Chapter Thirteen
I WAKE TO warmth and weight and the faint, sugary smell of buttered popcorn baked into the theater’s walls.
The screen in front of us is black having turned off while we talked last night; the speakers hum softly, waiting for someone to press play.
My cheek is on Brenden’s chest, the slow, even rise and fall, a metronome I didn’t know my body needed.
His arm is around my waist, heavy in a way that makes me feel anchored instead of pinned.
We must’ve fallen asleep talking at some point, I have no idea when though.
My mouth tastes like wine and his skin. My thighs ache in a way that makes me bite back a shaky smile.
I don’t move for a moment. I just listen—to the quiet of a house this big at dawn, to the distant clink of pans in Bridget’s kitchen, to the hush that feels like the world pressed pause just for us.
Thoughts come back to me of last night. How great it felt the two of us entwined in every way.
While the first night we spent together was hot, sexy, passionate, last night was different.
It was exploration. It was sensual. It was intimate.
It was what I always pictured love was supposed to be like.
“I want you…” I had said, calming his nerves of my rejection.
“Good girl.”
He pressed his thumb further into that back entrance that no one ever talks about.
It felt weird at first. Not painful, but uncomfortable for sure.
I had never had anyone warm me up before putting something in there before.
The sensation tried to bring back memories, but I wouldn’t let them rise.
This is Brenden. Not Gavin. I had to repeat that to myself a few times. And I know Brenden could tell.
“You have to relax, Surry. I’ll never get anything in there if you keep clenching.”
This is Brenden. I take a breath. This is Brenden. I take another breath. I can feel his thumb enter inch by inch each time I take a breath. He pulls out slightly, and I feel his warm saliva land on my entrance before he pushes back in. This time, much further.
“Good girl, great job Surry. You’ve got this. I’ve got you.” I take another breath. His praise easing me once again.
Once his thumb is totally seated within my ass, I feel his other fingers begin to strum my core, pressing two fingers within me, filling me completely. The sensation is magical.
I blush at the memories. It was so hot, and so beautiful at the same time.
Then I remember him switching to his cock at my entrance and the pressure I felt.
Slowly, he had begun to enter me. That hurt more, but after what was probably ten minutes, he was fully seated and riding me, making me see stars.
It felt so good. The soreness I feel between my legs, and the cum I can feel between my legs renews the throbbing in my core that I felt last night.
“That’s it, Surry, take my cock. Take it deep in that sweet, tight ass of yours.
I’m gonna come, Surry. I want you to come with me.
” At that, I exploded, pressing back into him, screaming my release into the dark room, Brenden leaning forward, and roaring into my hair as he wildly thrust into me, filling me.
It was thrilling and empowering, honestly.
My thoughts are interrupted by the voice rumbling under my ear of the man who I was just thinking of.
“Morning, my Siren.”
“Morning.” My voice comes out ruined and soft, a blush creeping over my skin. “Did we—”
“—forget to make it upstairs?” He huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”
We untangle slowly, carefully, like the wrong movement will shatter whatever fragile thing is hovering over us.
He stands first, muscles stretching before placing his shirt over his head and pulling it into place, then offers me both hands like I’m breakable.
I’m not, but I let him pretend. He grabs the blanket from the daybed and swings it over my shoulders, fingers lingering at my collarbone like he can’t quite help himself.
“Shower?” he asks.
“Please.”
We sneak through the quiet hallways like teenagers who absolutely should not be proud of what they did and absolutely are.
We collect shoes, a stray sock, my shirt that somehow ended up draped over a sconce, and a hair tie from the floor like breadcrumbs as we make our way out of the room and back to my room upstairs.
Inside, I grab clean clothes from the wardrobe, and the bathroom fills with steam in seconds.
He kisses my forehead—just my forehead—and leaves me to the hot water and the quiet that hurts.
By the time I’m dressed—jeans, a soft black tee, my hair pulled into a damp knot—someone knocks.
“Don’t open it,” I whisper automatically. My heart does that cold flush thing it learned in another life.
Brenden squeezes my hip once before he strides to the door and opens it just a touch.
I see fiery red hair through the crack; it’s just June.
She leans in the frame, sunglasses on her head despite the indoor lighting, a grin she doesn’t bother to hide. “Well, well,” she singsongs. “Did we have a nice little movie night?”
I internally die. “We watched the credits,” I mutter.
