Chapter 12 Charlie
CHARLIE
I stand in the center of Adrian’s quarters, my heart hammering so hard I’m sure they can all hear it. The three of them watch me with an intensity that makes my skin burn.
Adrian by the window, his gray eyes dark with hunger he’s stopped trying to hide.
Marcus leaning against the door he just locked behind us, tattooed arms crossed over his chest.
Elijah perched on the edge of Adrian’s desk, his angel face wearing an expression that’s anything but innocent.
“We need to talk,” Adrian says, his voice rough. “About what’s been happening between all of us.”
My throat goes dry. I’ve been with each of them separately, stolen moments in shadows, desperate touches when no one was watching. But this—all three of them, together, acknowledging what we’ve become—this is different. This is real.
“I know,” I whisper.
Marcus pushes off the door, moving closer. “Do you? Do you understand what you’ve done to us, querida?”
The Spanish endearment sends heat straight through me. I watch his hands flex at his sides, see the barely restrained need in his dark eyes as they trace the curve of my body beneath my sundress.
“You’ve destroyed us,” Elijah adds softly, standing and crossing to me with that fluid grace that makes everything look like choreography. “Completely. Beautifully.”
Adrian moves from the window, and suddenly I’m surrounded by all three of them, their bodies radiating heat and want. My breath comes faster as Adrian’s hand finds my face, tilting my head back so I have to meet his storm-cloud eyes.
“Tell us you want this,” he commands. “All of us. Together.”
“Yes.” The word escapes before I can think. “God, yes.”
Something breaks in all three of them simultaneously.
Adrian’s mouth crashes against mine, desperate and possessive, his rosary beads pressing into my hip as he pulls me close.
I gasp into the kiss, and Marcus’s hands find my waist from behind, his body solid and warm against my back.
Elijah’s fingers thread through my hair, tilting my head so Adrian can kiss me deeper.
“Eres nuestra,” Marcus murmurs against my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point. “You’re ours, Charlie. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, and the confession makes all three of them groan.
They move me toward Adrian’s bed with coordinated precision, each touch deliberate and claiming.
Adrian strips my cardigan off, his gray eyes tracking every inch of exposed skin.
Marcus works the zipper of my dress, his calloused fingers trailing fire down my spine.
Elijah kneels before me, pressing kisses to my thighs as the fabric pools at my feet.
“Beautiful,” Elijah whispers, his crystalline blue eyes dark with want as he looks up at me. “Parfaite.”
I’m standing in just my simple cotton underwear, and the way they’re looking at me makes me feel like I’m draped in silk and diamonds. Adrian’s hands frame my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones.
“We’re going to take care of you.” His voice drops to something dark and commanding. “You trust us?”
“Yes.” The word slips out unbidden, and all three of them freeze.
Adrian’s eyes flash with something primal. “Say that again.”
“Yes.” My voice is steadier now, certain. “I trust you. All of you.”
Marcus groans, his hands tightening on my hips. “Dios mío. You’re going to kill us, bebita.”
They lay me on Adrian’s bed, and what follows is overwhelming in the best way.
Adrian is possessive and commanding, his control finally shattered as he claims my mouth while his hands explore every curve.
Marcus is deliberate fire, speaking to me in Spanish and English, his tattooed hands marking my skin with touches that promise I’ll remember this tomorrow.
Elijah is playful yet filthy, praising me with that angel face while his fingers and mouth do sinful things that make me cry out.
“That’s it, chérie,” Elijah murmurs against my inner thigh. “Let us hear you.”
“So fucking perfect,” Marcus adds, his accent thickening as he watches Elijah work. “Look at her, Adrian. Look how beautiful she is for us.”
Adrian’s hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back so I have to meet his eyes. “You’re ours now. Completely. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I gasp, and his answering growl undoes me.
They take turns claiming me, each bringing something unique.
Adrian’s intensity, Marcus’s possessive tenderness, Elijah’s playful worship.
Sometimes two at once, sometimes all three, their hands and mouths everywhere until I can’t tell where one ends and another begins.
The rosary beads press into my skin. Spanish and French mix with English.
Praise and commands blend together until I’m overwhelmed by the intensity of being wanted so completely by each of them.
When they rip the last orgasm from my shaking body, it’s with all three of them surrounding me, their names a prayer on my lips.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in Adrian’s bed, my body deliciously sore, my mind still spinning.
