Chapter 16
MIA
I find the garden by accident.
The lake house itself is built for defense—high vantage points, multiple exits, thick walls. But the backyard is surprisingly soft. Wildflowers peek through overgrown grass, someone’s forgotten project left to bloom in defiance of neglect.
I kneel, brushing my fingers over a cluster of blue blossoms. Someone must have planted these once. Before everything became about survival.
“You should be resting,” Damon’s voice rumbles from behind me.
I don’t turn immediately. Instead, I pull a few weeds, giving myself a moment. “I could say the same for you.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and when I glance over, I catch him watching me. Not in the way a bodyguard observes their client, but something more… personal. Something that makes my stomach twist.
I look away. “You brought someone else here before, didn’t you?” My voice is careful, casual. “Another client.”
He exhales, stepping closer. “Yeah.”
I wait, half expecting him to leave it at that. But to my surprise, he continues.
“Her name was Julia Stokes,” he says. “Witness in a federal arms smuggling case. We kept her here for four months before trial.”
I glance up. “What happened?”
Damon’s jaw tightens. “She testified. The guy went down, and she went into witness protection.” His hands clench at his sides. “But they got to her, anyway.”
A cold shiver runs through me. “You mean—?”
“She disappeared six months after relocation.” His voice is flat. “Officially, no evidence of foul play. But I know better.”
I sit back on my heels, staring at the dirt. I shouldn’t have asked. Now the weight of his loss sits between us, thick and suffocating.
“I don’t want that to happen to you,” Damon says quietly.
I swallow hard. “Me neither.”
Silence stretches. The only sounds are the rustling of leaves, and the distant call of a bird over the lake.
Then he crouches beside me, picking a piece of overgrown ivy and twisting it between his fingers. “I hate waiting, Mia. I hate feeling like we’re just sitting ducks.”
“We’re not,” I tell him. “You’re doing everything you can.”
His gray eyes flick to mine, unreadable. “It’s not enough.”
I twist the stray ivy between my fingers, pretending to focus on the tangled roots in the soil. But my mind isn’t on the flowers.
The soil is rough, dry. Neglected. Kind of like this conversation. Something I should have tended to sooner before it grew wild and out of control.
“I heard you the other day,” I say, voice quieter than I mean for it to be.
Damon doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. “You’ll have to be more specific.” But the tension in his shoulders is unmistakable. A slight shift, a coiling of muscle, like he’s bracing for something.
I sigh. “About the way Zane and Asher are acting. I know you didn’t say it outloud, but I’m not that thick. I get what’s going on.”
“And?”
“And,” I say, forcing myself to look at him, “you think they’re too involved.”
His jaw ticks. “I know they are.”
I swallow hard, running my hands down my thighs, suddenly nervous. I hate this feeling: being unsure, off balance. But there’s no going back now.
“I’ve kissed them,” I admit.
This time, his reaction is noticeable. A sharp inhale, a flicker of something unreadable in his gray eyes. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.
I don’t know what I expected. Anger? Frustration? A sign that it actually matters to him?
Instead, he exhales long and slow. “And?”
I blink. “And?” I repeat. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say, Mia?” His voice is even, but there’s an edge to it now.
“I don’t know,” I admit, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “That you care? That you’re pissed? That you—” I stop myself, shaking my head. “Forget it.”
He watches me, eyes dark and unreadable. Then finally, he says, “I don’t have the luxury of jealousy.”
The words settle in my chest like lead. For the first time, I see it—the way he’s holding himself back. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he thinks he can’t. Because Damon Marlow doesn’t allow himself to want things he can’t protect.
I step closer, searching his face. “What if I want you to be jealous?”
“Then you’re playing a dangerous game, Mia.”
A small, humorless smile tugs at my lips. “Seems to be a pattern with me.”
God, what the hell am I even saying? What am I thinking?
“This was a mistake,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Forget I said anything—”
“Mia,” he says, my name rough in his throat.
I hold up a hand, desperate to save face. “No, really. I—I shouldn’t have—”
His eyes darken, something shifting in his stance. “You’ve been with them,” he says.
My throat tightens. “Yes.”
His gaze drops slightly before flicking back up to mine. “And now you’re standing here, telling me you don’t want to choose.”
I swallow hard, hands curling into fists. “I—”
Damon steps forward, slow and deliberate. “You want all of us.”
