37. Malachi
MALACHI
Silence follows, thick and suffocating.
I lean against the concrete, watching them.
Savannah sits on a crate, swallowed by my oversized leather jacket.
She looks small, a rarity, wedged between Gideon’s bruised mass and Dante’s rigid height.
The sergeant-at-arms is busy re-wrapping his knuckles, the white linen already blooming with fresh red. No one speaks. We don’t have to.
The maps on the table are useless now. The strategy is narrowed down to a single, jagged point: survival or ash.
I catch Savannah’s amber eyes. Usually, they are predatory, sharp enough to cut.
Now, they’re wide, reflecting the flickering overhead bulb.
She isn't looking at the exits. She’s looking at us like she’s trying to memorize the architecture of our faces.
I see the same look in Dante’s tightened jaw.
We finally found something worth keeping, only to bring it to a tomb.
The weight of the dawn is a physical pressure, a funeral already haunting the room.
I want to tell her about the villa I scouted in Tuscany or the bank accounts I scrubbed clean for our exit, but the words feel like glass in my throat.
If I say it aloud, the universe might find it funny to take it away.
We are four hearts beating in a bunker, waiting for the light to show us who is left standing.
Gideon drops the bloodied tape. He reaches out, his massive hand trembling as he cups Savannah’s cheek. The "FEAR" across his knuckles looks pale against her skin.
"If this is where it ends," Gideon’s voice cracks, a jagged sound I’ve never heard from him, "I want you to know that I'm yours. Always."
Dante steps into her space, his palm resting on her shoulder. He doesn't look like a warlord anymore. He looks like a man being hollowed out from the inside.
"I spent my life building walls to keep the world out," Dante says, his gaze burning into hers. "I didn't realize I was just waiting for you to walk through them. I love you, Savannah. I love both of you. All of you."
He looks at Gideon and me, a silent, devastating admission of brotherhood and lifelong loyalty. The air between us shifts, thickening with a desperate, raw heat.
I step forward, sliding my hand into Savannah’s small, calloused palm. My chest aches with a physical pressure that makes it hard to breathe. The masks are gone. Every performance, every curated word, stripped away by the smell of cordite.
"You’re the only truth I’ve ever known," I whisper, meeting their eyes one by one. "None of us go alone."
Savannah pulls us tighter, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she anchors us together. We aren't a club or a unit anymore. We are a single heartbeat.
The mountain screams again, closer this time. We don't pull away. We pray.
The bunker air is thick with sweat and desperation, the kind that strips you bare long before the clothes come off.
Savannah’s back hits the concrete wall, and I don’t know which of us reaches for her first—only that suddenly, all three of us are touching her, mapping her skin like we’re trying to memorize the shape of her before the world ends.
Dante’s hands are methodical, stripping her jacket away with the same precision he uses to dismantle a rifle.
Gideon is rougher, biting at her collarbone, his fingers tangling in her hair like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.
I press my mouth to her pulse point and feel it hammering, a frantic rhythm beneath my lips.
She gasps when Gideon’s teeth graze her throat, arches when Dante’s palm slides up her ribs. My hands find the scar on her collarbone, the one she never talks about, and I kiss it like an apology. She shudders, her fingers tightening in my hair, pulling me closer.
There’s no finesse here, no performance.
Just four people who’ve spent too long surviving instead of living, clawing at each other like we can rewrite fate with skin and breath.
Dante’s mouth crashes into hers, possessive and slow, while Gideon’s hands roam lower, dragging a moan from her lips as his fingers find her sopping wet pussy.
I watch her come undone between us, her eyes dark with need, and I don’t feel the urge to hide behind a smirk or a clever line.
“Look at me,” I murmur, cupping her face. She does, and the raw trust in her gaze nearly breaks me. “However this ends, you’re ours. We’re yours. That doesn’t disappear.”
Gideon growls something against her shoulder, half plea, half vow, before lifting her into his arms. Dante’s hands guide her down onto the makeshift bed of jackets, his touch reverent where Gideon’s is ravenous.
I follow, tracing every scar, every shudder, until her nails dig into my back and her breath hitches between our names.
The mountain still shakes above us, but right now, the only thing that matters is the way she clings to us—like we’re the anchor, not the storm.
I strip off the rest of my clothes in one fluid motion, my hands shaking—not from fear, but from the sheer fucking need clawing through me. Savannah’s gaze drags down my body, lingering on the hard length of me, her lips parting in anticipation.
I don’t tease.
I grip her hips and slide my glistening cock into her in one smooth thrust, her heat clamping around me like a vise. A ragged sound tears from my throat, and I barely recognize my own voice.
"Christ, you feel—" I break off as she arches beneath me, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
Gideon watches from beside us, his knuckles white where they grip his own thighs, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. Dante’s hand is wrapped around himself, stroking slowly, his dark eyes locked on where Savannah and I are joined.
I set a brutal pace, fucking her deep, each thrust punctuated by the slick, filthy sound of our bodies colliding.
Savannah gasps, her nails raking down my back, her legs tightening around my waist. I lean down, capturing her mouth in a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue, swallowing her moans like they’re the only thing keeping me alive.
Gideon growls, reaching out to drag his thumb over Savannah’s lower lip. "Look at you," he rasps. "Taking him so fucking good."
Dante’s hand fists in her hair, tilting her head back so he can claim her mouth next, his kiss possessive, unhurried—a contrast to the frantic way I’m moving inside her.
Savannah’s breath hitches, her body tightening around me, and I know she’s close. I grind deep, hitting that spot inside her that makes her cry out, her back bowing off the makeshift bed.
