grinding against him until pleasure replaces the fear.

This man will never hurt me.

My breath is coming a little faster, and even though I can tell he’s fighting it, his is too. I slide my hand under his shirt, skimming my fingers over the skin of his stomach and muscular back, and he groans quietly into my mouth.

When I reach for the button of his jeans, he hesitates, pulling back a little. “Rose, I don’t want to—”

“I do.”

My voice is scratchy and raw, and I gaze at him in the darkness, finding the bright spots of his irises even in the dim light. He needs to hear me say it, or maybe I need to hear me say it. To prove that good things still exist, that love is still worth the fucking risk.

“I want you, Theo,” I murmur, my fingertips still hooked in the waistband of his dark jeans. “You asked what you could do. This is it. Please.”

He gazes at me for a second, like he’s searching for any hint of uncertainty or fear on my face. Then he gathers me in his arms and lifts me up, carrying me over to the bed.

When he sets me down, he lays his body over mine, hovering over me as he kisses me again and again.

He lets the heat between us build slowly, reading my body like an open book and only taking things further when he can see me begin to writhe hungrily beneath him. Even then, he takes his time peeling off every article of clothing we’re each wearing, worshipping every new inch of me he can reach.

His cock brushes the inside of my thigh as I let my legs fall open for him, and he slides a finger through my folds, testing my readiness. Then he grips my jaw lightly between his fingers and thumb, gazing down into my eyes.

“I’ll never want anyone but you, Rose,” he whispers. “I’ll worship you. I’ll protect you. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you.”

I swallow against the almost painful lump in my throat, wrapping my legs around his waist to urge him closer. The head of his cock slips inside me, stretching me a little as the metal of his piercing slides against my walls.

I’m wet. He’s taken every bit of pain in me and turned it back into pleasure, and I can feel how desperate my body is to take him in, to feel him buried inside me.

But he doesn’t rush this part either. He takes me inch by inch, reframing my world with every small press of his hips.

Rebuilding my heart.

When he’s fully rooted inside me, he stills, dropping his head to my shoulder as small sounds of contentment escape us both. He tastes my skin as we begin to rock together, our bodies moving in sync to chase the pleasure that surrounds us like a cocoon.

I feel utterly safe in his arms.

Utterly loved.

And every time harsh memories of the past try to resurface in my mind, Theo draws them out of me with gentle kisses, as if he’s sucking the poison out of a wound.

Even now, even as he fucks me with strong, even strokes, he’s protecting me.

“Theo…”

My fingernails rake softly against his back as I arch against him, and I feel him groan in response. His whole body shudders, and he slows his thrusts, grinding his hips against mine every time he buries himself inside me. He brings me right to the edge twice, backing off just before my pleasure peaks, until every nerve-ending in my body is flooded with nothing but euphoria.

It’s like he’s erasing Jordan from my cells, from my atoms, forcing him out to make room for something perfect and new.

“Theo!” I clench around him, clinging to him as my head tips back on the pillow. My hips are swirling desperately, rolling against his as I squeeze his cock, and he lets out a choked groan.

“I know, baby. I’m right there with you. Look at me, Rose.” He fists my hair loosely, his thrusts growing harder and deeper as he braces himself on one arm, his face hovering above mine. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Let me see you come.”

I bite my lip, tears burning my eyes again as I let myself fly over the edge. My inner walls convulse, pleasure expanding outward as a naked cry falls from my lips.

As the last waves of my orgasm make me flutter around him, he shifts our position suddenly, sitting back on his heels as he pulls me up with him. Our chests smash together, and he thrusts up into me one more time as he comes with a deep grunt.

I watch him too, my eyes tracking hungrily over his face as his lips go taut for a second, his nostrils flaring.

Then he rests his forehead against mine, breathing heavily as he holds me close. He lowers me back onto the mattress and withdraws from me before rolling us onto our sides.

I’m sweaty. I didn’t realize I worked up a sweat, but my skin is a little damp. My body feels lax and exhausted, and I don’t think it’s just from the sex. It’s from the overload of emotions, the animalistic flight response that rose up in me when I saw Jordan earlier.

The thought of my onetime foster father makes my stomach clench again, but it doesn’t send the same debilitating rush of fear through me that it did earlier.

I’ve lived with the trauma of what happened to me long enough to know that nothing Theo does could erase it entirely.

But I don’t need it erased.

I don’t need to pretend it never happened.

I need to remember that Jordan didn’t take my strength. He didn’t destroy my capacity to feel pleasure or love.

And whether he knows it or not, that’s what Theo just showed me.

CHAPTER 23

WE LIE side by side in the darkness for several long minutes.

Theo’s cum is dripping down my leg, and I know I should clean it up, but I can’t bring myself to move yet.

I like that we don’t use condoms. I like that I’m a sticky mess afterward. I like feeling a little bit marked by them, a little bit dirtied up.

Theo’s blue-green eyes look gray in the dim light as he reaches out and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “You okay?”

I nod. Now that I’m clearer-headed, I can imagine how much I must’ve freaked the guys out. I felt like a zombie by the time we got back to the house, rational thought completely buried under a deep, instinctive panic.

“The man I bumped into at Saraven—he used to be my foster father.” I drop my gaze to Theo’s chest, reaching out to trace the lines of his muscled pecs. “He raped me for the first time when I was fifteen.” I clench my jaw, fighting hard to cling to the feeling of safety and security I feel in Theo’s arms. Reminding myself of who I am and where I am. “They had a big house. I was in the basement. His wife was upstairs. He put a hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream.”

“Jesus fuck,” Theo mutters, his voice strained.

I can feel his heart beating harder against my hand, and I keep my palm right where it is, maintaining the connection between us in an echo of the way he touched me earlier.

I won’t lose it—this connection between us. I won’t let myself push the men I love away.

“I haven’t seen him in years,” I say quietly. “When I looked up and saw his face, it was like… everything stopped. I stopped being who I am and became who I was. I was at his mercy again. Like nothing had changed.”

Theo’s jaw tightens. His face looks harder in this moment than I’ve ever seen it, and he shakes his head. “Everything has changed, Rose. You have us now.”

He leans forward to kiss me, rolling me onto my back as he presses his lips to mine, and for the first time since he entered the room, I feel a sort of violent desperation in him.

When he pulls away, there’s something in his face I don’t recognize. He kisses my nose, then each corner of my mouth, then rolls over and slides off the bed. He tugs his boxer briefs and pants back on quickly and scoops his shirt up off the floor before looking down at me. “Do you trust me, Rose?”

“Yes.” The word comes automatically. Thoughtlessly.

He nods, the hard glint in his eyes softening momentarily. “Good. Will you come with me?”

A little shiver of fear works its way up my spine at the intensity of his expression, but I nod, climbing off the bed after him. “Let me just clean up really quick.”

