26. Hailey
Chapter 26
Hailey
M orning light streams through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the countertops as I reach for the flour. The house feels different today—still tense, still on edge with the knowledge that Heath is out there somewhere, but also filled with a sense of purpose that wasn’t there before. We have a plan now. A way forward.
Stone left earlier to plant the USB drive that would supposedly contain my “evidence” against Heath and her network. Now we wait. And in the meantime, we try to maintain some semblance of normalcy.
“Lunch isn’t going to cook itself,” Finn says, bumping his hip against mine as he slides past with a cutting board full of diced vegetables. “Though watching you stare at that flour is oddly entertaining.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Sorry. Got lost in thought.”
“Dangerous territory,” he teases, dumping the vegetables into a bowl. “What’s on the menu anyway? Besides…flour.”
“Homemade pizza,” I reply, measuring the flour into a large mixing bowl. “I haven’t ever made it before, but the directions in the cookbook look easy.”
Finn grins. “Alright, but bold of you to assume I won’t eat all the toppings before they make it onto the dough.”
I swat at him with a dish towel. “Touch my pineapple and you’re dead to me.”
He gasps in mock horror. “Stone will have a fit.” Then he does a mock voice pretending to be Stone. “ Pineapple on pizza? You’re a monster .”
“Yeah, but he puts ketchup on eggs.”
Finn bursts out laughing, still mocking Stone’s voice. “ That was one time !” he mock protests. “ And I was hungover .”
I can’t help but chuckle.
In the background, music plays from Finn’s phone—pop songs that have him jerking his hips and dancing around me.
I laugh when he deliberately bumps his butt against mine. Still chuckling, I turn to the sink, rinsing the bowl for the dough. Through the kitchen window, I catch glimpses of Jax as he patrols the perimeter of the property, phone to his ear as he coordinates with the security team he’s hired. Two men in plain clothes survey the wider grounds, their presence a reminder that despite the laughter in the kitchen, we’re still in the middle of something dangerous.
“He’s been out there for hours,” Finn says, following my gaze. “Third circuit this morning.”
“He’s worried,” I whisper. But even though I know I’m the reason for this worry, all I feel is warmth in my chest. They love me. Care for me.
“He’s obsessing,” Finn corrects gently. “But at least he’s not locking us in the basement.”
I snort. “Such mercy.”
“Hey, with Jax? Progress is progress.” Finn reaches across me for a jar of tomato sauce, his arm brushing mine.
I turn my attention back to the dough, adding warm water and olive oil to the flour mixture, just like the cookbook says. As I begin to knead, Finn steps behind me, peering over my shoulder.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he says, his breath warm against my ear.
“Really?” My face falls. I thought I was doing it right.
“Absolutely,” he confirms, pressing closer. “You need to put your whole body into it. Like this.”
His hands cover mine, guiding my movements as he demonstrates a more vigorous kneading technique. His chest presses against my back, his hips aligned with mine in a way that’s not entirely innocent.
“See?” his voice drops as he remains at my back, pressed into me. “Much better.”
I laugh, but it comes out breathier than intended. “You’re not helping with the pizza at all, are you?”
“I’m supervising,” he corrects, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear. “Very important role.”
“Mmhmm.” I try to focus on the dough, but it’s increasingly difficult with Finn’s body molded against mine, his scent enveloping me.
The kitchen has become warm, and not just from the preheating oven.
“The dough needs to rise,” I say, my voice unsteady as Finn’s hands slide from my wrists to my waist.
“Does it now?” he murmurs, turning me to face him. “How long?”
“About an hour.”
Those impossible gray eyes darken as his fingers tighten on my hips. “Whatever shall we do with all that time?”
Before I can respond, he lifts me effortlessly onto the counter, stepping between my legs. The bold move is so unlike the Finn I first met—cautious, hesitant, always aware of not upsetting me and making me feel comfortable at all times—that it momentarily steals my breath.
“This okay?” he asks, his confidence faltering briefly.
In answer, I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. “More than okay.”
His smile is brilliant as he leans in, capturing my lips in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance that I eagerly grant. One of his hands tangles in my hair, the other gripping my thigh as he presses closer, the hard line of his arousal evident against my core.
I moan softly into the kiss, my hands clutching at his shoulders. The bond between us pulses with shared desire, amplifying every sensation so much, I can hardly breathe.
