Chapter Twenty-Four
Adrian
T he carnival stretched across the field like a neon fever dream, all flashing lights and cotton candy clouds drifting on the salt-tinged breeze from the harbor.
The Ferris wheel turned lazy circles against the black sky, its gondolas glowing like fireflies trapped in a web of steel.
Screams of terror and delight echoed from the rides, mixing with carnival barkers hawking their games and the distant crash of waves against the pier.
It was the perfect night for introducing Isla to my family.
I pulled my hood lower over my face as we approached the entrance, though, seriously, three giants in matching black hoodies weren't exactly going to blend in.
Connor moved like a storm cloud beside me, his massive frame casting shadows that seemed to swallow light.
Jax strutted with that golden-boy confidence, his attempt at going incognito somehow looking like a fashion statement.
"This is your idea of subtle?" Isla teased, nudging my ribs as she took in our ridiculous attempt at disguise.
"Angel, when you're built like a small building, subtlety went out the window years ago."
I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her against my side where she belonged.
"Besides, half the fun is watching people try to figure out if we're celebrities or serial killers."
"Why not both?" Sierra chimed in from Connor's other side, her voice bright with play.
The sound made Connor's lips twitch—the closest thing to a smile we mere mortals usually got from him in public.
Estelle laughed, purposely pulling Jax’s hood lower over his eyes. "You guys do love your dramatics."
These women. These perfect, fearless, absolutely batshit crazy women who looked at monsters like us and decided we were boyfriend material anyway.
The thought hit me square in the chest, the way it always did when I stopped to really look at what we had here.
Connor with his bee, protective and devoted in that quiet, lethal way of his. Jax with his star, all golden elegance and hidden fire.
And me—fuck, I finally had my own girl. My angel, who looked at the worst parts of me and somehow found something worth loving.
For months, I'd watched my brothers find their perfect matches while I collected broken pieces and called it fun.
Now Isla's hand fit in mine like it was carved specifically for that purpose, and her laugh made my chest tight with something I was still learning to call love instead of obsession.
Though with me, it was definitely both.
The ticket booth kid was probably sixteen, vibrating with nervous energy.
His eyes went wide when he saw us approaching, recognition clear as we got closer.
"Holy shit," he breathed, then immediately flushed red. "I mean—sorry, I—you're Adrian, right? And Connor? And Jax? Oh my God, my dad loves you guys."
I grinned, the expression probably looking more predatory than friendly in the carnival's flickering lights.
"Hope he's not planning on making it here. We're trying to have a quiet night."
The kid’s hands shook as he processed our tickets, his gaze darting between us and the girls with barely concealed awe.
I caught him staring a little too long at Isla and felt my smile sharpen.
"Eyes on the tickets, kiddo," I suggested pleasantly. "Safer that way."
Connor stepped forward, his presence alone enough to make the kid stumble backward. "Six," he rumbled, sliding cash across the counter and turning before the kid could count the change.
It was probably five hundred for three hundred bucks worth of tickets, but the gesture bought us the kid's eternal gratitude and absolute silence. Smart investment.
We moved through the gate, and I felt that familiar thrill of controlled chaos washing over me.
This was my element—noise and lights and barely contained madness.
The air smelled like popcorn and sea salt, with undertones of machinery oil and that particular scent of excitement that only came from crowds losing their inhibitions.
"Where to first?" Estelle asked, her eyes bright as she took in the rides and food around us.
"Food," Sierra declared immediately. "I want one of those giant funnel cakes.”
Connor's expression went soft, the way it always did when Sierra got excited about something. He was gone for her .
Not that I was one to talk. Isla could ask me to burn down City Hall, and I'd be there with a flamethrower within the hour.
We made our way toward the food vendors, and I saw the stares we were attracting. Groups of girls huddled together, phones out, whispering behind their hands.
A few brave souls tried to approach, but took one look at Connor's face and thought better of it.
"Is that them?" I heard someone whisper. "The fighters?"
"Oh my God, look at their girls. They're gorgeous."
"Think they're still… open?”
That last comment had all three of us turning simultaneously, and the group of college boys who'd been eyeing our women suddenly found urgent business elsewhere.
Good.