I slip into the bathroom and wipe up the sticky mess between my legs, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks still have a pink flush to them, and my eyes are bright and clear, although shadows hover in their depths.

When I emerge from the bathroom and slip my clothes back on, Theo takes my hand and leads me downstairs.

Marcus and Ryland are standing in the kitchen, and both men look up sharply as we enter. I lost track of time after I ran upstairs earlier, but I know it’s been significantly longer than a few minutes. My heart squeezes a little at the realization that they’ve been waiting down here this whole time—that they’d probably wait up all night if they had to.

Worry churns in Marcus’s blue and brown eyes as his gaze moves up and down my body, like he’s searching for some hint as to what hurt me earlier. Ryland’s expression has gone blank as stone, the way it does when he’s trying to master strong emotions, and the atmosphere in the large kitchen is so thick it’s almost hard to breathe.

Marcus takes two steps toward me, a question clear in his expression. Theo doesn’t say anything, just threads his fingers through mine, gripping my hand tightly.

I know why he brought me down here. He must’ve known how out of their minds with worry his two brothers were while they waited. He probably knows how much self-restraint it took both men not to come charging upstairs demanding answers.

But despite all of that, he’s not going to force me to tell them anything. If I keep my mouth shut, I have no doubt that Theo will too. He’s giving me this choice. Letting it be my decision.

I draw in a deep breath and let it out, allowing the contact between my hand and Theo’s to ground and center me. Then I open my mouth and let the truth pour out.

I spare them some details. There are parts of my history with Jordan McCabe that don’t deserve to be spoken out loud—it would hurt me to say them, and it would hurt the men to hear them. But I tell them enough.

My voice shakes a little as I speak, the prickle of numbness teasing my nerve-endings again as my body threatens to shut down. I squeeze Theo’s hand so tightly I swear I can hear his bones creak, but he doesn’t wince or try to pull away. He squeezes me back, offering himself as a silent support, a pillar for me to lean on.

Marcus and Ryland both go rigid as they listen, becoming so deathly still that they might as well be statues.

When I finish, Marcus’s gaze cuts to Theo quickly, and I look up just in time to see Theo nod. Ryland gives a short nod too, and I realize that something was just decided among the three of them without a word ever being spoken.

“Take the Maserati,” Theo tells them. “I’ll take Ayla in the Bentley and meet you. The safe house on Avondale.”

Marcus nods. He flashes me a look that’s loaded with so many emotions it almost knocks me backward. Then he jerks his head to Ryland, and the two of them head for the garage. Ryland’s hazel eyes find mine just before they disappear through the door, and the expression on his face makes my heart skip a beat.

As the door shuts behind them, I look up at Theo, my heart slamming against my ribs. “What was that? What’s happening? Why are we meeting them at the safe house?”

He turns toward me, the fingers of one hand still gripping mine as his other hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck. The tenderness in his eyes is a stark contrast to the hard lines of his face. “I told you, Rose. You have us now. And we protect what’s ours.”

He kisses me softly, then leads me toward the same door the other men vanished through. The garage is down a car, and Theo leads me toward one I’ve never been in before. It’s sleek and black, and when he starts the engine, it purrs smoothly.

We drive in silence, although he keeps a firm grip on my hand the entire way. The only time he released it was to let me get in the car, and I missed it for that short moment we were separated.

I don’t ask again where we’re going, or why we’re going there.

Part of me already knows.

It takes us forty-five minutes to reach our destination, and Theo glances at me as he pulls up outside a small house. Just like their other safe house, it seems to be in a remote part of Halston, far off the beaten path. The clock on the dashboard reads 11:34 p.m., and the glowing numbers fade out when he tugs the key from the ignition.

The late fall air is cool on my skin as we step out of the car and head toward the dark house. Theo wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

The inside of the house is eerily similar to the safe house they brought me to after rescuing me from Carson and Dominic. It’s clear it hasn’t been occupied in some time. There’s a staleness to the air, a sense of stillness that permeates the space.

“They’ll be here soon.” Theo flips the light on and checks that all the curtains are closed before settling on the worn couch and tugging me onto his lap.

I go willingly, straddling his hips as he rests his hands on the small of my back. He regards me seriously, the blue-green of his irises shifting like an agitated sea. “You know where Marcus and Ry went, don’t you?”

The words stick in my throat, and I have to work to get them out. “To get Jordan.”

He nods, watching me with a careful gaze. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want. I can bring you into the bedroom while they get him downstairs. He never even has to know you’re here.”

My stomach feels like someone grabbed it by both ends and twisted it like a rag, and my hand tightens reflexively on Theo’s shoulder. But I shake my head. “No. I want to see.”

Maybe want is the wrong word.

If Jordan comes into this house, I need to see him. In the few seconds that felt like an eternity when I ran into him at Saraven, I couldn’t form a single coherent thought. The whole encounter rushed by like a dream—like a nightmare.

But now I have a chance to truly face him.

And as terrifying as it is, I have to take it.

Theo’s grip on me tightens a little, pulling me closer on his lap. “You’re the strongest fucking woman I know, Rose. I wish my mom was more like you.”

I don’t quite know what to say to that. I know watching his mother slowly fall under the control of his uncle is torture for Theo, and that he’s doing everything he can to stop it. He seems to care for her—more than Marcus and Ryland, who both have distant relationships with their parents—but I can’t help but hate her a little for signing her son up to play in Luca D’Addario’s fucked up game.

If it means he wouldn’t have gotten roped into all of this, then fuck, I wish she was stronger too.

Before I have to come up with a response to Theo’s words, the door to the safe house bangs open. Marcus and Ryland step inside, holding Jordan McCabe between them. He sags a bit in their grip, and blood drips from his left nostril. His hands are bound roughly behind his back with duct tape, and his feet drag across the floor a little as they haul him inside, kicking the door shut behind them.

My heart kicks against my ribs as I scramble off Theo’s lap, and the blond man stands a second after I do, positioning his body close to mine protectively. It’s not the threat of violence he’s trying to protect me from this time though. There’s nothing Jordan can do to me right now. Instead, I get the feeling Theo’s trying to make sure I really can handle this, his body tensed and ready to come between me and my ex-foster father if he sees any sign that I’m about to lose it.

I watch, unable to look away, as Marcus and Ryland drag Jordan deeper into the house. They open a door halfway down the hall that leads to the back, and half carry, half shove him down a flight of stairs.

My pulse is an angry ache in my chest as Theo and I follow after them, and we arrive in the basement just as Marcus secures Jordan to a chair. I have another vivid flashback of the day I was kidnapped by Carson and Dominic, of waking up taped to a chair as the drugs slowly faded from my system.

Does Jordan feel the same rising terror I felt then?

Maybe it’s sick of me to hope he does, but I do.