Finn breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, pausing to pay special attention to the marks there. The claiming bites still send shockwaves of pleasure-pain through me when touched. When his tongue traces the outline of his own mark, my hips buck involuntarily against his.
“Finn,” I gasp, my fingers threading through his hair.
He hums against my skin, the vibration sending goosebumps cascading across my flesh. His hips roll against mine in a deliberate grind that has me whimpering against him.
“You taste like sunshine, sunshine,” he murmurs against my collarbone. “Like home.”
Oh shit…I think I’m going to need to come.
We’re so lost in each other that we don’t immediately notice the new presence in the kitchen. It’s only when I open my eyes, head tilted back to give Finn better access to my throat, that I see Ren standing in the doorway.
He’s just come from the shower, his dark hair still damp, a few water droplets clinging to his neck. He’s dressed simply in a black t-shirt and jeans, feet bare against the hardwood floor. But it’s his expression that arrests me—that signature ice-blue gaze heated to molten as he watches us, his jaw tight with what might be restraint.
“Ren,” I breathe. Before, I might have pulled away from Finn at the fact we’re being watched. Right now, after everything, I don’t.
Finn turns, following my gaze, his hands still possessive on my hips. “Hey,” he says, voice rough. “We were just…”
“Making pizza,” I finish for him, a breathless laugh escaping me at the absurdity of the statement given our obvious activities.
Something like amusement flickers across Ren’s features. “Interesting technique.”
Finn grins, unabashed. “Very hands-on approach.”
The moment should be awkward, but somehow it isn’t.
Still, I notice the way Ren maintains his distance, positioning himself against the counter across from us rather than approaching. Always watching, rarely touching. I’ve noticed. And…it hurts.
“How’s the plan progressing?” Finn asks, shifting slightly to give me space while keeping one arm loosely around my waist.
Ren’s expression grows more serious. “Stone texted. The drive is planted. Now we wait.”
“And Jax?” I ask, nodding toward the window where our pack leader is still visible, pacing the perimeter.
“Being Jax,” Ren says with a slight shrug. “Securing everything three times over.”
The oven beeps, signaling it’s reached temperature. I slide off the counter, smoothing my rumpled shirt as I cover the dough with a clean towel to rise.
“We made too much filling,” I say, gesturing to the various chopped toppings spread across the counter. “Anyone want to sample?”
Finn immediately reaches for a slice of pepperoni, popping it into his mouth. “Quality control. Very important.”
I laugh, selecting a piece of pineapple and holding it out to Ren. “Try this. Tell Stone that pineapple absolutely belongs on pizza.”
It’s a simple gesture, the kind of casual interaction that would be unremarkable with anyone else. But as I extend my hand toward Ren, he freezes, his entire body going rigid.
The shift is subtle but unmistakable—the slight widening of his eyes, the tension that instantly coils through his frame, the way his gaze fixes not on the offered fruit but on my hand itself, as if it presents some kind of threat or challenge he doesn’t know how to meet.
The moment stretches, awkward and painful, before he finally reaches out, careful to take the pineapple without letting our fingers touch. “Thanks,” he says, his voice carefully neutral.
But the damage is done. The easy atmosphere has shattered, the playful mood evaporating like morning dew in harsh sunlight.
Finn shifts uncomfortably beside me, clearly sensing the change but uncertain how to address it. I see him exchange a glance with Ren, some silent communication passing between them that I can’t quite interpret.
And suddenly, I’ve had enough.
“Why?” I ask, the word sharp with a frustration I’ve been suppressing for days. “ Why won’t you touch me?”
Ren’s expression shutters instantly, that familiar mask of detachment sliding into place. The one that made me afraid of him in those first few days, not knowing what he was really hiding underneath. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“You know what I mean.” I step forward, deliberately entering his space in a way I know makes him uncomfortable. “You’ve been avoiding any physical contact with me since we got back from the cabin. You’ll talk to me, you’ll look at me, but the moment I get close enough to touch, you pull away.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say anything. In fact, his silence only fuels my growing sense of hurt and confusion.
“If you don’t want me, that’s fine,” I continue, but my voice wavers slightly despite my best efforts. “If the bond was just…I don’t know, adrenaline or obligation or whatever, just say so. But don’t keep looking at me like…like you’re starving and I’m a feast you won’t let yourself taste.”
Finn makes a small sound behind me, a mixture of surprise and something like approval at my directness. It bolsters my courage to press on.
