Chapter Eleven #2
“Like fucking Lima,” Jake echoes, breaking into a wide grin. He looks back at me. “That was the second anniversary. We’re in Lima for a rotation, get leave, end up in this bar on the waterfront. Damian’s at the bar flirting with the bartender—”
“Was not,” Damian interjects.
Jake rolls his eyes. “So he tells her about the dares. I’m there trying to order drinks for everybody. She says all our drinks are on the house if Damian and I get up on the bar and make out.”
My eyebrows shoot up. There’s a little fizz of heat low in my stomach at the image. Damian and Jake pressed together in some noisy Peruvian bar.
“And did you?” I ask.
“Yup,” Jake says cheerfully. “Damian grabs my shirt, shoves me back onto the bar, and lays one on me. Whole place went nuts.”
“Especially the assholes standing beside us,” Damian says, grinning. “They were fucking horrified. Served them right. Felt like a public service.”
I picture Damian’s fingers fisted in Jake’s shirt, Jake sprawled back on a sticky bar, mouths crashing together while some horrified macho guy in the corner chokes on his beer. The image is titillating. I take a sip of whiskey to cover the sudden heat I’m feeling.
“So that’s Hellbent Night,” I say. “Near-death anniversaries and public service announcements.”
“That’s the folklore version,” Jake says. His eyes flick between the others, then back to me. “This year’s a little different.”
“How so?” I ask.
“We’ve never done it with five before,” he says. “Never with someone in the mix who…changes everything.”
I frown. I don’t want to ruin their tradition. But before I can say as much, Damian speaks up.
“That doesn’t mean we’re not respecting tradition, though. You heard Ryder. She’s our fifth. It’s official.” He winks at me. “You up for it, Finch?”
“Yikes,” I say with a grin. “Maybe? If you want me to?”
“We want you to,” he says.
“Oh, boy,” Wyatt groans under his breath. “Here we go.”
“We start with small dares to warm up,” Damian explains, “but eventually each person has to pull off one good dare. The rules are: no backing down, nothing that can actually hurt anyone, nothing that leaves a scar.”
Jake adds, “You can be embarrassed, you can be scared, you can’t be harmed.”
Ryder tops up our whiskey cups again and then screws the lid on the bottle tight and lies it sideways on the floor between the beds. “Jake goes first,” he says.
“Says who?” Jake protests.
“Says me,” answers Ryder, as if that settles it.
And it does. Jake chuckles and leans over the side of the bed. The tendons in his throat flex as he reaches and flicks the bottle with his fingers.
It spins, glass whispering over the threadbare carpet. The neck swings past Damian, past Wyatt, past me, then slows and comes to a stop pointing squarely at Ryder.
“Hell yes,” says Jake. “All right, boss. Ease-in dare.”
Ryder arches a brow. “Try me.”
“I dare you,” Jake says, pointing at the cluster of cups, “to drink your whiskey…then Wyatt’s…then Max’s.”
Ryder huffs a short laugh, picks up his own cup, and throws it back.
His throat works. I love the clean line of his jawbone through the scruff of his beard and the pronounced Adam’s Apple as he tilts his head back.
He reaches for Wyatt’s next, then plucks mine out of my hand, knocking each one back without pausing.
By the time he sets my cup down, his eyes are a shade darker, a flush rising along his neck, but he just looks at Jake with a you got me grin on his lips. Then he leans forward, braces one hand on the carpet, and spins the bottle.
It whirls between us, wobbling, until it slows and stops, pointing at Jake.
Damian laughs. “Ah…karma.”
Jake grimaces. “Traitorous bottle.”
Ryder smiles, slow and menacing. “All right,” he says. “Fair’s fair. Same to you. Three cups of whiskey.” He picks up the bottle and opens it, lining up the cups he just drained, and refilling them.
Jake groans and picks up each cup in turn, swallowing hard, coughing once between each.
When he slams the last empty cup down, his eyes are watering. “Okay,” he croaks. “Fuck everybody at this sleepover.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still coughing a little, and grabs the bottle and recaps it, lying it on the floor.
The bottle spins faster this time, a blur of glass and reflected lamplight. It slows, slows, then comes to rest with its neck aimed at Damian.
Jake’s grin turns wicked. “Oh, good, my favorite.”
Damian spreads his hands. “Hit me.”
“All right, Voss.” Jake points toward the door. “You have to go outside totally naked, knock on a random door, say ‘Happy Hellbent Night,’ and come back.”
Ryder lets out a bark of laughter, Wyatt too, but my eyebrows just shoot up in shock.