When the older man is secured to the chair, Marcus kicks one of the legs, shoving the wooden chair back a foot and making it rock precariously. Jordan grunts, his dazed eyes rolling wildly. There’s a strip of duct tape over his mouth, and the blood that’s dripping from his nose coats the shiny silver of the tape.

“Look at me, you son of a bitch.”

Marcus’s voice is cool, almost unrecognizable. When Jordan is too slow to respond, Marcus grabs his chin and yanks his head up, forcing him to look at the man towering above him. Jordan grunts, raising his voice as he shouts profanities against the barrier of the tape covering his lips.

Balling his hand up, Marcus hits him with a broad punch to his temple that makes Jordan’s head whip to the side. The muffled curses cut off as the man groans.

“I said look, don’t talk.”

Marcus grabs his face again as Theo takes a step forward, bringing me with him. Jordan’s gaze darts to me, and I see the same flash of recognition in his eyes that I saw back at the club.

He knows who I am.

His expression shifts as he realizes why he’s here. Why these men dragged him away from wherever the fuck they found him and tied him up in a basement. Because of me.

Because they know what he did to me.

His light brown eyes widen, and he starts talking in a rush behind the barrier of the gag. His eyes are bloodshot, and one cheek is swollen, making me certain that the punch I saw isn’t the only one Marcus landed on him.

Good.

My hand clenches tightly as I catch Marcus’s eye and nod, licking suddenly dry lips. His intense gaze burns into mine for a second before he reaches out and rips the tape away from Jordan’s mouth.

The bound man roars in pain, and Ryland pulls a gun from his waistband as Marcus kicks the chair again. His foot catches the seat of the chair this time, right between Jordan’s legs. It must catch his balls too, because he hunches over, his arms yanking at the binds restraining him as he groans and retches.

When he looks up, spit and blood are trailing from the corner of his mouth and he’s breathing heavily. His gaze lands on me, and his features contort slightly as he takes in my appearance.

“Jesus, Ayla. What the fuck happened to you?”

I don’t know if he’s talking about my tattoo, my amputation, or the company I keep, but it doesn’t really matter. I don’t care what he thinks about any of it.

“I survived,” I tell him, stepping forward again.

My hand is still curled into a fist, and although the scrapes and bruises from when I hit Natalie have faded to faint pink marks, I can still feel the echoes of pain creeping up my arm.

I never knew I had so much violence inside me until that day. And as I stare down at Jordan’s twisted features, I realize he’s part of what instilled that violence in me. It’s been living inside me, festering and eating away at me, ever since the first night he touched me.

His lip curls a little as he drags his gaze away from me, and when he focuses on the three men that surround me, he grunts. “Wait a minute. I know who you are.” He chuckles. “You’re three of Luca’s guys. Three of his picks to run his empire one day or whatever.”

Ryland stiffens at the mention of Luca’s name, his finger slipping onto the trigger of the gun. Theo steps forward, his eyes narrowing. “How the fuck do you know about that?”

Jordan smiles, revealing red-tinged teeth. Some of the fear seems to have bled out of him, and the cocky smirk that plays across his lips grates on my nerves.

“It’s an open secret among Luca’s close acquaintances. We keep our ears to the ground, pay attention to what he’s up to, because it affects us too.” His smile broadens. “And if you really are Luca’s guys, then you know he doesn’t take kindly to people interfering in his business. I’ve been letting him use my office as a front for years. I’m a valuable asset to him. You fuck with me and you’ll pay for it.”

“Shut up,” Marcus barks.

“You think he cares about her little vendetta?” Jordan shakes his head, jerking his chin toward me.

My skin chills. I know this tone. It’s the tone he always used when he promised me that no one would believe me if I reported him—that I’d only be ruining my life, not his, if I tried to tell anyone what he’d done to me.

I take a step forward, my fist lashing out before I can stop it. I catch Jordan just below his eye, in the same place Marcus hit him earlier, and he grunts in pain. When he slowly turns his head back to face all of us, I can see fury burning in his eyes.

I recognize that too.

“You think they can protect you, you little bitch?” he hisses. “Luca doesn’t care about them. He’s got this game set up so there’s no way he loses, no matter who wins. If they cross him, he’ll just take them out and find three more to take their places. They’re not worth shit. You’re not worth shit.”

My heart is pounding harder and harder as I stare down at him, the wild organ threatening to break through my ribs.

My voice shakes as I speak, but it has nothing to do with fear this time.

It’s pure fury.

“These men are worth a hundred of you,” I bite out. “And so am I.”

Ryland moves to stand beside me, and I jerk a little in shock as he unclenches the fingers of my hand and presses the gun into my palm. The grip is warm from his skin, and the metal is smooth and hard. The whole thing feels so solid that all I can do is blink down at it for a second.

“I wouldn’t care if he was Luca’s fucking brother,” he murmurs quietly, drawing my attention back to his face. His hazel eyes burn with conviction as he gazes down at me. “He deserves to pay for what he did.”

“What the fuck?” Jordan sounds truly furious now, but underneath the anger, I catch a hint of surprise… and fear.

His connection to Luca was his trump card. Luca D’Addario is the one person in this city no one would dare to cross. The consequences for angering him are dire, and Jordan was counting on these three men to know that.

What he didn’t count on is that they do know.

They just don’t care.

My hand tightens on the heavy weapon in my grip, and I brush my finger over the curve of the trigger, my heart thudding heavily in my chest. I can feel Theo and Marcus on my other side, all three men gathered close around me.

A united front.

A family.

My family.

Maybe Jordan finally realizes what’s truly at stake here, because he strains against the thick layers of tape that bind him to the chair, grunting as he struggles to get free. When I look back at him, his light brown eyes are bloodshot and wild.

“I took you in, Ayla.” His voice is ragged, and the sound of my name on his lips sends a shiver of revulsion through me. “I gave you a place to stay, a roof over your head. I took care of you. I gave you everything you could ever need. And all I took was one little thing.”

The fury that pours from each of the men around me is so strong I swear I can taste it in the air. Something hot and unpleasant floods my veins, making it feel like my blood is on fire.

“One little thing?” I whisper. The gun is heavy in my hand, but my arm is steady as I raise it, aiming between his eyes. “That’s what it was to you? My virginity. My innocence. It was one little thing?”

He blinks, his head jerking back as if that could save him from a bullet through the face. His skin pales, then flushes slightly, and when he speaks again, the false bravado has left his voice.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He’s breathing heavily, his gaze bouncing between me and the barrel of the gun. “But I didn’t wreck your life, right? You’re still here, aren’t you? You’re okay. You’ve got these guys on your side.” He shoots a gaze over my shoulder before quickly returning his attention to me. A calculating look flickers in his eyes as he narrows them slightly. “Are you really willing to wreck their lives just to get your revenge on me? Because if you kill me, Luca will make them pay.”