"You're scaring the people,” Isla observed, amusement coloring her voice.
“Exactly,” Jax replied smoothly, his arm tightening around Estelle's waist. "Means you’re all safe.”
We found a table near the games, and the girls immediately fell into that easy camaraderie they'd developed.
Sierra and Estelle flanked Isla, bringing her into their little circle with effortless acceptance.
She’d have true friends now, sisters, not those influencer bitches who talked shit behind her back.
Family. I repeated the word as often as I could.
For the first seventeen years of my life, family had meant fists and burns, cowering in corners, and praying the monster wearing my father's face would pass out before he killed me.
Then Wade Easton had found me—half-dead, blood under my fingernails, eyes empty of everything except the need to survive.
He’d given me brothers.
Jax, born and raised, was all flash and attitude, hiding a core of steel. Connor, already there and damaged in his own way, accepted me with quiet intensity that meant protection.
We'd built something together, something violent and beautiful and absolutely unbreakable.
But watching Isla laugh at something Sierra whispered, seeing her fit so perfectly into this little world we'd created, that was a different kind of completion.
It was the final piece sliding into place.
"You're getting sappy,” Connor observed, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.
I brushed him off without looking away from the girls. “Hush, Killer. You're not exactly subtle about your Bee obsession."
"Never claimed to be."
Fair point. Connor's devotion to Sierra was about as subtle as a brick to the face, and he'd never tried to hide it.
Neither had Jax with Estelle. The man begged me to run him over and then spent millions on a school for her.
We were possessive bastards, all of us, and we owned it completely.
"Shooting gallery," Estelle announced, pointing to a row of carnival games. "I want to win something fuzzy and oversized for Leo.”
Jax's grin was pure charm. "You sure about that, princess? These games are rigged six ways from Sunday."
She raised an eyebrow, that expression that meant someone was about to get schooled. "Are you doubting my abilities, Mr. Easton?"
Oh, this should be good.
We moved to the shooting gallery, where a man with gold teeth and suspicious stains on his shirt was running his mouth about impossible shots and guaranteed prizes.
He took one look at Estelle's frame and practically started counting his money.
"Step right up, little lady! Three shots for five dollars, knock down all the bottles and win the big prize!"
Estelle smiled sweetly, the expression that usually preceded someone having a very bad day. "What's the biggest prize you have?"
He gestured to a massive stuffed dragon hanging from the ceiling, easily four feet tall and probably worth more than his monthly take.
"That beauty right there, but I gotta warn you, it’s all about technique?— ”
"I'll take it," Jax interrupted, sliding a fifty, probably the smallest bill the man had in his wallet, across the counter. "Give her the rifle."
The man’s grin faltered slightly as he handed over the weapon. Estelle took it with the easy confidence of someone who'd spent hours at the range, her stance shifting perfectly.
Jax taught her well.
The first shot rang out, and the top bottle exploded into pieces. The second followed a split second later, taking out the middle. The third shot was pure artistry—a ricochet that knocked down the final bottle.
But the whole time, I was watching Isla. She was entranced, watching Star handle the weapon and prove the man wrong so fully.
The crowd that had gathered erupted in cheers, and the vendor’s face went through several interesting color changes before settling on a sickly green.
"Holy shit," someone breathed. "Did you see that?"
The man fumbled with the massive stuffed animal and Jax’s change, muttering what sounded like curses in several languages.
I caught "fucking hustlers" and something that was probably anatomically impossible.
"Problem?" Connor asked pleasantly, stepping into the man’s line of sight. The guy took one look at six-foot-five of controlled violence and suddenly became very cooperative.
Jax accepted the dragon with exaggerated ceremony, presenting it to Estelle like he was crowning a queen. "Your spoils of war, my lady."
She laughed, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Show off."
"You're one to talk," Sierra grinned. "That was incredible!"
Isla was staring at Estelle with undisguised admiration. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"
"Jax," Estelle replied simply, tucking herself back under his arm. "He insisted I learned to protect myself."
Of course he did. We all did.
It was part of loving women like ours—making sure they could handle themselves when we weren't there .
Not that we planned on being anywhere else, but life had a way of throwing curveballs, and we'd be damned if our girls paid the price of our enemies.