Chapter 17 #3
“Yeah,” Riot drawls, grinning at Jasper like a devil with a death wish. “I like that idea.”
Jasper stares him down. But he doesn’t argue.
He looks at me instead. And says, “Be ready by seven. We eat together here.”
Then he leaves.
Leaving Riot still watching me with a crooked smile. “Guess that means I’m staying for dinner.”
***
I barely unpacked when a knock hits the door.
I turn, already knowing.
Sure enough, Riot leans against the doorframe like he owns the entire fucking house—navy blue tee shirt clinging to his chest, tattoos practically flexing under the hallway light. His eyes are hooded, and he has a smirk curling his mouth that sends a rush straight through me.
“Need help finding where your panties go?” he teases, fingers tapping the door like he’s playing a rhythm only I can hear.
“Already in the trash,” I shoot back, refusing to give him the upper hand, even as my stomach flips.
His grin turns feral, eyes flashing. “Atta girl.”
He steps inside without waiting for an invitation; the door clicks shut behind him—a subtle claim, shutting out the rest of the world. The air between us shifts, immediately heavy with everything we haven’t said yet, everything that’s happened, and everything we want to do again.
For a long moment, he says nothing. Just looks around the room, taking in the dark walls, the enormous bed, the camera Jasper set out for me.
“You look good here,” he says as he shrugs, “in his space.”
The words should make me feel like a guest. Like an outsider sneaking into someone else’s story.
Instead… I feel like I belong. Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be… With both of them circling, and neither willing to let me go.
He walks toward me, his body language pure confidence, hips rolling just a little with every step, and the energy between us coils tighter the closer he gets.
“But if he thinks he gets to keep you all to himself…”
I swallow. Hard. My pulse thunders in my throat, every nerve in my body lighting up.
“Riot—”
He’s already in front of me, his hand curling at my waist, fingers dipping under the hem of my shirt just enough to make me shiver. His palm is hot—steady. His eyes search mine, dark and vulnerable in a way that almost undoes me.
“I’m not here to fight him tonight,” he murmurs, voice so low it vibrates right through my bones. “I just want a second with you. No interruptions.”
I look up at him, breath catching, lips parted. My hands curl into his shirt, just needing to feel the solid heat of him.
“You got your second,” I whisper, the words barely a breath, already wishing I’d given him more.
“Not yet,” he whispers—and then he kisses me.
Soft at first, then deeper. His hand raises to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing along my cheekbone, coaxing my mouth open as his tongue licks in, warm and insistent. His other hand spreads across my lower back, holding me steady, pressing us together.
My fingers find his hair, pulling his hat off, desperate to feel him. Riot groans into my mouth, hands tightening around my waist. He kisses me like he has all the time in the world—like he’s memorizing the shape of my lips, the taste of my tongue, the shudder of my breath.
He pulls back just enough to press his forehead to mine, his voice nothing but rough velvet.
“Just needed to know you want me, too.”
The words knock something loose inside me. I stand there, pulse jumping in my throat as he leans down to kiss the corner of my mouth, and then heads for the door.
“Dinner’s in five, Hellcat. Don’t keep me waiting.”
***
Everyone’s gathered around the table, plates full, banter flying, the long wood table crowded with half-empty drink glasses, napkins balled up, and the glow of the chandelier bouncing off polished marble.
The kitchen’s warmth spills into the room, but nothing’s as hot as the rivalry simmering right beside me.
Jasper sits on my left, all calm dominance and barely veiled territorial energy—his body angled toward me, fingers drumming slowly on the table like a warning.
Riot’s on my right, legs sprawled, elbows up, taking up space like he’s always belonged.
But his eyes keep drifting to Jasper. And then to me. And back again.
Jace is in the middle of making a crude joke about Ash’s inability to beat him at Mario Kart when a sharp knock interrupts the room.
Jasper stands silent, and strides out—shoulders tight, jaw locked.