"Come for me," I snarl against her lips.
She shatters with a scream, her thighs trembling, her fingers clutching at me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded. The sensation drags me over the edge with her, my roar mingling with hers as I spill hot cum inside her, my vision whiting out for one blinding second.
I pull out slowly, pressing a kiss to Savannah’s swollen lips before she sits up, her breath ragged. Gideon’s already on the floor, his massive frame sprawled against the concrete, his cock jutting up between his thighs. His grey eyes burn with hunger as he crooks a finger at her.
"Come here, Savage."
She doesn’t hesitate—not for a second. Savannah moves with that lethal grace of hers, swinging one leg over Gideon’s hips like she’s claiming territory.
The second she sinks down onto him, her body swallows him whole, her back arching in a slow, sinuous curve as she takes every brutal inch of him.
A breathless moan escapes her parted lips, her fingers digging into the hard planes of Gideon’s chest for balance as he stretches her, fills her, owns her.
Gideon’s hands lock around her waist like iron manacles, fingers biting into the soft flesh of her hips as he drags her down harder, faster.
There’s no finesse here, no sweet coaxing—just raw, animal need.
Every snap of his hips is a demand, every ragged gasp between them a surrender.
It’s brutal. It’s beautiful. It’s like watching two storms collide, all thunder and lightning and the kind of violence that leaves the air crackling in its wake.
Dante steps in behind her, his presence a dark, commanding shadow.
His fingers glide down her ass and underneath her heat, slick with her arousal, teasing at her already stretched entrance before sliding in alongside Gideon’s cock.
The stretch makes Savannah whimper, her body trembling between them, caught between pleasure and that sweet, aching burn of too much.
Dante’s other hand fists in her hair, tilting her head back so he can watch her face as he works her open, his touch deliberate, unhurried—like he’s savoring every choked-off sound she makes.
I can’t look away.
Gideon’s grip tightens, his hips pistoning up to meet her downward thrusts, his muscles coiled like a predator about to strike.
His voice is pure gravel when he speaks, rough with lust and something darker, something possessive.
"Fuck—look at you," he growls, his grey eyes burning into hers.
"Taking me like you were fucking made for it. "
And she does. She takes him like it’s her purpose, like she was sculpted just to ruin him.
Savannah moans, her fingers tangling in Gideon’s hair, her body moving with a wild, untamed grace. Dante leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear.
"Let go," he murmurs.
She shudders, her thighs tightening around Gideon’s waist, her cry sharp and broken as she comes. Gideon follows with a roar, his hands gripping her hard enough to bruise as he spills inside her.
Dante’s fingers keep working her through it, drawing out every last tremor until Savannah slumps forward against Gideon’s chest, gasping.
I watch them—the way Gideon’s rough hands cradle her, the way Dante’s touch lingers like he can’t bear to pull away—and something cracks open inside me.
No masks. No games.
Just this.
Just us.
Dante pulls her off Gideon with a possessive growl, his hands circling her waist like steel bands.
She gasps as he lifts her effortlessly, bending her over the edge of the crate, her palms braced against the splintered wood.
His pulsating cock slides into her from behind in one smooth, deep thrust, and Savannah’s breath hitches—a sharp, punched-out sound that sends heat licking through my veins.
Gideon’s already kneeling beside her before I even finish watching, his massive frame crowding over her as his mouth latches onto her nipple with unrestrained hunger.
His teeth—those sharp, dangerous fangs—grazing the sensitive peak in a way that makes her arch off the makeshift bed with a whimper.
The sound is raw, unfiltered, and it coils something possessive deep in my gut.
I take my place between her thighs, spreading them wider with deliberate intent.
The air is thick with sweat and the scent of her arousal, the dim light catching the flush spreading across her skin.
My fingers trail up the inside of her thigh, tracing the trembling muscle there, before dipping lower—finding her slick and swollen, already ruined by Dante’s relentless rhythm.
She jerks when I press against her clit, circling slow and firm.
A broken moan catches in her throat, smothered into Gideon’s shoulder as he drags his tongue over the same spot his teeth just marked.
Above us, Dante’s hips snap forward in brutal, measured strokes, each one pushing her deeper onto my fingers, every gasp and hitch of her breath syncing perfectly with the force of his thrusts.
I watch the way she unravels between us—body suspended between pleasure and overstimulation, trembling like a wire pulled taut.
Gideon’s hands roam greedily over her, memorizing every dip and curve, leaving possessive bruises in his wake.
One palm spreads over the curve of her ass, fingers digging in hard enough to drag another whimper from her throat.
“Look at me,” I murmur, soft enough that she has to focus through the haze.
Her amber eyes lock onto mine, dilated and drowning, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so devastatingly beautiful. No masks. No artifice. Just Savannah, laid bare and wholly ours.
Dante’s grip tightens on her hips, his rhythm turning punishing, relentless.
Gideon’s mouth finds her shoulder again—this time biting down as she gasps, her body bowing sharply between them.
Pleasure cracks through her like a whip, and she comes with a cry, shattering apart as Dante groans low and rough above her, his own release shuddering through him as he spills inside her.
We collapse in a heap on the bunker floor, limbs tangled, skin sticky with sweat and the aftermath.
Savannah sprawls between us—her fingers still clenched in Gideon’s hair, her leg slung over Dante’s thigh, her back pressed flush against my chest. Our breaths are ragged, uneven, syncopated like a heartbeat.
No words. None needed.
Above us, the mountain still trembles, the distant rumble a reminder of the world waiting outside.
But here, in the dark—with her, with them—we burn. And for once, unbelievably, damningly, unbearably…
We’re alive.