You’re okay.

Does he know he’s repeating the words he said to me so many times I lost count? Does he even remember? Or was it all so fucking inconsequential to him that he’s forgotten?

My finger tightens a little on the trigger as anger and pain and hatred roar through my veins. I want to block out his words, to shut them out of my head, to pretend they’re not true.

If I do this, the three men behind me will pay for it.

My chest rises and falls fast. My hand feels like it’s frozen into a block of ice around the gun’s grip, and I’m staring so hard at Jordan’s forehead that it’s blurring in my vision.

“Angel.” Marcus’s voice is soft. I feel him before I see him in my periphery as he steps up beside me. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do this.”

His hand slides around mine, the warmth of his palm unfreezing my joints as he takes the gun from me. My fingers feel shaky, my arm suddenly so light it might float away without the heaviness of the gun to weigh it down.

Marcus catches my chin with the fingers of his free hand, turning me toward him. Earth and air, the purest shades of brown and blue, gaze back at me as he shakes his head slightly.

“You don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to. This man is a fucking monster, angel, but he never defeated you. No matter what he did to you, he never won. Because you didn’t let yourself become a monster too.”

He smiles at me. There’s so much warmth, so much love in his eyes that my chest aches from it.

He palms the back of my head and kisses me as his other hand raises the gun, aiming it at Jordan’s head.

And then he fires.

CHAPTER 24

THE REVERBERATIONS of the shot travel through Marcus’s body and into mine through the connection between our lips.

I feel it in every part of me, all the way down to the tips of my toes.

He fires two more times, and I kiss him harder as our bodies vibrate from the kickback. I kiss him like I’m trying to crawl inside him, and he kisses me like he’s trying to eat me alive.

The echoes of the shots fade, and the room falls silent except for our heavy breaths. Jordan never even got a chance to speak again. I’m pretty sure the first bullet ended his life—the next two were just for Marcus.

For me.

I press myself harder against him, clinging to him with an arm around his back, as the familiar scent of blood seeps into my nostrils. It mingles with Marcus’s clean leather scent, filling my heart and mind with a cacophony of remembered images and sensations.

Three shots.

It’s always been three shots.

That’s why Marcus shot him three times.

His lips are hot on mine, and it’s only when I taste salt that I realize I’m crying. They’re not sad or happy tears, they’re just… release.

I keep kissing him, ignoring the fact that I’m smearing tears all over his face, and even when our deep kiss finally ends, I press small pecks to his lips in between words.

“You didn’t have to do that. Marcus, you didn’t have to—”

He catches my chin in his grip, tilting my head up as he pulls away to look down at me. “Yes, I did, angel. Of course I did. I wanted to.”

Slowly, we both turn to take in the body of the man in the chair. He’s slumped backward, his head lolling to one side. A small trail of blood trickles from a bullet hole in his forehead, and there are two more holes in his chest. His light brown eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling, and his mouth hangs open slightly.

“He doesn’t deserve your pity, Ayla.” Ryland’s voice is a deep rumble.

I nod. “I know.”

My gaze stays glued to the man before us for another long moment. The sight is gruesome—horrifying, really—but I force myself to keep looking until I’ve had my fill. I know I’ll never see this man again. This will be my last memory of him.

Honestly, out of all the memories I have of Jordan McCabe, this is the one I’ll hold on to the longest.

None of the men say anything else until I turn away from the man’s corpse. Then Marcus tugs me a little closer with the arm he’s slung around my waist, looking over my shoulder at the other two. He doesn’t even ask the question before Theo answers.

“We’ll take care of the body. Get her home.”

I feel Theo’s lips brush my hair, and Ryland turns my face to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. Then the two of them move toward Jordan’s body as Marcus ushers me upstairs.

We take one of Theo’s cars, and Marcus presses a few buttons on the steering wheel, flipping through a few songs before he settles on one he likes. Soft music fills the car as we drive through the deserted, darkened streets, heading back toward Halston proper.

It’s quiet, just like it was on my drive out with Theo, but I don’t mind that. It feels nice. Comfortable.

I know I should probably feel guilt or disgust or horror over what I just witnessed, but when I examine my feelings, all I can find inside myself is peace.

Whether I knew it or not, whether I admitted it to myself or not, Jordan McCabe has haunted me since I was fifteen. A part of him stayed with me long after I left his house, tormenting me even as the man himself moved on, all but forgetting about the girl whose life he had irrevocably altered.

Maybe I shouldn’t be glad he’s gone, but I am.

It’s late by the time we arrive back at Theo’s house and Marcus pulls smoothly into the garage. I can feel exhaustion somewhere in my body, and I know Marcus needs sleep, but instead of pulling me toward the bedroom when we get inside, he stops in the kitchen.

His mesmerizing eyes are hard to read as he draws me over to the sink and grabs a few paper towels, running them under the water to wet them. It’s only when he begins to clean off my arm that I realize I’ve got small spatters of blood on me. He’s got little spots of blood on his skin as well.

They’re not large droplets, just small specs that dot my arm and shoulder, but they turn the paper towel pink as he scrubs it over my skin.

There’s blood on my shirt too, and I lift my arms willingly as Marcus tugs it off over my head. He lets it fall to the floor before rubbing the paper towel over my neck and shoulder. He drops it into the sink when he’s finished, but his gaze keeps roaming over me, his fingertips tracing the same paths the paper towel just traveled.

His focus switches from my good arm to my damaged one, and I shiver pleasurably as he follows the outline of the red flowers.

“It’s so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. “Just like you are.” His gaze flashes up to mine before returning to my truncated limb, and he lifts it a little so he can examine the full tattoo. “I was there when you got it. Every single session. I could tell some parts hurt more than others, but you never told him to stop.”

I blink at him, my heart skipping a beat in my chest.

Things have changed so radically between us since Marcus and his brothers first exploded back into my life. Sometimes I forget how long they watched me, how many months they spent hovering at the periphery of my life like dark, ruthless angels.

And sometimes I forget that I didn’t know they were there.

When I look back on those times, it’s hard not to feel them watching over me, to feel their presence in my life as if they were a part of it all along. As if I knew them, even before I knew them.

I catch Marcus’s hand as it traces the ink on my damaged arm, and he looks up from his examination of my tattoo. His hand is large and calloused, and I interlace my fingers with his, brushing my thumb over the finger that pulled the trigger.

“Marcus?” I whisper.

“Yeah, angel?”

“Will Luca be pissed?”

“Yes.”

His answer is honest and simple. There’s no fear in his voice though. Not a hint of regret.

“Marcus.” I repeat his name, but it’s not a question this time.

It’s a call.

An invocation.

His gaze flicks up from our joined hands to my face, and he takes a step closer to me. “Yeah, angel?”

“I love you.”

