Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
GIDEON
The door opens. Penelope steps in first, cheeks pink from the outside, a nervous line carved between her brows.There’s a softness around her eyes I haven’t seen before, a looseness in her shoulders that didn’t exist this morning.
Talon follows a step behind her. He’s trying to look neutral, but he’s failing miserably. His hair is rumpled in a way that has nothing to do with wind, and he keeps glancing at Penelope like she hung the damn moon.
Something between them has clearly shifted.
Silas notices it too. His gaze flicks from her to Talon and back again, assessing. A slow, knowing exhale leaves him.
Penelope clears her throat, clearly aware she’s being studied.
“Everything ready?” Penelope asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Now we stop planning and start preparing.”
She blows out a breath and moves to the table, and Talon moves with her instead of orbiting like a spooked cat.
“How bad is it?” She raises a brow.
“Bad enough,” I answer. “Good timing. Sit.”
She drops into the chair beside me. Talon hangs back until I nod at the spot across from her. He sinks into it, shoulders tense again now that we’re talking business.
I slide a badge toward each of them. “Tomorrow, these stay in the glove box unless everything goes sideways. You two aren’t supposed to set foot in that building. You are back up. Eyes and hands if things go wrong.”
Penelope runs her thumb over the laminated edge. “Walk us through it.”
I bring the laptop back to life and swivel the screen so everyone can see the map.
“The clinic opens at eight,” I say. “St. Helen’s van is scheduled for 10:15 a.m. They’ll check Minxy in at the front desk, then escort her down this hall to exam room 203.”
I trace the path with my finger.
“I’ll already be inside,” I continue. “I check in first, posing as an outside consultant. Silas comes in as staff using the credentials we have. When they bring Minxy down the corridor, he intercepts the escort near this junction and redirects them into the staff hall, supposedly for imaging or an additional intake.”
Silas nods. “I walk them toward the emergency exit instead.”
“Right.” I tap the back door. “We keep it simple. No running. No yelling. No heroics. We walk her out the back, straight to the car.” I look at Penelope. “You and Talon are parked in the treeline across the service drive. The second we’re out, she sees him first.”
Talon swallows. “What if she’s pissed we got her out? What if she hates me?”
“She won’t,” Penelope says gently. “Trauma doesn’t erase people. Just warps how we remember them.”
His eyes soften at that.
I keep going. “We get her into the car and leave. No stopping. No talking. We go straight to Penelope’s place. She lies low there until we decide our next move.”
“What if they notice she’s gone too fast?” Penelope asks.
“Then the first call goes to the clinic desk,” I answer. “Not the school. They’ll assume a paperwork error, a misplaced patient. We’ll be gone before anyone calls St. Helen’s.”
“And if they do call St. Helen’s?” she presses.
“Then St. Helen’s calls Abi,” Silas says. “And that’s when things get interesting.”
“We’re not letting it get that far,” I cut in. “Which is why no improvising. No detours. No one is doing anything alone.”
Her jaw tightens. “You’re looking at me.”
“Because you’re the one most likely to decide you can handle something by yourself,” I point out. “You’re not. Not this. None of us are.”
She exhales through her nose. “I hear you.”
“I want more than hearing,” I say. “I want agreement.”
Her throat works once before she squares herself, sitting taller, eyes shining but unblinking. “Okay,” she says, voice a touch too calm to be natural. “I won’t run off. I won’t go inside. I’ll stay in the car.”
“Good,” I say.
Talon’s fingers twist on the lanyard of his badge. “What do I do? Besides, sit there and try not to puke.”
“You keep your shit together,” I tell him. “You make sure Abi doesn’t sniff out that anything’s wrong. When we get back, you go to class, dinners, answer her calls and texts. You give her nothing to question.”
He nods slowly. “Right. Normal. Totally fine while we plan a felony.”
Silas’ mouth quirks. “Misdemeanor at worst.”
“Kidnapping is not a misdemeanor,” Penelope mutters.
“It isn’t kidnapping when we’re taking her from a facility that shouldn’t have her,” I counter. “It’s a gray area.”
