Chapter 48 Lexi
Lexi
The motel is the kind of place that doesn’t ask questions—peeling wallpaper, buzzing fluorescent lights, a clerk who takes cash and doesn’t make eye contact. Koa parks the Charger in the back lot where the security cameras have convenient blind spots, and we file inside like ghosts.
I stand by the window, pulling the thin curtain aside just enough to see the parking lot below.
Rain still falls in sheets, turning the pavement into a mirror that reflects neon signs from the strip mall across the street.
My hands are finally shaking now, adrenaline wearing off and leaving me hollow.
Behind me, I hear the rustle of movement—Revan checking the locks, Atticus collapsing into the chair by the door, Koa limping toward the bathroom. We’re all wounded in different ways. Visible and invisible. Bleeding and broken but somehow still alive.
Atticus turns on the TV and it cuts to breaking news, and a reporter’s voice fills the room.
“—what authorities are calling a tragic case of gang violence. Five men found dead in an abandoned warehouse on the east side, all with fatal gunshot wounds. Police believe the deaths are connected to ongoing territorial disputes—”
I turn to look at the screen. Crime scene tape. Flashing lights. The warehouse exterior bathed in red and blue.
Then they cut to an interview, and my breath catches.
Axel.
Shit.
He’s standing outside the warehouse, wrapped in one of those foil emergency blankets they give to survivors. His face is pale, eyes red-rimmed, and when he speaks his voice trembles.
“I’m lucky to be alive,” he tells the reporter, his words coming out broken and sincere. “I watched these men fight until their deaths. It was... it was horrific. I just want to go home.”
The reporter’s voice is sympathetic. “Can you tell us what you were doing at the warehouse?”
“I was looking for my sister.” Axel’s voice cracks perfectly. “She’d been missing for days. I thought... I thought maybe she was there. Thank God she wasn’t.”
I stare at the screen, watching my brother lie with the kind of skill that only comes from years of practice. He’s always been good at this—at playing the victim, at rewriting history to paint himself in the best light.
“Fucking hell,” Atticus mutters from his chair. “He’s good.”
“He’s had practice,” I say, my voice flat.
The news moves on to weather, and I finally let the curtain fall. Turn away from the window. The room feels too small suddenly, too crowded with four bodies and a thousand unspoken things.
Koa emerges from the bathroom, his face washed but still destroyed. The swelling has gone down slightly, but the bruises are already turning spectacular shades of purple and yellow. He’s moving carefully, each step measured like his ribs might be broken.
Our eyes meet across the room.
The silence stretches, heavy and loaded. Everyone else seems to fade into background noise—Revan on his phone coordinating with whoever cleans up our messes, Atticus lighting a cigarette by the cracked window.
“We need to talk,” Koa says quietly.
I cross my arms, suddenly exhausted in a way that goes beyond physical.
He takes a step closer. Then another. “About what happened. About what I did.”
“You mean when you delivered me to Vincent?” My voice is sharp, cutting. “Or when you tied me to a chair? Or when you stood there while he drugged me?”
Koa’s jaw clenches, the muscle jumping under damaged skin. “I was trying to keep you alive.”
“By handing me over to that psychopath?”
“By being the one to do it instead of someone who wouldn’t have given a shit if you made it out breathing.” His voice rises, frustration bleeding through. “You think Vincent would’ve just let you walk? You think there was a scenario where you didn’t end up in that warehouse?”
“So you made the choice for me.”
“I made the only choice that kept you alive!”
The words echo off the walls. Revan and Atticus have both stopped what they’re doing, watching this unfold.
I take a step toward Koa, closing the distance until I can see the flecks of dried blood still caught in his hairline. “I know firsthand how it feels to be betrayed by someone you trust. I get it. I do.” My voice drops lower, more dangerous. “But burn me twice, and I’ll bury you.”
Something flashes in his eyes—pride mixed with something darker. Arousal, maybe. Or satisfaction.
“You’ve changed,” he says, and it’s not quite a question.
“Had to.” I hold his gaze. “The girl you knew died the moment that needle went into my arm. This is who’s left.”