“You’re going to get us kicked out,” Ryder says, but he’s still laughing.
Wyatt shakes his head. “If you get arrested, you two are on your own.”
But Damian pushes off the bed, stretching. His t-shirt rides up and I get a flash of hard, cut muscle and ink, the low line of his abdomen disappearing into his waistband.
“Fine,” he says. “But if I get shot by some God-fearing tourist, I’m haunting all of you for the rest of your lives.”
He strips down without hesitation, peeling off his t-shirt, then his sweats, then his boxers, folding absolutely nothing, just leaving a trail of clothes at the end of the bed.
I look away for a second, then look back despite myself.
It’s ridiculous and obscene, him standing there like sin in bad motel light.
And his body…I’ve forgotten how perfect it is, how cut and balanced, how strong. The ink tracing over his arms and shoulders. The absolute beauty of him.
The weight of his cock swinging between his legs that I try not to look at…but do.
He pads to the door and steps out, and we cluster in the doorway after him.
The corridor is lit by a line of buzzing yellow bulbs, highlighting Damian as he strolls down the walkway, lit up for anyone on the dark highway beside to see. He stops two rooms away, and knocks once, firmly, before taking a half-step back and waiting, hands clasped behind his back.
We wait a beat, my heart climbing into my throat with a fizzing mix of nerves and delight, then the door cracks open and a woman’s face appears—late fifties maybe, hair tucked under a silk cap for sleeping, wearing a comfortable set of pajamas.
She just blinks at him, and then another woman appears at her shoulder, same age, holding a glass of wine.
“Happy Hellbent Night, ma’ams!” Damian says theatrically, and gives a deep, ridiculous bow.
There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then the first woman lets out a delighted, unhinged cackle that echoes down the balcony. The second one whoops like she’d put money down Damian’s pants, if he were wearing any.
“Oh my god,” Jake chokes, laughing.
The women say something we can’t make out—one of them is actually fanning herself with her hand—and then they just start clapping, like this is the best show they’ve ever seen.
Damian flashes them a wicked grin, says something else that makes them howl, and then he turns and jogs back toward us, every line of his body loose and easy.
We all scramble inside, falling over ourselves laughing. Damian comes in last, pulling the door shut behind him, and collapses on the first bed, rolling up in a big, naked, laughing ball.
Jake fills Damian’s cup with ginger ale and hands it to him, saying, “You need a drink,” then opens the whiskey again and refills the other cups.
I’m still laughing, half-breathless, heart pounding like we just got away with something.
Damian drags his boxers back on, still catching his breath. He leaves his pants and shirt on the floor and then drops onto the edge of the bed, grinning wide. I can barely drag my eyes away from the carved lines of his chest, and the way his leg muscles curve away from his knees.
“Looks like you found somewhere to crash tonight if your room gets too cramped,” quips Jake. “Those ladies liked you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” says Damian, giving me a wink that makes warmth spread on my cheeks.
He reaches down and spins the bottle. This time it swings past me, past Ryder, and stops, nose pointed directly at Jake.
Damian’s grin goes sharp and he rubs his hands together. “Oh, goodie! Retaliation. Take it off, sunshine,” he says to Jake. “Take off everything and stay naked for the rest of the game.”
“You vindictive motherfucker,” Jake exclaims, reaching back for a pillow and throwing it at him.
“Rules are rules,” Damian says with a calm smile, catching the pillow out of the air.
Jake takes a deep breath, eyes narrowing as he looks accusingly around the room, as if we’re all complicit in this, before standing up and hauling his t-shirt over his head, muscles flexing across his shoulders, the faint dusting of brown chest hair I miss running my fingers through.
He yanks his sweats down, then his boxers, and then he drops back down on the bed beside Ryder, grinning widely as if this is the most comfortable thing in the world.
The room feels smaller with him naked like that. Hotter. My mouth is dry.
“Happy?” he asks Damian.
“Getting there,” Damian says, smug. “Spin, please.”
Jake flips him off, then leans forward and gives the bottle a spin. This time it points straight at me.
Ugh. My heart lurches. Four pairs of eyes land on me at once.
Jake’s expression softens, just a little. “Okay—Max’s turn.”
“Be nice,” Wyatt says, half warning, half plea.
“I’m always nice,” Jake lies. He studies me for a beat, a little drunk and a lot fond. “All right,” he says slowly. “This is a bit controversial but I’m going there. Truth dare for you, Maxie. If you had to kiss one of us right now, who would you pick?”
The air goes tight and thin.