Penelope stares at the map. Her hand drifts toward mine on the table and rests there. Not gripping, just touching. “I’m scared,” she admits. “For her. For you. For all of us. I keep imagining that something goes wrong and we lose her and then I lose my dad.”
I flip my palm and wrap my fingers around hers. “We’re not losing her or your dad.”
“You can’t promise that,” she whispers.
“I can promise we won’t fail through laziness or ego,” I say. “Fear is allowed. Half measures are not.”
Silas reaches across and lays his hand over both of ours, warm and solid. “We have each other. We have a plan. We have proof. Abi’s been operating in the shadows for years. She won't get that advantage tomorrow.”
Penelope notices me scrutinizing her and scrunches her nose, instantly defensive. “What?”
I lean back in my chair. “Nothing. Just observing.”
Silas snorts. “He’s lying.”
Talon folds his arms, bracing for impact. “Okay, what?”
I tap my fingers lightly on the table. “Our Little Menace walked in looking suspiciously relaxed. And you look like a teenager who got his first taste of honey.”
Penelope smacks my shoulder. “Gideon.”
Talon lets out a strangled laugh, burying his face in his hands. His ears go bright red.
Silas stretches out his long legs and adds, perfectly dry, “Fucking a cougar will do that to a guy.”
Penelope gasps, hand pressed dramatically to her chest. “Excuse you? Cougar?”
Talon peeks over his fingers, mortified and delighted. “Technically… you are older than me.”
“By two years,” she snaps.
“Still counts,” he says, shrugging, the little shit.
“Oh, really?” She turns to me and Silas, pointing accusingly. “The real age gap is between these two. Gideon is thirty-seven, Silas is thirty-five. I am practically a child compared to them.”
“I’m thirty-six,” I correct. “Don’t age me prematurely.”
“Thirty-six is practically forty,” she fires back.
Talon grins at her, recovering fast. “Honestly? I could get behind this reverse age-gap thing.”
She whirls to glare at him. “Reverse age gap? Talon—”
“Nope,” Silas says, pushing away from the table. “I’m not getting dragged into whatever bit this is turning into.”
“You started it!” she shoots at him.
“And I’m ending it,” he replies.
Talon laughs under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
I watch them, all three. And despite the tension, the maps, the looming risk of tomorrow, this—this moment of stupid banter and raw humanity, is exactly what we need.
It’s proof they’re still capable of laughing through fear. Leaning toward each other instead of away. Finding something soft in the middle of a war zone.
Penelope sinks deeper into her chair, muttering, “You’re all impossible.”
“And you love it,” I remind her.
Penelope rolls her eyes, but the pink in her cheeks softens into something more vulnerable than flustered. She glances between the three of us—the two men she’s known from Velvet and the one she just let into her bed.
“Okay,” she says slowly, “but… we probably need to talk at some point.”
Silas arches a brow. “About what?”
She gives him the don’t-play-dumb look. “About all of this. Me. You. Him.” She gestures at Talon, who nearly chokes on his own spit. “And you,” she adds, pointing at me. “We never talked about… I don’t know. What this is supposed to look like. Or what you all know about each other in that way.”
I sit back. “You’re not wrong.”
Silas exhales through his nose, a low sound of acceptance. “We did skip a few steps.”
Penelope fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “Like… emotional steps. Communication steps. Boundaries. Expectations.” She gestures vaguely between all of us. “I just don’t want this blowing up later because we assumed things.”
Talon finally looks up, cheeks still flushed. “I—yeah. I mean. That would be good. Talking. Before anyone gets their feelings squished.”
Silas shifts in his chair, stretching his legs out, expression unreadable but attentive. “Then let’s talk about it. Not everything, not tonight—but enough so no one’s blindsided later.”
Penelope stiffens, then nods. “Okay. Yeah. That’s fair.”
I drum my fingers once on the table. “Start simple. Preferences. Patterns. Things you should know before you walk into something blind.”
Talon’s eyes widen. “Oh God. We’re… doing this now?”
Silas grins. “Consider it sex ed: fucked-up family edition.”
Penelope snorts. “Just—don’t be weird about it.”
“We’re adults,” I say. “Mostly.”
Silas gestures toward me. “Gideon goes first.”
I shoot him a look, but Penelope’s eyebrows lift in expectation.