Something shifts in his face, and his smile is fucking breathtaking. It’s like his features have been half in shadow ever since I met him, and now I’m looking at them in full light, seeing every single detail clearly.

Seeing all of him.

I remember thinking once that the word “love” wasn’t enough to contain everything I feel for this man and the two friends he calls his brothers. But it turns out the word can grow to fit the need, because as soon as I say it, I realize it is enough.

I love Marcus Constantine.

The truth is both as simple and as complex as that.

“Angel?” he murmurs, still beaming that heart-stopping smile at me.

“Yeah?”

“I fuckin’ love you too.”

Then his arms slide around my back, hauling me toward him as his lips crash down on mine.

This kiss is everything all at once.

It’s tender.

It’s fierce.

It’s possessive.

It’s sweet.

It makes my knees go weak, but that hardly matters, because Marcus is holding me so tightly that I don’t need to stand on my own. He half walks and half carries me backward, and when my ass bumps against the kitchen island, he lifts me onto it as if I weigh nothing.

He already got my shirt off, and he growls hungrily into my mouth as he skims his hands over my bare skin, shoving my bra cups up so he can squeeze my breasts, kneading them and tugging at my nipples.

Little zings of sensation shoot through my body with every pull, and I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

The numbness in my body from earlier, the fear of being touched, feels like a distant memory right now. So much has happened that it’s hard to believe it’s only been hours since Theo found me pressed against the wall upstairs and not weeks.

“I love you, angel,” Marcus repeats, murmuring the words against my skin as he pulls away from my mouth and begins to trail his lips down the line of my throat.

I tilt my head back, my eyelids drooping as he bites the tender skin over my collarbone then licks away the sting. He continues down between my breasts, reaching behind me to unhook the clasp before drawing it off my arms and tossing it carelessly away. His hands are rough as he massages my breasts, smashing them together so he can draw both nipples into his mouth at once.

The overload of sensation makes me gasp, and he growls softly, releasing my tender, swollen flesh and pressing kisses down my abdomen as he moves lower. I’m squirming on the counter now, my clit throbbing as my body anticipates where he’s headed, desperate to feel him there.

When he reaches my jeans, he pops the button and draws the zipper down, and I shift my weight to help him pull the material over my hips and off my legs. They disappear to wherever my bra went, and Marcus’s eyes burn with hunger as he grips my thighs in both hands, sliding his large palms over my delicate flesh.

Cool air hits my clothed pussy when he spreads my legs wide, making me viscerally aware of just how wet my panties are. Marcus’s gaze drops to the apex of my thighs, and he groans.

“I have to taste you. Fuck, I’m addicted to you.”

He throws my legs over his shoulders, dropping his head to bury his face between my thighs. His hot mouth latches onto the fabric of my panties as he sucks hard, like he’s trying to draw out every drop of my arousal.

“Marcus!”

His name nearly gets stuck in my throat as my whole body jerks under his touch. My toes curl as goose bumps erupt on my skin, and Marcus releases my pussy long enough to lower my upper body down onto the countertop.

The smooth marble chills my heated skin, making my nipples harden even more. He must like that, because he tweaks and rolls them between his fingers as he works his way back down my body. This time he scrapes his teeth lightly over my clit, still through the barrier of my panties.

My hips jerk upward as bolts of pleasure edged with pain shoot through me, and I reach down to grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his head closer as I grind against his face.

“Goddammit. I love that you need this as bad as I do,” he grunts, the words barely intelligible as he follows my urging and attacks my clit with fierce hunger.

I think he must be on a mission to completely ruin my panties. He hasn’t taken them off yet, and if they were wet before, they’re fucking soaked now. He keeps teasing me by running his tongue up my fabric-covered slit, pressing a little harder each time, so close to giving me what I want.

My heels dig into his back as I try to leverage my hips higher off the counter, offering more of myself to him, demanding more pleasure.

Finally, his teasing control snaps. There’s a sharp sting and a ripping sound as he shreds my delicate panties from my body, and when his mouth meets my bare clit, I arch my back so hard that my entire body nearly leaves the countertop.

My breath is coming faster, pleasure building up inside me like steam, when Ryland and Theo suddenly appear in the doorway. They’re both covered in small streaks of blood just like Marcus and I were, and they stop just inside the kitchen, their eyes heating at the sight before them—me, laid out like a fucking feast on the marble island while Marcus devours my pussy.

“Fuck,” Theo groans, biting his bottom lip hard.

Marcus didn’t see them come in like I did, but I know he knows they’re here. He doesn’t stop his delicious assault on my clit though. If anything, his touch becomes hungrier, more demanding.

Ryland doesn’t say anything, but his gaze stays fixed on me. He reaches down to palm his cock, rubbing himself as he watches Marcus eat me.

The sight of these two men watching me, witnessing my raw pleasure, makes every sensation cascading through me more acute. I don’t let go of Ryland’s gaze as my hips roll against Marcus’s face, grinding against his hot, wet tongue.

“Oh… god…”

The words are hardly more than a moan as the ecstasy inside me spills over, making my limbs shudder and shake. Marcus keeps lapping at me as the orgasm washes through me in waves, drawing it out until I’m a panting, writhing mess.

When he finally lifts his head, his gaze shifts to the two men who’ve joined us in the kitchen. Then he glances back at me, something like a question in his eyes.

He doesn’t even have to say it out loud for me to know my answer.

Yes.

CHAPTER 25

“BEDROOM!” I gasp.

The word is barely out of my mouth before Marcus scoops me off the counter. The other two men are close behind us as he strides quickly down the hall toward the back of the house. My legs wrap around his waist as he palms my ass, and the fabric of his clothes feels scratchy against my bare, sensitized skin.

He pushes open the door to the guest room he’s been staying in and carries me inside. Ryland flicks on the light as Marcus deposits me on the bed, and all three men tug their clothes off quickly, each of them watching me intently as they do.

My heart bangs against my ribs as I watch them right back, my gaze darting between the three of them as I soak up the sight of their broad shoulders and muscular frames. Ryland’s tattoos shift as he shoves his pants down and kicks them off, and my greedy eyes take in every inch of the ink covering his body. He has full sleeves on both arms, and the tattoos that I’ve seen on his neck trail down to cover his entire torso and back.

They’re beautiful.

A hungry look enters his eyes as he feels my gaze burning a path over his body, and he crawls up onto the bed as the other two finish undressing. His large, muscled form hovers over mine as he kisses the fuck out of me, and then he grabs my hips and rolls us over so that he’s beneath me.

His thick cock is trapped between our bodies, and I slide up and down the length of it a few times, soaking up his reaction as I coat his shaft in my wetness. Then I lift up a little and reach down to line him up with my entrance before sinking down, taking him inside me slowly until our pelvises are pressed flush together.