“That’s not a small dare,” I protest
Jake shrugs. “It’s just an answer. Won’t hurt you.”
There’s no right answer. No lie I can tell, no way to duck it. So I decide to just…tell the truth.
“Wyatt,” I say.
It could be any of them, truthfully, but Wyatt was my lifeline and my comfort for months.
Since we’ve gotten out of the club, the rules have all been turned on their heads and I don’t know how I’m supposed to choose between them.
But I miss Wyatt’s touch, and his smell, and his closeness. It’s Wyatt I would choose right now.
The silence that follows feels very loaded.
Wyatt doesn’t say anything. He raises his eyebrows but keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him. Ryder blinks. I take a deep inhale to loosen the tension in my lungs and raise my chin.
“Okay.” Jake gives an approving nod. “That’s an honest answer.”
“Your spin now, Finch,” says Damian.
My hands aren’t entirely steady as I lean forward and flick the bottle.
It whirls, humming, then slows, and comes to a stop pointing straight at Damian.
He grins, teeth flashing. “Excellent.”
My eyes barely land on him, the same way they skate over Jake.
All skin and muscle, and remembered touch and nothing but trouble.
But heat punches through me. The Lima story flashes through my mind—Damian’s hand in Jake’s shirt, Jake sprawled on a bar, their mouths crashing together.
The mental image I can’t get out of my mind.
My heart hammers. “Okay,” I hear myself say. “Damian, I dare you to kiss Jake.”
Jake lets out a short, surprised snort.
“Oh, shit,” says Ryder.
“Wow,” says Damian. “Okay.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and looks at Jake with a crooked grin. “It doesn’t help that we’re basically both naked.”
Jake winks at him. “C’mon, Voss. Don’t be a chicken.
” He sets his palms back on the bed and leans back, knees spreading open with zero self-consciousness like he’s waiting for Damian to come to him, the heavy weight of his cock falling against his inner thigh in a way I can’t look away from this time.
“Fuck,” mutters Damian, and stands up, closing the gap between the beds.
“C’mon then,” Jake says in a low, teasing voice. “Let’s give Lima a sequel.”
He’s testing him, making it more difficult by pretending to be too comfortable with it, but Damian smirks, shakes his head, and then meets him where he’s at, bracing one hand on the mattress beside Jake’s hip, the other curling lightly around the side of his neck.
Jesus. The heat that shoots through my center at the sight of them steals my breath.
For a second they just look at each other, each daring the other to look away in discomfort, and then Damian leans in.
It’s not a quick joke of a kiss. It’s tender. Their mouths meet and linger, lips parting.
The warmth inside of me is dizzying. Damian’s broad back, Jake’s bare chest, the way Jake’s lips part just a little under Damian’s.
After a few seconds Damian pulls back, giving Jake a smug little pat on the cheek. “Still got it,” he says.
Jake blows out a breathy laugh, color high in his cheeks. “Yeah,” he says. “You do.” He glances at me, eyes darker now. “Hope that met the assignment.”
“Uh-huh,” I manage, my voice not entirely steady.
Damian looks pleased with himself as he settles back onto his bed and takes a sip of his ginger ale, before leaning forward to spin the bottle.
This time it lands on Ryder.
“All right,” he says, smiling evilly. “Time to join the naked club, Beckett. But I’m only going to make you take off your shirt.”
Ryder rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. He reaches back, grabs the hem of his t-shirt, and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. Muscle and scar and ink come into view.
Holy hell. The room is unquestionably getting warm.
He tosses the shirt aside, rolls his shoulders like he’s settling into discomfort, and crosses his arms defiantly.
Damian says. “Your spin, boss.”
Ryder leans forward, the boulder-round muscles of his shoulders contracting as he reaches for the bottle and gives it a quick spin that lands on me.
My heart patters nervously. Ryder’s eyes lift to mine, dark and unsmiling.
This time there’s no trace of the easygoing, joking leader who’s been humoring dares all night.
When he looks at me it’s with the same raw, rough energy I’ve been feeling from him since the cabin—the part of him that wants me, the part that hates that anyone else does.
We’ve almost drunk our way through the first bottle of whiskey.
Ryder is steady as ever, no hint that he might be drunk, but I know he’s put back quite a few.
Maybe that’s what I sense that makes my nerves tingle.
That a line of defenses is down. And that whatever Ryder is about to say is about to shift us out of “ease-in dares” to the real game.
When he speaks, his voice is low and husky, like the words scrape on the way out.
“Okay, Max,” he says. “Since you said you’d choose to kiss Wyatt…I dare you to do it.”