Chapter 5 Isaiah
ISAIAH
I hear the shower shut off, and something primal tightens in my chest. I should stand. Leave. Pretend I still have boundaries, or decency, or whatever thin threads were holding me together this morning, but I don't move.
I sit on the edge of Xavier’s bed, staring at the floor like a fucking idiot who can’t get away from his own thoughts.
The whole room smells like her. Vanilla, heat, that little floral thing she always leaves behind without even trying.
And underneath it? Him. Xavier. That ash-and-musk shit he carries everywhere.
It’s all over this room, mixed with her scent, and it makes my blood boil.
If he wasn’t in a coma right now, I’d put him in one just for that.
For letting his scent sit anywhere near hers.
For being the reason she’s not with me right now.
I’m going to sleep alone again, like every other miserable night, and it’s his fault.
Xavier always has to take up space, even when he’s unconscious.
Even now, he’s still in the way. Still selfish.
Still costing me the one thing I want more than anything.
And he doesn’t even know it. The fucking prick.
The bathroom door opens.
Steam spills out first. Then she steps into view, and my breath slips out of me like she knocked it free.
A towel clings to her body—barely. Water trails down her throat, her collarbone, the slope of her chest. She looks like a goddess, like my type of communion.
A body that makes logic collapse, that makes my pulse punch through my ribs, that makes me want to drop to my knees and thank whatever hell spat her out for putting her in my path.
Everything about her is designed to kill me.
The shape of her hips. The sweetness of her mouth.
The long line of her legs, toned and soft at the same time.
The towel riding up just enough to show the start of her thigh.
Even the way she breathes. It’s all temptation.
All invitation. All mine if she would just let me.
And I can’t understand how I ever said yes to sharing her.
Or if I actually did. Maybe I only thought I did, trying to pretend I could be selfless.
I would share her if she asked—if she looked at me with those pretty green eyes and told me she wanted it—but she hasn’t asked.
So why the hell am I acting like I owe anyone else a piece of her?
You can’t be selfless with a girl like this. She’s too beautiful for sharing.
She turns around, her hand scrunching the long strands of her hair and freezes.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” She sneers.
“Easy, Angel.” My voice comes out low, hoarse. I lift my palms. “I just needed to talk.”
“No, what you needed was to knock.” She adjusts the towel tighter across her chest, and somehow the movement makes my pulse throb harder. “Do you understand the concept of privacy, or do the Raiders not teach that?”
“I knocked.” I didn’t.
“You didn’t answer.” She was in the shower.
“I got worried.” I wasn’t. I wanted to see her. I thought she would be happy. In love. Obsessive the way she was only two days ago when she gave herself to me. I guess that’s all down the fucking gutter now.
Her eyes narrow. “Worried,” she repeats, unimpressed. “Right. Try again, and this time don’t lie to me.”
I let my gaze sweep over her—not hiding it, not apologizing. Her jaw clenches as my eyes track the line of her throat, the droplets on her shoulders, the edge of the towel. She doesn’t blush. She doesn’t look away. She glares at me like she wants to claw my face open and I would let her.
“What do you want, Isaiah?” Her voice is sharp enough to draw blood. “And don’t feed me bullshit.”
I drag in a slow breath. “Xavier’s stable. I thought we’d celebrate.”
Something flickers in her expression—too fast for anyone else to catch, but I’ve memorized her face enough to see it. Relief. Fear. Anger at both.
“And you couldn’t tell me that through the door?” she asks tightly.
“And miss seeing my girl fresh out of a shower?” I lean forward, smirking. “Never.”
Her brows pull together. “What purpose?”
I stand slowly, watching the way her grip on the towel stiffens. I'm close enough now to feel the heat rolling off her damp skin. Close enough to see where water beads at her collarbone.
“You,” I say quietly. “I needed to see you.”
Her breath stutters—barely—but I hear it.
“This morning,” I continue, voice low, reverent. “The way you handled everything. You didn’t freeze. Didn’t lose your head. You beat the fucking crap out of Johnson.”
“Yeah,” she shrugs, turning away and digging through the dresser. Her back is arched, and the drops of water sliding down her body teases me. “So”
“So? You were a force,” I murmur. “Watching you—Angel, I’ve seen men break in cleaner situations than that. But you…” I shake my head slowly. “You were terrifying.”