“Is that what you call it?” She looks over my shoulder. “Slater, I see your shirt. I also see it’s on the wrong person.”
Brenden, traitor that he is, grins. “Looks better on her.”
June cackles. “Josh sent me to come get you two. There’s news about Gavin. And—” her gaze softens for a half-beat “—you probably want to hear it sitting down.”
The folded feeling in my chest returns. The present tightens around the edges, color draining out. I nod once. “We’ll be right down.”
Juniper heads back down the hall. Brenden’s thumb finds that spot at the base of my throat and presses gently. It’s not restraint; it’s reassurance—like he’s telling my pulse to breathe. “I’m with you,” he says.
“I know.” I hate how much I mean it.
We take the stairs together, hands entwined. His are so much bigger than mine, we can’t intertwine our fingers, but I think it’s cute holding hands like an old married couple
The foyer opens into the long room off the courtyard, where everyone has gathered.
Morning light pours in, pale and cold; it makes the dust in the air look like falling stars.
Joshua and Richie lean over the big table; Hazel perches on the edge, fingers twisting the stem of an empty glass.
Bridget hovers near the doorway to the kitchens, dish towel over her shoulder, eyes assessing all of us like she can will us full and safe.
Corver’s there, too, jaw set, phone face-down in front of him for once. Gunnar stands at his shoulder—quiet, coiled, listening.
Brenden guides me to a chair with a hand at my back—possessive, yes, but not performative. Mine, his touch says. Safe, it says louder.
Joshua doesn’t waste time. “He’s moving,” he says, and those two words are enough to make my stomach drop. “Kelly made plays with the Bratva overnight. Not whispers. He’s flashing teeth. Money moved. Muscle moved. They want a war. Arnie alerted us early this morning, and Corver confirmed it all.”
Richie blows out a breath. “Of course they do.”
“Sam and your dad are already mobilizing,” Joshua goes on, looking at me like I might break and he’ll catch me if I do. “Irish are prepping for counter-hits. They’re not waiting.”
It takes me a second to find my voice. “They’re what?” The room blurs. “Sam got out. He—he left this. I dragged him back. I dragged them all back.” I cover my eyes as the tears come.
Hazel is beside me before I can spiral further, her hand warm over my knuckles. “No, honey. You didn’t drag anyone. We walked.”
“Ran,” Richie adds. “Toward you. On purpose.”
Brenden’s voice is low. “We do not blame the match for the gasoline someone else poured.”
I look at him. He looks back like he means it.
Alisha comes over and grabs my hand, dragging my eyes away from Brenden, and locking with hers. “He was prepared for this, Surry. He knew it would happen the second he heard about the car. He isn’t going in blind. Trust him.” I nod, unable to find any words.
Corver clears his throat. “There’s something else.” He taps the phone without turning it over. “We found a thread. Natasha pinged a network that Gunnar and I can chase. It’s dirty and buried, but it’s there.”
June straightens, all of her regular teasing gone. “You can find her?”
“We can try,” Gunnar says, finally speaking. His voice is calm, which is scarier than if he shouted. “But it means leaving. Now.”
My chest squeezes. Natasha. She’s a wound and a map at once. “You think she’ll lead you to Gavin?”
“Or to the money that keeps him moving,” Corver says. “Same result.”
Bridget slides a mug in front of me like she listened for the exact moment my hands started to shake. “Tea,” she says simply. “Proper.”
I wrap my fingers around the heat and nod. “Go,” I hear myself say, before I have time to think it into a mistake. “If you can find her, if you can cut one of his legs out from under him—go.”
Gunnar looks to Brenden. “You good?”
Brenden’s jaw flickers, but he nods. “Find her. You taking Arnie with you?”
Gunnar and Corver nod at the same time, their movements miming one another.
Hazel turns to Corver, worry making her look younger than she is. “You’ll check in?” She leans in and hugs him, saying something only to him.
“Every six hours,” he promises. “Twelve if we’re dark.”
Josh rubs a hand over his face. “Route?”
“Back roads south, then east,” Gunnar replies. “We’ll look like contractors, not hitters. We’ll leave half our comms here and run burn phones for anything we don’t want traced.”
Richie whistles. “Sexy.”
“Not the word I’d use,” June mutters, but she’s smirking again, and the room exhales around her. But it’s noticeable when she scoots slightly closer to Josh. They are like magnets, always drawn to one another.
Corver stands and pockets his phone, shoulders already shifting into go-mode. “We load in ten.”