“You don’t want to touch me,” I repeat, more a statement than a question now. “I’ve noticed. Why ?”
For a long moment, Ren remains silent, his expression unreadable. Then, just as I’m about to give up on getting an answer, he speaks, his voice breaking on the words.
“I do…I just… fuck .” He runs a hand through his damp hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “I don’t trust myself not to hurt you.”
The admission should make sense. Should ease the ache that’s been building in my chest. Instead, it ignites something fierce and indignant within me.
“That’s bullshit,” I snap.
All three of us freeze. My heart slams in my chest. What did I just say? Months ago, I would have never dreamed of standing up to an alpha, of challenging one so directly. The woman I was then would have been horrified. Terrified of the consequences.
But I’m not that woman anymore.
“That’s bullshit,” I repeat, softer but no less intense. “You almost…You almost died for me. You fought for me. Now fight for us.”
Ren’s eyes, when they meet mine, hold a complexity of emotion I can’t fully untangle—surprise, respect, and beneath it all, a desperate, hungry hope.
Then, to my utter astonishment, he dips his head in acquiescence. “Okay.”
The simple word, spoken with such quiet conviction, defuses my anger as quickly as it arose. I blink, thrown off balance by his easy acceptance.
“Okay?” I echo, glancing at Finn, who looks equally perplexed.
“But before I do,” Ren continues, his voice steadier now, “there’s something I need to show you. Both of you.”
He turns without waiting for a response, heading for the stairs with the clear expectation that we’ll follow. Finn and I exchange a confused look before trailing after him, the pizza dough left forgotten on the counter.
Ren leads us to his bedroom—a space I’ve never entered. The room is exactly what I might have expected from him: minimalist, functional, with few personal touches beyond a well-stocked bookshelf and a surprisingly beautiful painting of Finn hanging above the bed.
What I don’t expect is the fireplace. It’s an elegant stone structure built into the far wall, currently cold and empty.
Ren moves to his closet, reaching up to the highest shelf to retrieve something. When he turns back to us, he’s holding a black wooden box, small enough to fit under his arm but substantial enough to suggest significant contents.
He places the box on the floor and sits beside it, gesturing for us to join him. Finn settles cross-legged across from him, and I follow suit, completing our small circle.
“Ren,” Finn says hesitantly, “what is this?”
Ren’s throat works as he swallows, his fingers tracing the edge of the box without opening it. His eyes meet Finn’s, then mine, unspoken emotion in that ice-blue gaze.
“That night,” he begins, “the accident that killed you, broke our bond, and destroyed our pack, I was running from?—”
“Oh, Ren,” Finn interrupts, reaching forward to touch his knee. “I told you. I know. You were running from your parents. I know what they were involved in. Stone and Jax told me.”
Ren’s gaze slides to me, filled with such naked guilt that it makes my chest ache. “Yeah, but you don’t know all of it.” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “That night, I was running because they wanted you, too. Caldwell wanted you. That van that was ramming us must have been his. The accident, all of it, was because of my involvement in this ring.”
Finn’s eyes widen, tears gathering at the corners. “You weren’t involved.”
“Not directly, but they’re still my blood.” Ren’s voice is harsh with self-recrimination. He turns to me, his expression more open, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen it. “In this box are files I kept. Pictures. Details of things that happened. Things my family did while I lived under their roof.”
He swallows hard, his hand moving to the lock but not yet opening it. “Look at them…tell me if you still want me to love you.”
The painful earnestness in his voice strikes me to the core. This, I realize, is Ren’s apology—baring the ugliest parts of himself, giving me the choice to reject him, to walk away with full knowledge of the darkness he carries.
“The exact thing that took away six years of your life,” he continues, looking at me before shifting his gaze to Finn, “and almost took away yours for good,” his gaze shifts back to me, “is directly connected to me.”
I look at Finn, seeing the love and pain mingled in his eyes, feeling an echo of those same emotions in my own heart. Neither of us deserved what happened to us. But neither did Ren.
As he inserts a small key into the lock, I reach out, pressing my hand firmly over the lid of the box, preventing it from opening.
Ren stares at my hand for a good few seconds, then up at my face, shock and confusion warring with a desperate, fragile hope in his expression.
I meet Finn’s eyes, finding in them a perfect understanding of what I’m about to do. Without a word, I take the box from Ren’s unresisting hands and move to the fireplace.