He reaches for me, hand cupping my jaw with surprising gentleness given how destroyed he is. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, and I feel the tremor in his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Really,” I mock, raising my eyebrow.
“But I’d do it again.”
The honesty of it hangs between us—the acknowledgment that we’re both capable of terrible things in the name of survival. That neither of us can promise we won’t hurt each other again because in our world, hurt is currency.
Right now I need to feel something anything other than what’s circulating in my chest. And as I look into his eyes, I immediately know what he wants, so I lean in.
“Kiss me,” I say. “On my collarbone.”
Koa blinks, thrown by the shift. But he leans down, lips finding the hollow at the base of my throat. The touch is soft, and I feel it radiate through my entire body.
I look past him to where Revan is watching, phone forgotten in his hand. “You.”
Revan’s eyebrows raise. “Lexi—”
“Come here.”
He moves slowly, deliberately, crossing the room. Koa tenses but doesn’t pull away as Revan’s mouth finds my shoulder, kissing the bare skin where Atticus’s shirt has slipped down.
The sensation of both of them—Koa on my collarbone, Revan on my shoulder—makes something in my chest crack open. Not breaking, but blooming. Dark and desperate and alive.
Koa jerks back suddenly, shoving Revan away. “Fuck no, Rev.”
I slap Koa. Hard. The crack echoes through the room.
His head snaps to the side, and when he looks back at me there’s fury in his eyes.
I tackle him, using his injuries against him, and we go down hard. He falls onto the bed, and I end up straddling his hips, pinning his arms with my knees, feeling his cock already hard beneath me.
I lean down, my face inches from his. “You think I only belong to you?”
“Yes.” The word comes out as a growl.
“He’s my stepbrother,” Koa seethes, trying to buck me off. “I’m not fucking taking turns with him.”
I observe his face and whisper, “Fine. Then you can just watch.”
Something snaps in him. He flips us with a strength that shouldn’t be possible given his injuries, reversing our positions until I’m on my back and he’s caging me in.
“Fuck that, Tiger.” The nickname comes out like a curse and a prayer. “They can watch. How about that?”
His mouth crashes against mine. I kiss him back just as hard, tasting blood.
He pulls back just enough to reach for his wallet, pulling out a condom. His hands are shaking as he tears it open, rolling it on his dick. Then he’s yanking my pants down, not gentle, not asking permission because we’re past that now.
When he pushes inside me, it’s hard and fast and absolutely what I need. The stretch burns in the best way, and I arch into it, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Fuck,” he hisses against my neck.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
He sets a brutal rhythm, each thrust driving me into the mattress. The bed frame creaks in protest, and somewhere in the background I hear Atticus sigh and Revan’s sharp intake of breath.
But I don’t care about them right now. Right now it’s just Koa and me and the desperate need to feel something other than the weight of what I’ve done.
His hand slides between us, finding my clit, and I gasp. The pleasure builds fast, overwhelming, and I’m so close—
“I want all three of you,” I moan and feel Koa falter.
He looks down at me, eyes dark and dangerous. “What?”
“You heard me.” I rock my hips up, taking him deeper. “All three. Not one at a time. All of you.”
Koa’s jaw clenches. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re mine.” He punctuates it with a particularly hard thrust that makes stars explode across my vision.
I turn my head, looking past him to where Revan and Atticus are watching. Both of them are hard, I can see it even from here, and the knowledge sends a thrill through me.
“Come here,” I call to them.
Koa growls—actually growls—pulling out of me and standing up. “Don’t fucking move.”
Revan and Atticus both freeze.
I prop myself up on my elbows, deliberately spreading my legs. “You don’t own me, Koa.”
“The hell I don’t.” But his eyes are on them, warning them back.
I lower my voice to a whisper, just for him. “Then you better fucking come because I want them both.”
His eyes snap back to mine, and I see the war there—possession and fury and something that might be understanding. He knows what I’m doing, knows I’m testing boundaries, pushing to see where he’ll break.
He leans down, kissing me once more—hard and claiming. Then he straightens, pounds into me a few more times, and comes with a groan that sounds like my name.