The mattress shifts as Marcus and Theo join us, but I can’t look away from Ryland’s burning hazel irises as I slowly rise up and sink back down. His hands grip my hips, but he lets me dictate the pace as I find the rhythm that makes my body sing.

My head falls back a little, and I let out a little gasp of surprise when I feel Marcus behind me. The warmth of his chest brushes against my back as he reaches around to play with my breasts, tormenting my nipples until I start grinding harder against Ryland. All three of us groan, and I hear Theo’s rough chuckle from beside me as he watches us.

I already came twice tonight, but my body feels insatiable. The enormity of everything that’s happened, of what these men did for me, has made me acutely aware of the knife’s edge we live on.

There are no guarantees of safety or happily ever afters.

Tomorrow may never fucking come.

All we have is this today, this precious moment in time, and I’m not going to waste it.

My back arches as Ryland’s thumb finds my clit, and Marcus growls as he feels my body shudder. He leans over me, flattening my chest against Ryland’s and trapping his hand been us.

I’m still soaked from earlier, and as Ryland fucks me from below, Marcus’s cock slides between my ass cheeks, slick with my arousal.

He groans, nipping at my ear. “I’m going to fuck you here too one day, angel. I want your gorgeous ass. I want every single bit of you.”

My pussy clenches. I find Ryland’s lips, kissing him hard as Marcus’s filthy promise makes heat throb in my veins.

“Fuck,” Ryland grunts, his fingers working my clit as he drives up into me from below. His hand is trapped between our bodies, so he has limited range of motion, but it hardly matters. The feel of his thick cock filling me, of Marcus’s shaft sliding between my cheeks, of their solid bodies encasing me, is enough to drive me insane.

Their thrusts grow harder and wilder, and I feel Ryland thicken inside me as he curses again. Marcus catches my chin, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss as Ryland bites down on my neck, flooding my womb with his cum.

They switch again, and Ryland’s kiss is gentler this time as his hips pulse up into mine, drawing out the last waves of his orgasm.

I lose myself in the firm press of his lips and his spicy sandalwood scent for a moment. It mingles so perfectly with the clean scent of Marcus’s skin and the hint of leather, and I think I could get high on it if I breathe it in deeply enough.

With one last kiss, Ryland pulls out of me, scooting upward on the bed as Marcus wraps his hands around my waist and brings me upright. We’re both on our knees, my back molded to his front, and he reaches down with one hand to guide himself inside me.

My pussy clenches around the intrusion as Ryland’s cum drips down my inner thigh. My body, so close to the peak already, shudders as Marcus brushes his fingers over my clit.

Theo is still watching us, his hand wrapped around his shaft as his fist slides up and down in deliberately slow movements.

“Do you know how much it turned me on watching you suck Theo’s cock?” Marcus murmurs, and I groan, struggling to keep my eyes open as heat infuses my body. “It turned me on watching you kiss him in the alley that night too. It drove me fucking crazy. Do you want to drive me crazy again? Do you want to drive him crazy?”

Marcus’s voice is low, but I know Theo hears him. The blond man grunts, his fist moving a little faster as his gaze drops down to where Marcus’s cock slides slowly in and out of me. Then he looks back up at my face, and as soon as our eyes lock, I nod.

Theo’s dimple appears as a sinful grin curves his lips. He moves closer, releasing his grip on his swollen cock to cradle my face in his hands as he kisses me. I can feel his hardness pressing against my stomach, and the sensation of once again being sandwiched between two muscled bodies makes me feel both wild and safe at the same time.

I have a sudden desperate urge to feel them both inside me at once. To be truly shared between them, filled by both of them.

To be completely overtaken by them.

As if he can guess what I’m thinking, Marcus grabs my hips and thrusts a little deeper, making me gasp into Theo’s mouth.

Theo chuckles. Then he breaks away and moves back a bit, lying down on the mattress with his head resting on a pillow. His cock juts up from his body, a bead of precum slowly seeping from the slit at the tip as his piercing glints in the light. He grins at me, and the playfulness and desire in his expression makes my stomach clench as I lean forward.

It’s a little awkward with only one hand, but both men help me as I hinge at the waist, bracing myself on the bed so I can wrap my lips around Theo’s shaft. Ryland helps support my right side, playing with my breasts and nipping at my shoulder as he does.

When Marcus begins to thrust inside me again, I bob my head up and down on Theo’s cock in the same tempo, letting saliva drip down the length of him as I swirl my tongue over his smooth, hot skin.

“Shit. Fuck, Rose, you’re beautiful like this.”

Theo’s voice is strained, and I tilt my head a little to look at him, peering up through my eyelashes. He’s watching me with awe, with fierce lust, as if he’s never been so turned on in his life.

I want that to be true. I want this to be the best he’s ever had.

I want him to be ruined.

Addicted.

As completely lost as I am.

Our rhythm picks up, the sound of their baritone groans and my soft, muffled whimpers filling the room. When my orgasm hits, I have to work hard not to scrape Theo’s cock with my teeth as my body bucks and jerks.

“Fuck. I’m gonna come. Jesus, Rose, I’m gonna—”

He palms the back of my head, thrusting up into my mouth as warm, salty liquid hits the back of my throat. I swallow, groaning around him, and the sight of us coming apart is too much for Marcus. His hands dig into my hips, his pelvis slapping against me as he drives in hard and deep for a few strokes. Then he stills, grinding his hips against my ass as he jerks and pulses inside me.

My arm is shaking. My entire body is buzzing, electric with pleasure and weak from exhaustion at the same time. Thank fuck for Ryland’s grip on me, or I’d probably face-plant on Theo’s cock. He helps me up, and Marcus presses a sloppy, dazed kiss to my temple before pulling out of me. We all tumble into a pile on the bed, and I lose track of whose limbs are where as Ryland kisses me and Theo runs a hand down my spine.

I’m breathless and sated.

I’m also sticky and sweaty, smeared with cum and small streaks of blood, thoroughly fucked by three men.

But as we lie together, our bodies shifting against each other as we all try to catch our breath, I don’t feel dirty.

I feel purified.

I feel whole.

CHAPTER 26

WE HAVE two days of peace after that night.

Two days where I let myself cling to the hope that Luca D’Addario won’t find out what my men did. That he won’t be angry even if he does find out.

But on the third day after Jordan’s death, Marcus’s phone buzzes.

The four of us are in the living room, and I’m settled on Ryland’s lap, nestled against his chest. We’ve spent the past few days trying to track down information about the Viper, proceeding with our plan and pretending there isn’t a guillotine hanging over our necks.

We haven’t been able to find much. The man is like a shadow, although now that we’re looking for signs of him, it’s clear he’s been steadily gaining power in Halston for the past several years.

Marcus pulls his phone from his pocket and swipes across the screen. His expression hardens, and my stomach drops.