“Hailey,” Ren says, alarm evident in his voice as I reach for the matches and firelighter stored nearby. “What are you doing?”
“What should have been done a long time ago,” I reply, striking a match and lighting the firelighter beneath the box.
Ren lurches forward, trying to stop me. “You haven’t looked inside,” he protests. “You don’t know?—”
“I don’t have to.” I hold his gaze steadily as the first wisps of smoke begin to curl from the box. “I’m not going to judge you by your past or what your family did. I’m going to judge you by what I know.”
His expression crumples, disbelief warring with a desperate desire to believe. “And what do you know?”
“I know that you fought for me after the gala. I know you endured torture to protect me from Caldwell. I know you’ve been teaching me to defend myself, respecting my autonomy when it would be easier to just lock me away somewhere ‘safe.’” The words pour out of me, strong and sure. “I know you look at me like I’m something precious and terrifying all at once. I know you want to touch me but won’t let yourself, because you’re so afraid of causing harm that you’d rather suffer in silence.”
Tears gather in his eyes, unshed but unmistakable. “Hailey?—”
“I know you, Ren.” I reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. “Not your past. Not your family. You.”
A strangled sound escapes him, and he falls to his knees beside the fireplace, watching as the flames consume whatever evidence of guilt he’s been carrying all these years.
Finn moves without hesitation, launching himself into Ren’s arms with such force that they both nearly topple over. “You idiot,” he says fiercely, his face buried in Ren’s neck. “You absolute idiot. How long have you been hiding that box?”
“Too long,” Ren admits, his arms coming up to hold Finn with a careful tenderness. “Since the accident.”
“Years,” Finn repeats, pulling back enough to frame Ren’s face with his hands. “Years of blaming yourself for something that was never your fault, Ren.”
“I brought it into our lives,” Ren argues, though his voice lacks conviction. “My family, my past?—”
“And you’ve been punishing yourself ever since,” I say, joining them on the floor, my hand finding Ren’s.
“Pulling away from the pack, isolating yourself, believing you don’t deserve connection or touch or love.” Finn whimpers, the sound making Ren grip him tighter.
He doesn’t deny it, which is answer enough.
“No more,” Finn declares, pressing his face into our alpha’s neck. “No more punishing yourself. No more hiding. No more pushing us away.”
Something breaks in Ren’s expression—not shattering but releasing, like ice giving way to spring thaw. “I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, the confession barely audible. “I’ve been this way for a long time, Finn.”
“We’ll show you,” I promise, leaning forward to press my forehead against his. “Look at me .” I force a smile. “I’ve changed, haven’t I?”
Ren swallows hard.
“Just a day at a time.” I smooth his hair as I hold his tortured gaze. Finn nods in fervent agreement.
The moment stretches between us before Ren moves, one hand coming toward my face with a gentle reverence that steals my breath. “Can I…” he starts, then stops, uncertainty flickering across his features.
“Yes,” I whisper, answering the unfinished question. “Please.”
His hand clasps my jaw as his lips meet mine in an achingly tender kiss, so different from the desperate, adrenaline-fueled claiming during my heat. His thumb strokes my cheekbone as he deepens the kiss, a soft sound of wonder escaping him as I respond.
When we part, both breathless, he turns to Finn with the same reverent expression. Their kiss is the same. Sweet. Tender. Finn reaches for my hand, drawing me closer, and then we’re all tangled together on the floor, a knot of limbs and hearts and healing.
The fire crackles beside us, consuming the last of Ren’s self-imposed penance. In its glow, our hands explore, lips tasting, bodies pressing closer.
We move as if by unspoken agreement toward the bed.
Finn’s hands guide me, his eyes dark with desire as he settles between my thighs. Ren watches for a moment, still hesitant, until I reach for him, drawing him down beside us.
“Show me,” I whisper, guiding his hand to my breast.
Something resolves in his expression, and he leans in, his lips finding my throat as his hand explores my body with increasing confidence. On my other side, Finn mirrors his actions, the two of them working in harmony to drive me swiftly toward the edge of pleasure.
It’s overwhelming in the best possible way—the dual sensation of their hands, their mouths, the distinct but complementary scents of them surrounding me.
Finn’s fingers slide between my thighs, finding me already slick with arousal. He groans against my collarbone, his touch confident and knowing as he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves at my center.
“So perfect,” he murmurs, eyes meeting mine as he pushes two fingers inside me.