The way he says it makes my stomach flip. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
His eyes search mine, as if waiting for me to take it back. To deny it.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Damon exhales, running a hand through his hair. He looks away, jaw tight, muscles tense.
“Do they know?” Damon asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
Something flickers in his gaze. “Then tell them.” And with that, he walks away.
I stare out the window, arms wrapped around myself, staring at the moonlit water beyond the trees. My mind won’t settle, thoughts twisting in circles, replaying the conversation with Damon until I don’t know what to feel anymore.
A knock at the door makes me turn.
I hesitate for half a second before crossing the room, my pulse quickening as I pull it open.
Zane.
He stands in the dim hallway, shirtless, loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His eyes flick over me, and it takes me a second to realize—
I’m in nothing but my nightdress. The one with thin fabric. No bra.
Heat licks up my spine, but I ignore it.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask.
“No.” His gaze drops for a fraction of a second before he looks back at my face.
“Me neither.”
A strange energy crackles between us.
I shift, gripping the edge of the door. “Do you—” I clear my throat. “Do you want to come in?”
Zane doesn’t answer right away. He watches me, eyes unreadable, before finally giving a short nod.
I step back, letting him inside. The room feels smaller with him in it. Warmer.
I move toward the bed, perching on the edge while Zane leans against the dresser. His arms cross over his bare chest, muscles flexing as he exhales.
“What’s keeping you up?” I ask.
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Take your pick.”
I wait, giving him time. Zane isn’t the type to just talk. He only shares when he’s ready.
He rubs a hand over his face. “Jason, the move, all this shit… and…” He stops, eyes locking with mine. “You.”
“This can’t work,” he continues, his voice rough, strained. His hands are still clenched at his sides, like he's physically holding himself back.
I should listen. I should step away, create some distance before this spirals into something I can’t take back.
Instead, I say, “Actually, I was just talking to Damon about it today.”
Zane stiffens. His eyes narrow slightly. “About what?”
I hesitate. My heart pounds so hard, I feel it in my throat. But there’s no point in pretending. Not after everything that’s already happened.
“About this,” I say quietly. “About… me. And you. And Damon. And Asher." I force myself to hold his gaze, even as the weight of my own words makes me feel dizzy. “I think I might like you all.”
Zane exhales sharply through his nose. His hands unclench. For a second, I think he's about to turn and walk out, that I’ve scared him off completely.
I start to move away, embarrassed, suddenly feeling like I’ve just said the stupidest thing in the world.
But before I can take another step, his hand shoots out and catches my wrist.
I stop breathing.
Slowly, he pulls me back, turns me to face him, his grip sliding down until his fingers splay across my lower back, pressing me flush against his body.
The heat of him seeps into me, his bare chest warm, solid, muscles tensed like he’s fighting himself even now.
“You can’t just say shit like that,” he mutters, his voice lower, rougher than before.
I swallow, pulse hammering. “Why not?”
His fingers flex against my back. His other hand comes up, skimming up my side, gripping my hip. “Because it makes me want to do things I shouldn’t.”
I barely have time to react before his mouth crashes onto mine.
It’s not slow. Not tentative. There’s nothing hesitant about it. It’s pure, raw need. The kind that’s been simmering between us for days, maybe even since the moment we met.
His hands roam, gripping, kneading, exploring like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me. One hand slides up, cupping my breast through the thin fabric of my nightdress, his thumb rolling over my nipple until I gasp into his mouth.
I clutch his shoulders, feeling the tension in them, the heat on his skin. He’s holding back, but just barely.
His teeth scrape my bottom lip before he deepens the kiss, tongue sweeping into my mouth, taking control, making me feel dizzy and weak in the best way possible.
His other hand drags up my thigh, bunching up the fabric of my nightdress as he grips my ass and pulls me harder against him. I can feel him, thick and hard against my stomach, and my whole body clenches with want.
“Zane,” I whisper, my fingers digging into his back.
He groans, breaking the kiss just long enough to mutter, “Tell me to stop.”
I don't. I can’t.
Instead, I pull him down for another kiss.
Zane growls against my lips, the sound vibrating through my entire body. His grip tightens on my ass, pulling me even closer, grinding me against the hard length pressing into my stomach. Heat pools between my legs, and I gasp against his mouth, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
“You feel that?” he mutters, dragging his lips along my jaw, down to my throat, his breath hot against my skin. “Tell me to stop, Mia.”
I don’t.