“I swear,” Ash mutters, “if it’s the damn pizza guy, we’re kidnapping him. Jasper’s fridge is full of ingredients, and I am not here to play ‘Iron Chef: Vegas’—”
The sound of the door swinging open cuts him off.
And then—
Heels. Sharp, strutting heels click over the marble like gunfire, echoing down the hallway.
“Goddamn, did this place come with its own vampire coven or is this just Jasper’s version of an Airbnb?”
I gasp, twisting in my chair just in time to see Macee come waltzing into the dining room—movie star sunglasses, red lipstick, hair curled into waves, phone tucked under her arm, every inch a queen in a room full of rockstars.
“Macee?” I squeak, my chair scraping back as I bolt to my feet.
She holds her arms open wide, perfume swirling around her like armor. “There she is. My traumatized little art goblin.”
I crash into her, arms thrown around her shoulders, holding her so tight she staggers back a step and laughs. Her hug is warm, grounding, everything I didn’t know I was starving for.
In the background, I hear Ash saying, “Definitely not the pizza guy.” There’s a smack, which I assume is Jace hitting Ash’s arm.
“What are you doing here?” I breathe, tears stinging my eyes. I’ve missed her.
She pulls back just enough to give me her signature smirk. “Your broody boyfriend over there flew me out. Said you could use a little backup.”
I whip around, blinking, only to find Jasper in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes steady.
He raises an eyebrow, voice cool as black ice: “You’re welcome.”
“Boyfriend, huh?”
Riot’s voice is low and dangerous, slicing through the noise like a knife. My heart skips a beat, the hairs on my neck prickling. He drawls it deliberately, testing how the word tastes.
I catch the way he’s looking at Jasper, like he’s weighing every ounce of threat and ownership in the word ’boyfriend’. Riot’s jaw ticks, that wild edge right beneath the surface.
Jasper doesn’t blink. He leans back in his chair, muscles loose but ready, one arm draped lazily over the back of my seat. His voice is a velvet blade: “You want a label too? I’ve got a collar with your name on it.”
I almost spat out my water.
Before Riot can snap something back, Macee’s voice rings out, cutting through the tension. “Wow. Did I walk into a dick-measuring contest, or is this just Tuesday around here?”
Ash grins, jumping in. “You walked into a circus, sweetheart. But I promise—we’re the main attraction.”
Jace leans forward, all sly smirk. “Ignore him. He thinks calling girls sweetheart makes him charming.”
“It does,” Ash fires back with a wink.
“It doesn’t,” Jace shoots, eyes sliding over Macee with way too much confidence. “But I can cook. And hold an actual conversation. Unless you’d rather be grunted at between bites of food.”
Macee gives them both a slow once-over, lips pursed, eyebrow arched. “So do I get to pick who gets my number, or let you fight to the death?”
“Oh, you can pick,” Ash promises, voice dripping velvet. “But I fight dirty.”
I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “Macee, please. Don’t encourage them.”
She snorts, her laughter lighting up the table. “What? They’re so pretty when they squabble.”
Everyone laughs. The room pulses with a rare kind of ease—except for Riot.
He hasn’t touched his food. He hasn’t looked away from Jasper either. The air around him is tight, brittle, like he’s holding back a punch and a confession at the same time. That fire’s still there, burning dangerously bright.
My stomach twists, nerves and longing tangled up as I reach under the table, brushing my fingertips against his thigh.
He jolts at the contact, eyes snapping to mine, vast and wild for a split second—like he’s not sure if he should run or grab me and never let go.
But then his hand slides beneath the table, lacing his fingers through mine, and he squeezes as if he needs the anchor.
My throat goes tight as I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, “You’re mine too. You know that, right?”
He doesn’t answer out loud, but he squeezes my hand again in answer.
And Jasper? He sees it, and he doesn’t say a word.
He lets his arm rest across the back of my chair, claiming space with every quiet inch—and I know exactly what I am to both of them.
Wanted. Chosen.