Beside us, Ren watches with heated intensity, his hand moving to strip his own arousal as Finn pleasures me. The sight of him touching himself while watching us is unexpectedly erotic, drawing a moan from deep in my throat.
“Let him,” Finn whispers in my ear, understanding my reaction instantly. “Let him see how good you feel.”
I nod, my breath coming in short gasps as Finn’s fingers curl inside me, finding that perfect spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. My back arches, a cry escaping me as pleasure builds rapidly toward release.
“That’s it,” Ren encourages, voice rough with desire. “Let go, Hailey. We’ve got you.”
The combination of his words, Finn’s skillful touch, and the heady knowledge that I’m bringing them both pleasure sends me tumbling over the edge. I come with a broken cry, my body shuddering with the force of my release.
Before I’ve fully recovered, Finn is positioning himself between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance. “Okay?” he asks, always checking.
“More than okay,” I assure him, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him closer.
He sinks into me with a groan of pure satisfaction, his forehead dropping to rest against mine as he savors the moment of connection. “So perfect,” he murmurs, his hips beginning a slow, deliberate rhythm. “So tight around me.”
Ren shifts beside us, his hand moving to stroke Finn’s back, then lower, his fingers tracing the place where Finn’s body disappears into mine. The touch draws a startled moan from Finn, his hips stuttering momentarily before finding their rhythm again.
“Please,” Finn gasps, turning his head to look at Ren, a silent request in his eyes.
Ren understands immediately, reaching for the bedside drawer to retrieve a small bottle of lubricant. My breath catches as I realize what they’re planning, a new wave of arousal washing through me at the thought.
“Is this okay?” Ren asks, his question directed at both of us. “If it’s too much?—”
“It’s not,” Finn almost growls. “Fuck me, Ren.” His movements slow inside me but don’t stop. “We want this. All of us together.”
I nod, unable to find words.
Ren moves behind Finn, his hands gentle but sure as he prepares him. I watch Finn’s face as Ren works him open, fascinated by the play of pleasure and vulnerability across his features. He continues to move inside me, though his thrusts have become shallower, more controlled as he adjusts to the dual sensation.
“Ready?” Ren asks, his voice tight with restrained desire.
Finn nods, his amber eyes meeting mine with an intimacy that takes my breath away.
I feel the exact instant Ren enters him—Finn’s gasp, the way his eyes widen, the sudden stillness as he adjusts to being filled. For a moment, none of us move, locked together in a perfect circuit of connection.
Then Ren begins to move, his thrusts careful and measured, setting a rhythm that Finn follows in his movements within me. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced—this synchronicity of pleasure, this perfect harmony of bodies and bonds.
“Tell me,” Ren says suddenly, his voice raw as he presses his forehead against Finn’s shoulder. “Tell me what you’re afraid of losing.”
The unexpected question catches me off guard.
“You,” I admit, the word catching on a moan as a particularly deep thrust sends pleasure spiraling through me. “Losing any of you. Being alone again.”
Finn’s eyes meet mine. “The past,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of speaking while caught between such intense sensations. “That we won’t be able to move beyond it.”
Ren’s movements falter slightly. Then, he begins to whisper every mistake he thinks he’s made, every fear he carries, his voice breaking with the weight of finally releasing these burdens.
“I pushed you away,” he tells Finn, each confession punctuated by the steady rhythm of his body. “After the accident. When you needed me most. I convinced myself it was for your protection, but I was protecting myself. From the guilt. From the possibility of losing you again.”
He turns his gaze to me. “I resented you at first. For making me feel. For reminding me what it was like to care. To be vulnerable. I was cruel to you because I was afraid.”
The raw honesty of his words, combined with the physical pleasure building within me, creates an emotional intensity that’s almost too much to bear. Tears slip down my cheeks, mingling with sweat as our movements become more urgent, more desperate.
“It’s okay,” I manage through the tightness in my throat. “We’re better now.”
Finn nods in fervent agreement, his hand finding mine, squeezing tight as our pleasure builds toward a shared crescendo.
Our rhythm falters, grows erratic as release approaches for all of us. Finn comes first, his cry muffled against my neck as he empties himself inside me. The sensation, combined with the knowledge that Ren is witnessing his pleasure, sends me tumbling after him, my second orgasm washing through me in waves of near-unbearable intensity.
Ren follows seconds later, his release accompanied by a whispered recital of our names, like a prayer, like a promise.