She stops. Doesn’t turn. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Yeah. A deadly goddess was definitely something I have prayed for.” I take a lazy step forward, counting how many strides it would take to be next to her. Five.
“Mmm,” she hums, pulling out some clothes. “You sure are a sweet talker. Learned that from Xavier, or is that a natural talent.”
Another step, the scent of vanilla strengths and I can’t stop the smile curling on my lips. “When it comes to you most things are a natural talent.”
She whips around, holding her clothes against her chest like a shield but meeting my gaze head-on. Her cheeks are flushed—not from embarrassment, but from irritation, from adrenaline, from me.
“Why are you here, Zay?” She sighs, leaning back against the dresser. “We’re not supposed to be alone together.”
“Says who?”
“Ash… there are already rumors about us, and that’s a bad look for the club.
” Her voice wavers, thin and unsteady, like she’s two seconds from either begging or breaking.
And I don’t like that. I don’t like hearing fear in her throat.
I don’t like the idea that I caused it. And I sure as hell don’t like the reminder that the club is watching us close enough to talk.
A more reckless version of myself wouldn’t care, but last time I was reckless with her my brother was shot, and now I am trying to mind my manners.
“I’ll leave if you want me to,” I whisper, but I take another step closer—slow, controlled, giving her every second to push me away. She doesn’t. She just drops her head and looks at the two steps between us.
“Zay,” she sighs, and my name on her lips almost makes me sink to my knees.
“But,” I say softly. “I’m standing here because every time I try to stay away from you, I fail. Because I can’t stop thinking about you, even with my brother on the operating table, all I could think about was you. I cannot help but be obsessed with you, Val.”
Her breath hitches. “I am Xavier’s now.”
That sentence makes me want to punch a wall, but I swallow down my anger. “And you’re mine.”
“Don’t say that,” she whispers and looks away from me.
I don’t touch her. I don’t force her to look at me, but I want to—Christ, I want to—but I don’t.
“I am only saying the truth.”
She looks up at me. Those pretty green eyes flickering across my face with a glossy tint.
“You should leave,” she whispers. “Before you do something stupid.”
“Probably,” I murmur, letting the truth settle between us—heavy, electric, inevitable. “But Angel… I don’t think I’m capable of leaving you alone.”
Her fingers tighten on the bundle of clothes. Her throat moves in a swallow. I take one step toward her. Her breath stutters.
“You have to, because I’m supposed to be Xavier’s now,” she says, but she won’t look at me. “I can’t have you. I can’t have Ash. I can’t have anyone until Xav says different, and he’s in a coma.”
Fuck me.
She’s actually doing it. Pulling back. Shutting the door. Cutting herself off like that’s going to protect her or fix anything. She has no idea how fast that would gut me.
Yeah, the idea of sharing her makes something nasty twist in my chest. Makes me want to punch through a wall or break Xavier’s ribs all over again.
But if sharing her is what it takes to keep even a piece of her—if it means I still get her breath on my skin, her eyes on me, her voice saying my name—I’ll do it.
I’ll take whatever part of her I can get.
Because losing her completely? That’s the one thing I won’t survive.
“Val,” I whisper. “You can have everything you want and more. You don’t think me and my brother would give you anything you ask for? Everything you deserve?”
And she deserves me. She deserves Ash. Hell, if she wants to deal with that moody bastard Xavier too, fine. She can have all of us if that’s what keeps her here. What keeps her close.
I lift a hand—hovering near her jaw, not touching, just close enough for her heat to roll over my palm.
“Angel,” I say softly, “you don’t have to choose a damn thing right now.”
Her gaze flicks up finally—stormy, exhausted, blazing in a way that breaks something open in me. There’s fear there. Fury. Want. Confusion. Grief.
I plant one hand beside her hip, fingers brushing the warm wood, and lean in just enough that her exhale trails over my collarbone.
“You don’t have to choose a damn thing ever,” I murmur, my voice low and steady, shaped for her alone. “You want all of us. You can have all of us. You want only me. You can have only me.”
Her breath hitches, the sound catching somewhere between relief and fury.
“Don’t do that,” she whispers, eyes flicking away for a heartbeat before snapping back to mine. “Don’t make it sound simple. It isn’t. None of this is.”
“It is. ” My other hand braces near her shoulder, caging her in without touching her—close enough for her body heat to wrap around my skin, close enough that a single flinch or breath could close the last inch between us. “When it comes to me being in love with you, Angel. It is.”