Then he’s grabbing his jeans, pulling them on with jerky movements. He heads for the door.
“Where the hell are you going?” I demand.
He doesn’t answer, just slams out into the rain.
Revan moves first, sitting on the edge of the bed. “He’ll come around. He doesn’t like to share.”
“And you do?” I ask, still breathing hard.
Revan’s smile is slow, predatory. “I don’t mind sharing with Atticus. We’ve shared before.”
Atticus laughs from across the room. “Fuck that. I’m next.”
He’s on me before I can process, pulling my shirt over my head, his mouth finding my breast. His British accent gets thicker when he’s aroused, words clipping together. “You want us all? You’ll get us all, love.”
His touch is different from Koa’s. He’s bigger, more primal, less in tune. When he pushes inside me, it’s with force that makes my toes curl.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against my ear. “Let him hear you.”
And I do. I don’t hold back the sounds, don’t try to be quiet. Let Koa wherever he is know exactly what he’s missing.
Atticus fucks me hard, each thrust calculated to hit exactly where I need it. Behind him, Revan watches, palming himself through his jeans, and the visual of it—of being watched, being desired by both of them—sends me over the edge.
I come hard, clenching around Atticus, and he follows seconds later with a curse in what might be actual British slang I don’t recognize.
When he pulls out, Revan is already there.
He clicks his tongue, tsking. “Amateurs. I’ll show you how a real man treats a woman.”
“Big talk,” I manage, still breathless.
“I deliver.” He doesn’t rush, doesn’t grab. Instead, he traces his fingers down my body, learning every curve, every sensitive spot. When he finally touches between my legs, it’s with a knowledge that makes me whimper.
“That’s one,” he murmurs as I pant, flustered, and then within seconds, I come apart on his fingers. My hands squeeze him, my chest tightening.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan.
He doesn’t stop, building me up again with patient, devastating finger play.
This one comes in hot. My face heats up and his eyes make me release.
“Two,” he says as I watch him. I shatter a second time, begging for his dick.
By the time he pushes inside me, I’m overstimulated and desperate and absolutely wrecked. He sets a rhythm that’s slower than the others, deeper, hitting spots I didn’t know existed.
“Three,” he growls against my neck right before I come a third time, this one pulling a scream from my throat. “So fucking sexy.”
Only then does he let himself go, finding his own release with a groan.
After, the room is quiet except for our breathing. Atticus has collapsed in the chair again, looking satisfied. Revan is still beside me on the bed, one hand playing idly with my hair.
The door opens. Koa stands there, soaked from the rain, looking at the scene before him. His face is unreadable.
“You done?” he asks, voice rough.
“For now,” I say.
He nods once, then moves to the bathroom. The shower starts running.
Revan pulls me against his chest, his lips finding my temple. “You were brave today. Braver than anyone should have to be.”
The words crack something in me that violence couldn’t touch. I turn into him, burying my face against his shoulder, and finally—finally—let myself feel the weight of what I’ve done.
“I killed him,” I whisper.
He plays with my hair.
“And I’m not sorry.”
He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be.”
Atticus moves to the bed, settling on my other side. Three of us tangled together, sharing body heat and trauma and something that might be healing.
Koa emerges from the shower, still dripping, and stands at the foot of the bed. Looking at us. At me.
“I won’t share you,” he says quietly.
I stare at him, not giving him a choice.
“But I can’t walk away either.”
He climbs onto the bed, keeping distance between himself and the others but close enough to touch me. His hand finds my ankle, holding on like I’m the only thing keeping him anchored.
And maybe I am.
We lie there in the dark—four broken people who’ve survived something that should have killed us. Connected by violence and sex and an understanding that we’re all capable of terrible things.
Revan kisses my forehead. “Get some sleep.”
“Will you stay?” I ask, meaning all of them.
“Yeah, Tiger,” Koa answers from the foot of the bed. “We’ll stay.”
I close my eyes, surrounded by them, and for the first time since I pulled that trigger, I feel something other than emptiness.
I feel held.
Even if they don’t want to share.
Even if this is complicated and messy and probably doomed.
For tonight, I’m theirs.
And they’re mine.
All three of them.