Fine.
“I like control,” I admit evenly. “Precision. Consistency. I get off on pushing her pleasure until she forgets her own name.” I shrug. “I’ll make her come three times before I even think about finishing. Sometimes more. It’s how I’m wired.”
Penelope’s cheeks flush instantly. Talon makes a strangled noise that sounds like a dying animal.
“Oh my God,” he mutters, burying his face in his hands again. “Why did I sit down for this?”
Silas pats his back. “Grow up. You wanted to be part of this; now you get the Discovery Channel version of your uncle’s sex drive.”
“I hate it here,” Talon mumbles. “I mean, not actually, because Penelope is—” He flails a hand toward her. “Hot. Amazing. Whatever. But hearing you describe making her come repeatedly is—Jesus—information I did not need.”
Penelope laughs so hard she clutches her stomach. “You’re so dramatic.”
Silas clears his throat. “My turn.”
Talon braces like he’s preparing for impact.
“I like mess,” Silas says simply. “I like seeing what I did to her. I like her marked up. Creamed up. I like the visual proof.” He leans back, unbothered. “And I like the idea of breeding. Putting it in her deep. Making her feel it for hours.”
Talon slaps both hands over his ears. “NOPE. Absolutely not. Skip. Skip. Fast-forward. Unsubscribe.”
Penelope chokes on air. “Silas!”
“What?” he says, deadpan. “It’s true.”
Gideon snorts. “At least he’s concise.”
Talon groans. “I’m going to need therapy.”
“You can’t afford therapy,” Silas reminds him. “Now shut up. Your turn.”
Talon drops his hands just enough to glare. “My kink is not listening to you two talk about breeding my girlfriend.”
“Our girlfriend,” I correct quietly.
Silas nods once, firm. “Our girlfriend.”
Penelope’s eyes soften. Her lips part. She’s hearing it—really hearing it—and something melts in her posture.
Talon tries to save face with a cough. “Okay, but seriously—I like when she takes control. When she tells me what to do. When she’s… bossy. With you guys she’s all submissive and soft and melty. With me? She flips me over like a pancake.”
Penelope elbows him. “Don’t say pancake.”
“It’s accurate,” he insists.
Gideon folds his hands. “This is why communication matters. You don’t treat all partners the same. You shouldn’t. You adapt to the person—and the dynamic.”
Silas nods. “She submits with us because she wants to. That’s not our demand. That’s her instinct.”
Penelope swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I feel… safe doing that with you two. It’s different with Talon. With him, I want to take control sometimes.”
Talon splutters. “Sometimes?”
She smirks. “Okay, most of the time.”
Silas smacks the back of his head lightly. “You’re welcome.”
“For what?” Talon snaps.
“For giving you a crash course in healthy kink dynamics.” Silas gestures broadly. “Also for not roasting you alive for gagging every five seconds.”
“I didn’t gag,” Talon grumbles.
“You absolutely gagged,” I say.
Penelope hides a grin behind her hand.
Talon groans again. “This is the worst best family ever.”
Silas claps him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”
Talon mutters something about changing his last name when Silas reaches across the table and drags the blueprint back toward the center, the shift subtle but unmistakable—a line snapping back into place.
“Alright,” Silas says, tone dropping into its mission weight. “Kink confessions are over. Back to reality.”
Penelope straightens in her seat, still pink but refocusing instantly. I flip the laptop closed just enough to signal the pivot.
“Heartwarming as this disaster was,” Silas adds dryly, tapping the blueprint with two fingers, “we need sleep.”
“Agreed,” I say, settling back into the role we came here to play. “Tomorrow’s going to be hell, and we need to be sharp.”
Penelope meets my eyes. “We’re really doing this.”
“Yes,” I tell her. “And we’re doing it together.”
Talon nods, quieter now. “Minxy won’t be alone anymore.”
“No,” I say. “We’re with her every step of the way.”
Penelope swallows hard, her fingers brushing the edge of her badge again. Silas stands, claps a hand on Talon’s shoulder, then Penelope’s. “Get ready. We move at eight.”
Talon blows out a breath. “Okay.”
Penelope inhales slowly, steadier this time. “Okay.”