“Luca?” Theo asks the question we’re all thinking, although I already know the answer before Marcus speaks.

“Yeah. He wants to see us. Now.”

“Fuck.” Ryland’s hand stiffens where it rests on my thigh, tension gathering in his body.

“I’m coming with you,” I say quickly.

There’s a momentary silence as all three men freeze. I can feel their need to protect me, to shield me from all of this, warring with their knowledge that I’m no longer on the outside of any part of their lives. They let me in, just like I let them into mine.

I’m part of this, whether they like it or not.

Marcus’s jaw tightens as he looks over my head at Ryland, communicating something silently. Then he nods, and I feel Ryland let out a heavy breath. I turn to kiss the broad-shouldered man before climbing off his lap, and he grips me so tight I’m sure I’ll find bruises later.

He doesn’t try to stop me from coming though. Even Ryland, who fought the hardest against the pull between all of us, has finally seemed to realize it was always a battle we were doomed to lose.

We’ll live together or die together, but nothing will ever tear us apart.

The four of us pile into Theo’s car and head out. It’s a cool late fall day, but the sky is clear and the sun shines brightly, glinting off the cars we pass as we head out of the city. It all seems too bright, too vibrant, to fit the mood inside the car.

The guys talk quietly among themselves as we drive, agreeing on what they’ll tell Luca. They decide against lying almost immediately—if he’s called them in to speak to them, it’s because he knows about Jordan’s murder, or at least, he’s confident enough in what he does know not to believe a lie.

My stomach twists around itself as if I’ve swallowed a live snake, turning over and over until bile rises up my throat. I force it back down, and when Theo reaches over from the driver’s seat, I grip his hand tightly in mine.

I have no real idea what we’re walking into, but I cling to the belief that if the men expected Luca to kill them outright, they would never have allowed me to come—not that I wouldn’t have fought to come with them anyway.

The large house looks different in the light of day than it did when we arrived in the evening for the party, although it’s still overwhelmingly expensive and luxurious.

Our reception is different too. Instead of being greeted at the door by a butler, we’re ushered inside by two large men with guns holstered at their belts.

My already racing pulse kicks up another notch as they lead us through the house, and I can’t stop myself from darting glances at the two men. They have blunt, stoic faces and carry themselves with the casual power of men who know how to deal death quickly and efficiently.

Marcus and Ryland bookend me on either side, walking so close that their arms brush against mine, and Theo is just ahead of us, his posture stiff and alert.

We head into an entirely different wing of the house than we were brought to for the party, and the men stop outside a large wooden door. One of them raps sharply against it, and at the sound of a male voice from inside, he opens it and ushers us inside.

The door closes with a sharp click behind us, and I feel certain that the two men are posted on either side of it just outside the room. Ready to burst in at any moment if needed, or to stop us if we try to flee.

“Constantine. Bennett. Harrington.” Luca D’Addario sits at a large desk, and he nods at the three men as we all step forward. Then his gaze lands on me, and he cocks his head. “And who is this? I saw you at my party, didn’t I?”

“Yes, sir.”

I dip my head in a deferential nod. I’m not sure what the exact etiquette is supposed to be when addressing him, but the impression I’ve gotten of Luca is that he’s the kind of man who demands that others respect his power. And I don’t want to piss him off any more than we already have.

“This is Ayla Fairchild,” Marcus adds, introducing me to the dark-haired older man.

Luca nods, his gaze still zeroed in on my face as if he’s dissecting me, picking me apart into small pieces and cataloguing which bits might be useful to him. It makes my skin prickle with uncomfortable awareness. His gaze isn’t sexual or leering, but it’s so fucking perceptive that it makes me feel naked anyway.

A long moment of silence drags out while he studies me, and then he nods to himself and shifts his focus back to the men. “You know why I called you here, I presume?”

Marcus nods. “Jordan McCabe.”

Luca’s heavy dark eyebrows jerk upward a little, as if he’s surprised Marcus admitted to it so easily. That he didn’t argue back or feign ignorance.

“Yes.” Luca leans back in his seat, tugging at the sleeves of his crisp dark suit. “He was important to me.”

“I know. He told us.”

“But you killed him anyway.”

“Yes.”

Marcus’s voice remains calm and blunt, and unease prickles through me. I know the men decided that lying to Luca would guarantee a worse outcome, but I wish he would soften the truth a little.

Luca’s eyebrows rise even higher, and he scans Theo’s and Ryland’s faces carefully.

“Care to tell me why you thought it was a wise idea to interfere with a man who was important to the operation of my business?” His tone hardens. “You were handpicked as potential successors for me, but that does not give you the right to interfere with my assets until the competition is over, do you understand?”

“They did it for me,” I say before I can stop myself. Then I add, “Sir.”

Now Luca’s thick brows reverse direction, dropping low and pulling together as he turns his attention to me. “Explain.”

Marcus and Ryland seem to have stopped breathing beside me. I can feel danger crackling in the air, but they already decided not to lie to the crime lord. If we’re going to tell the truth, he should hear the whole truth.

“That man they killed, Jordan McCabe, was my foster father when I was younger. During the time that I lived under his roof, he raped and abused me repeatedly.”

The words fall from my lips awkwardly. It’s easier to talk about now that all of it—including Jordan’s life—is in the past, but I’m still not used to so openly sharing the painful details of my past.

If it makes Luca understand, though, if it saves my men from harsh punishment, I’ll tell him every sordid, fucked up detail.

Ryland finally shifts beside me. I think it’s the first time he’s drawn a breath since I spoke up. “She told us what happened, and Jordan didn’t deny it. With all due respect, sir, he didn’t deserve to live.”

Luca’s sharp gaze cuts to Ryland, his expression turning hard. For a second, I can see every inch of the ruthless criminal who fought his way to the top to become the de facto king of Halston.

“That was not your call to make,” he growls. “None of you.”

My stomach drops. Blood rushes in my ears, and my mouth goes dry as I brace myself for what comes next.

Luca lets his words hang in the air for a moment, cutting off all the oxygen in the room. Then he sighs. “But in this case, I agree with you. Jordan was useful, but he always thought too fucking much of himself. If I’d known he was a child molester on top of it, I would’ve killed him myself.”

He rises smoothly from his desk, walking around it and leaning against the heavy mahogany as he crosses his arms over his chest. “That doesn’t change the fact that you went behind my back and killed a man who played an important role in my operations. His loss can be compensated for, but if you ever pull this kind of bullshit again, you’ll be out of the competition with a price on your heads, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

All three men nod, their faces carefully blank. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my own expression as neutral as theirs. Equal parts relief and terror flood my veins at Luca’s words.

The men won’t be punished for what they did.

But they just used up the last of Luca’s good will. Any other perceived slight will be a death sentence.