***
I tug Macee down the hall after dinner, away from all the testosterone still crackling around the dining table. My cheeks are on fire, and my pulse still hasn’t slowed from Riot’s hand under the table.
“Okay,” Macee says as I shove open the bedroom door, “are we gonna pretend that wasn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed or—?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, dragging her into the room and slamming the door behind us. My hands are shaking a little, all adrenaline and nerves.
The bedroom is spacious—with vaulted ceilings, an enormous window overlooking the back of the property, and a queen bed made up in crisp black linens. Jasper must’ve had it ready before she got here.
Macee looks around, then throws her bag on the bed. “Damn. I was expecting a dusty guest closet with a raccoon in it. You really upgraded, didn’t you, art goblin?”
“Don’t call me that,” I groan, but the smile is already threatening at my lips.
“You love it,” she fires back, flopping down next to me, wild hair a messy halo on the pillow.
I roll my eyes and flop onto the bed. My heart finally slows. “I hate how smug you are.”
“Please. You’re glowing.” She drops next to me, lying on her side to face me, her hand propped under her chin. “Now spill. Who’s the broody one, who’s the golden retriever, and which one had you gasping like a Victorian widow under the table?”
“Macee!” My cheeks flame hotter, but I can’t help the grin.
“What?” She grins, eyes full of wicked delight. “I saw the look on his face. Riot, right? That man was two seconds away from setting the room on fire. He’s got it bad.”
I stare at the ceiling, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Liar. You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re finally letting someone—or someones—want you.” Her voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of pride there that makes something soft ache in my chest.
I bite my lip, picking at the threads of the comforter.
She nudges me, with a devilish smirk in her voice. “So. Tell me. What’s it like being the main character in a goth polyamorous fever dream?”
I cover my face with a groan. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” she sings. “You love me. Because I’m the only one who’ll call you out while helping you pick which fishnet lingerie goes with your jealousy crisis.”
I laugh so hard I nearly choke, tears pricking my eyes for a whole different reason. For a minute, I let myself feel it—friendship, safety, a kind of joy I haven’t had in years.
Then I exhale, voice a whisper. “Thanks for coming.”
Her voice softens, losing all the teasing. “I wouldn’t miss it, goblin. And I’m not going anywhere.”
I sit up suddenly, too full of emotion to lie still. My fingers twist the hem of my shirt as I look over at her, needing her to see how real this feels.
“Mace?”
“Yeah?” she says, still grinning, but her eyes are gentle.
“Is it… really okay?”
Her brow creases, all snark gone. “Is what okay?”
“This. All of it. The guys… both of them. The feelings. The fact that I’m falling for someone who feels like a loaded gun and another who feels like gravity—and I don’t know how to hold both at the same time without dropping myself in the middle of it.”
She sits up too, crossing her legs and facing me fully. Her hands find mine, anchoring me, thumb tracing soothing circles over my knuckles.
“Sawyer…”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been wanted like this before. And it scares the hell out of me. I keep waiting for the punchline. Maybe it’s just a game to them… Or maybe I’m just some prize they’re fighting over.”
Macee squeezes my hand, voice steady. “It’s not a game, babe. I saw the way they looked at you. That wasn’t some dumb competition. That was two men on fire.”
I blink, throat tight, that truth settling heavily in my chest.
She keeps going, softer now. “You’ve spent your whole life believing you’re the afterthought. But you’re not. You never were. You’re the main fucking character, Sawyer. And if they both see it? Then let them.”
My eyes sting.
“Just don’t let the past convince you that you’re unworthy of being adored,” she whispers, thumb wiping a tear before it falls. “Because I see it. Clear as day. And they do too.”
Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, but I smile. A real one. “When did you get so good at this?”
She grins, bumping my shoulder. “Girl, I have been waiting years for you to get a proper breakdown so I could show off my wisdom.”
We both burst out laughing again—loud, honest, and free.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I belong somewhere.
Maybe I’m enough.