Adrian’s arm is around my waist, Marcus’s hand rests on my hip, and Elijah’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder.
For the first time, this feels real rather than stolen moments in shadows.
“We should talk about what this means,” Adrian says quietly.
“It means we’re a family,” Marcus replies, his voice rough. “Unconventional, maybe. But real.”
Elijah presses a kiss to my temple. “It means we protect each other. No matter what.”
I close my eyes, feeling safer than I have in years, and let myself believe this might actually last.
The next morning, I leave the rectory early, my hair still damp from Adrian’s shower, wearing one of Marcus’s shirts under my cardigan.
The fabric smells like him—cologne and something darker, more masculine—and I pull it closer as I walk to my car.
That’s when I see it.
A gray sedan parked across the street, engine running. A man sits in the driver’s seat, and even from this distance, I can see the camera with a telephoto lens pointed directly at the church entrance.
Our eyes meet for a brief second. My stomach drops.
He starts the engine and speeds away before I can process what I’m seeing, leaving me standing in the parking lot with my heart pounding and my hands shaking.
Later that afternoon, I’m helping Marcus organize donated clothes in the parish hall, trying to focus on folding sweaters instead of the memory of his hands on my body last night.
He’s distracted, sorting through boxes with mechanical efficiency, and I watch the way his tattooed forearms flex with each movement.
“Marcus,” I say finally. “I think someone was watching the church this morning.”
He glances up, his dark eyes finding mine. “What do you mean?”
“There was a man. In a gray sedan. He had a camera pointed at the entrance.”
Marcus sets down the box he’s holding and moves closer. His hand finds my arm, warm and solid. “Charlie, we’ve all been on edge with Victory Life’s tactics. Are you sure you weren’t just—”
“Paranoid?” I finish, trying not to feel hurt by the dismissal.
“Stressed,” he corrects gently. “You’ve been through a lot. We all have.”
I want to believe him, want to think I’m seeing threats where none exist. But the image of that camera lens haunts me.
“You’re probably right,” I say, forcing a smile.
But I don’t believe it.
Over the next week, I see the sedan three more times. Always parked at a distance, always with the same man behind the wheel. I start taking different routes to my car, varying my schedule, but he seems to anticipate my movements.
I don’t mention it again to Marcus, not wanting to seem irrational. Instead, I begin documenting the sightings in my phone, noting times and locations.
Tuesday at the grocery store. Wednesday near the diner. Friday in the church parking lot again.
Each time, the man watches. Each time, he drives away before I can get close enough to confront him.
The paranoia eats at me. I catch myself constantly checking over my shoulder, jumping at shadows, second-guessing every unfamiliar face. At night, tangled between the three men who’ve become my entire world, I try to forget. But even their touches can’t completely erase the feeling of being hunted.
Thursday evening, I’m in the parish hall kitchen stress-baking when Elijah bursts through the door, his angel face flushed and his breathing hard.
“Someone was outside,” he says, his crystalline blue eyes wide. “Photographing the rectory.”
My blood runs cold. “What?”
“I was locking up after choir practice. I saw movement in the shadows near the building.” He runs his hand through his golden hair, messing the perfect waves. “I called out, and they ran. I chased them to the parking lot, but—”
“Gray sedan?” I interrupt.
Elijah’s eyes snap to mine. “How did you know?”
I tell him everything. The man with the camera. The multiple sightings. How Marcus dismissed my concerns. Elijah’s face darkens with each word, and when I finish he pulls me close.
“You should have told us,” he murmurs against my hair. “We would have believed you.”
“I thought I was being paranoid.”
“You weren’t.” His arms tighten around me. “Someone is watching us. And we need to tell Adrian and Marcus.”
Friday morning, I’m in my apartment above the rectory when my phone buzzes with a text from Adrian.
My office. Immediately.
My stomach drops as I hurry downstairs.
Marcus and Elijah are already there when I arrive, their faces grim.
Adrian sits at his desk, staring at his computer screen with an expression that makes my breath stop.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Adrian turns the monitor so I can see. An email from an untraceable address. No text. Just three attached photos.
The church exterior at different times of day, each shot professional and deliberate.
The angles are calculated, the lighting perfect. These aren’t amateur snapshots—they’re surveillance.
The final image makes my breath catch again. It shows me entering the rectory through the back door, my hair mussed, wearing Marcus’s shirt. The timestamp reads two nights ago.
Below the photos, a single line: Nice property. Shame if something happened to its reputation.