Luca assesses their faces for a moment, then nods in satisfaction. “Good. I’ve been watching your progress in the competition, and I’ve been impressed. Of course, it remains to be seen how it all plays out, but each of you have presented yourselves as strong contenders.”

“Thank you.” Marcus dips his chin slightly.

Luca smiles, something I can’t quite decipher passing through his expression. “And of course, I should congratulate you again on your engagement. When I agreed to let Victoria compete, I have to admit this was a development I never saw coming.” His dark gaze flicks to me for just a heartbeat before returning to Marcus. “And you two seem to be well-matched.”

My stomach hardens into a lump, and I almost bite a hole through my cheek as I work to keep any reaction from showing on my face.

Marcus stiffens beside me. “Thank you, sir.”

“I expect an invitation to your wedding,” Luca adds, a broad smile spreading across his face.

“Of course,” Marcus agrees.

My toes curl inside my shoes, but I manage to keep my fingers from doing the same as emotions roil inside me.

If I held out any hope that Luca would interfere in Victoria and Marcus’s engagement or call it out as the sham it is, his words have quashed it. No matter what he might think of it personally, he’s obviously decided to let it play out, to allow Victoria to leverage marriage as a power play.

So much for Luca believing in true love.

Or maybe he’s just decided the game is more important.

My heart is an insistent drumbeat in my chest, and I want desperately to get out of here. We’ve done what we came here to do, and the men have somehow managed to escape Luca’s wrath for the murder of Jordan McCabe. Now I’m anxious to flee this suffocating room before I say something that will get us in worse trouble.

The man who called us here is dangerous, and I shouldn’t press our luck, no matter how angry I am.

“Is that all, sir?” Theo asks, and I wonder if he can somehow sense the violent emotions churning in my chest. Maybe I’m not hiding them as well as I thought.

Luca turns another sharp-eyed look on him, and I get the feeling even asking the question has put Theo on thin ice. It’s a sign of disrespect, asking to be dismissed before the king has made it clear he’s finished with you.

But Luca’s features smooth out again as he nods, that easy, confident smile spreading across his strong features once again. “Yes. That’s all. As long as you’re clear on what the consequences will be if you cross me again.”

“Yes, sir.”

The older man’s smile broadens. “Good.”

He steps forward, catching my hand and bringing it to his lips. All three of the men around me react, and I have a feeling this is a test of some kind, that Luca wants to see what their reaction will be.

They each shift a little closer to me as he presses a kiss to my knuckles, but none of them make any move to fight him or pull me away, thank god. I get the sense he already knows that something exists between us all, and that he’s trying to gauge exactly what it is. The less we reveal to him, the better.

His lips are warm against my knuckles, and although my skin doesn’t prickle painfully the way it did when Jordan touched me, I have to work hard to keep from yanking my hand away.

Luca’s gaze shifts up to mine as he lifts his head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ayla. I hope our paths will cross again.”

“Me too,” I say, managing to keep my voice fairly even.

He smiles again, and my gaze flicks down to where he’s holding my hand. His palm is turned up, and as I glance at our joined hands, I notice the dark ink of a tattoo just barely visible beneath the edge of his sleeve.

It’s a snake’s head.

The body disappears under his sleeve, presumably wrapping around his forearm as if it’s clinging to his limb.

My heart jolts in my chest, and I yank my gaze away quickly, returning his smile with an automatic curve of my lips. “Thank you, sir. For understanding.”

He nods. “Of course. I’m sorry to hear about what happened to you.”

Then he releases my hand and returns to his desk, lifting his chin at the men in a gesture of dismissal.

I keep my footsteps even as I follow the three men out of Luca’s office. The two bodyguards who escorted us in lead us back out, and with every step I take, my heart beats faster and faster.

I can barely breathe anymore by the time we step outside the house into the chilly breeze, and Marcus shoots a glance at me as we walk down the front steps toward the car.

“What’s the matter, angel? You look like you saw a ghost. You’re pale as fuck.”

I shake my head and keep walking, waiting until we’re farther from the house before the words finally burst out of me in a low whisper.

“It’s not right. Something about this is all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Theo rests his hand on the hood of his car, looking at me with concern.

My gaze shoots back to the house, and the image of the snake’s head flashes in my mind again. My blood seems to turn to ice, chilling my whole body as the confusion roiling in my mind turns to certainty.

“This whole thing is fucked up,” I murmur. “I knew that from the beginning. But I didn’t realize how fucked up.”

“What are you talking about?” Ryland’s hazel eyes darken at the tone of my voice.

I draw in a deep breath, gathering my scattered thoughts as the truth pounds against my head like a hammer. “He’s not planning to let go of his power. I don’t know if he ever was. He set this whole thing up, picked the most powerful families in Halston and pitted you against each other… gave you permission to kill each other. And while you’ve all been distracted, fighting over a prize that doesn’t even exist, the Viper has been rising in power.”

Marcus makes a noise in his throat, and I know he’s followed my train of thought and arrived at the same place I have.

I clench my hand into a fist, shifting my gaze between all three of my men.

“Luca is the Viper. He’s been playing you all this whole time.”

***

To Be Continued…

Sweet Salvation, the final book in the Ruthless Games series, is coming soon!

Pre-order or add to your Amazon wish list:

HERE

Discuss this book with other readers in my FB group:

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Want to read a completed new adult reverse harem series while you’re waiting for Sweet Salvation? You can check out The Help, the first book in my Kings of Linwood Academy series. Turn the page to see the description and cover. Free to read in Kindle Unlimited!

AMAZON TOP 100 BESTSELLER

Rich boys don’t fraternize with the help.

They don't torture the help.

They don't crave the help.

For as long as I can remember, my mom and I have lived on the edge of ruin, so when she finally gets a decent job offer, she moves us cross-country to take it.

Who cares if it means working as a live-in housekeeper for a man wealthier than God? The paycheck is good, and it comes with a roof over our heads.

She even manages to get me enrolled in the fancy prep academy his son goes to—the kind that spits out future CEOs and politicians like a vending machine.

But this new town has a few things my old one didn’t…

Like secrets that could get a person killed, and four of the hottest, meanest guys I’ve ever met.

I might live in their world now, but I am not a part of it, and they’ll do whatever it takes to remind me of that.

We go to school together, live together, and share a dangerous secret, but as far as Lincoln, River, Dax, and Chase are concerned…

I’m just the help.

**Available now on AMAZON and AUDIBLE.**

BOOKS BY CALLIE ROSE

Boys of Oak Park Prep

Savage Royals

Defiant Princess

Broken Empire

Kings of Linwood Academy

The Help

The Lie

The Risk

Ruthless Games

Sweet Obsession

Sweet Retribution

Sweet Salvation

Fallen University

Year One

Year Two

Year Three

Claimed by Wolves

Fated Magic

Broken Bond

TBA

TBA

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Books by Callie Rose