Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Once we placed the dragon safely in Jax’s Bentley, I grinned at the girls.
"Your chariot awaits," I announced, gesturing toward the rides. "What's it going to be, ladies? Ferris wheel for the view, or roller coaster for the adrenaline?"
"Roller coaster," all three girls said simultaneously, their grins matching and absolutely terrifying.
Jax went pale. "My hair?—"
"Will be fine," Estelle interrupted, grabbing his arm. "Come on, rich boy. Time to live a little."
This was going to be fucking fun.
The coaster was one of those old death traps, all rickety rails and questionable safety protocols.
Definitely the kind of ride that violated several standards and definitely hadn't been inspected in a while.
We climbed into the cars, and I felt that familiar thrill of impending chaos. Isla settled beside me, her hand finding mine as the safety bar clicked into place.
Behind us, Jax was frantically trying to protect his carefully styled hair with his hood while Estelle laughed at his vanity.
Connor and Sierra brought up the rear, her frame practically disappearing next to his bulk.
The coaster lurched into motion, climbing that first impossible hill with the grinding determination of machinery held together with duct tape.
The carnival spread out below us, all colored lights and tiny figures moving like ants through the chaos.
Then we crested the hill, and gravity took over.
The plunge was pure madness—a symphony of screaming metal and human voices as we hurtled through curves that physics suggested shouldn't exist .
Isla's grip on my hand tightened, her laughter mixing with the wind and the clatter of wheels on track.
Behind us, Jax's stressed swearing provided a counterpoint to Estelle's delighted shrieks.
Something about his "fucking hair" and "who designed this death trap," punctuated by Estelle's breathless screams.
When we finally rolled to a stop, Jax looked like he'd been hit by a tornado. His hood had blown back, his perfect hair now resembling something that belonged on a scarecrow.
"You look like shit,” Connor observed with what passed for humor.
"I look wind-blown and godly,” Jax corrected, running fingers through the mess. "There's a difference."
Estelle rose on her toes to kiss his jaw. "You look perfect."
And just like that, vanity was forgotten.
We piled out of the cars, high on adrenaline and the brand of insanity that came from surviving rides that probably shouldn't be legal.
The girls were electric, chattering about the loops and drops while plotting their next assault on the carnival's offerings.
"Haunted house," Sierra declared, pointing to a structure that looked like it had been designed by someone with a serious grudge against building codes.
"I want to see you guys scared."
Connor's expression suggested that was not likely, but he didn't argue. Neither did Jax, though he was secretly still trying to restore some order to his hair.
The haunted house was a maze of mirrors and scares, filled with fake cobwebs and teenagers in monster makeup jumping out at strategic moments.
The kind of place that relied more on disorientation than genuine terror.
The girls disappeared into the maze ahead of us, their laughter echoing off the mirrored walls .
We followed, three grown men who’d faced down actual monsters, suddenly reduced to stumbling around like idiots.
"This is ridiculous," Jax muttered, walking face-first into a wall. "Who designed these things?"
"Sadists," I grinned, my own reflection multiplying infinitely around me. "Sadists with a sense of humor."
We'd been in the maze for maybe five minutes when we collectively realized we'd lost track of the girls.
Their voices had faded, swallowed by the labyrinth of glass and fake fog.
"Where are they?" Connor's voice had taken on that edge it got when Sierra was out of his sight for too long.
I pulled out my phone, squinting at the GPS that was apparently useless inside a house of mirrors. “Says they’re close.”
"Fucking technology," Connor growled, promptly walking into another mirror. He was shit with tech.
That's when the panic set in. Not the rational kind of concern you'd expect from three men who'd faced down actual danger.
This was primal, instinctive terror that came from losing track of the most important things in your world.
We'd lost too much before finding our girls. The thought of losing them now, even temporarily in a carnival funhouse, was enough to send us into full protective mode.
"Sierra!" Connor bellowed, his voice echoing off the mirrors.
"Estelle!" Jax called, abandoning all pretense of cool.
"Isla!" I added my voice to the hurricane, feeling that familiar flutter of panic in my chest.
The next few minutes were pure, terrifying comedy.
Three massive men, stumbling through a house of mirrors, walking into walls and each other while increasingly frantic.
Connor managed to clothesline himself on a low-hanging fake spiderweb. Jax got turned around so completely that he ended up facing backward for a solid minute .
I walked into the same dead end three times before realizing the "exit" sign was just another mirror trick.
Then I heard the sound that stopped my heart and restarted it in the same instant.
Laughter.
Not scared laughter, or nervous giggling. Full-blown, delighted, absolutely having the time of their lives, laughter.
I followed the sound, my brothers behind me, until we turned a corner and found them.
All three girls, sitting crouched on the floor in a small corner, watching us stumble around like idiots.
"How long?" I asked, already knowing I wasn't going to like the answer.
"About three minutes," Isla replied, her grin absolutely wicked. "You walked past us four times."
"We've been taking bets," Sierra added helpfully. "On which one of you would figure it out first."
"Who won?" Jax asked, resigned.
"Nobody," Estelle laughed. "We were all betting on Connor."
Connor's expression suggested he wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. "Why?"
"Because you're usually the calm one," Sierra replied, standing and brushing off her jeans. "But apparently mazes aren't your strong suit."
These women. These absolutely perfect, completely crazy women.
I pulled Isla to her feet, my hands lingering on her waist longer than necessary. "You think you're funny, don't you?"
Her grin was pure mischief. "I think I'm hilarious."
"You're in trouble," I informed her, the promise in my voice making her eyes darken. "All three of you are in serious trouble."
“Are we?” Estelle challenged lightly, but her cheeks flushed as Jax's arm tightened around her.
Sierra just smiled, completely unrepentant as Connor's massive hand found the back of her neck. "Worth it."
We made our way out of the maze, properly chastened and thoroughly schooled by women who were supposed to be the ones getting scared. The irony wasn't lost on any of us.
"Cotton candy," Isla announced as we emerged into the main carnival area. “We need sugar to celebrate our victory."
"Victory?" I protested. "What victory?"
"We successfully terrorized three of the most dangerous men ever,” she replied primly. "I'd call that a victory."
I couldn’t argue with that. We were fucking monsters, yet bested by a house of mirrors and three wicked girls.
We hit the food vendors with force, the girls diving into delicously greasy carnival cuisine. Cotton candy, funnel cakes, skewers—they sampled everything .
"This is disgusting," Estelle announced, then immediately took another bite of her deep-fried Oreo. "Completely disgusting and absolutely perfect."
"The combination of sugar and regret," Jax agreed, stealing some of someone’s fries. "Classic carnival experience."
I watched Isla work her way through a cloud of blue cotton candy, her tongue darting out to catch the sticky sweetness, and warmth settled in my chest.
Not the usual possessive heat, though that was definitely there, but something deeper. Contentment, maybe. The kind of peace I'd never thought someone like me deserved.
She was mine. The thought carried weight now, permanence that went beyond obsession. And I was hers.
Connor nudged my elbow, his own expression thoughtful as he watched Sierra glare at the powdered sugar raining all over her lap.
"Different," he observed.
"What?"
"This. Having them here. It changes everything."
He was right. For ten years, it had been just us—three damaged men who'd found each other and built something that resembled a family.
We'd been content with that, or so we'd told ourselves. Then the girls had arrived, one by one, and suddenly contentment had become something richer.
"Better," I said finally.
Jax tossed us a nod. "Much better."
The Ferris wheel called as the night grew later, its lights reflecting off the harbor water beyond the carnival grounds.
The girls wanted to ride together, naturally, which meant we got to watch them from the neighboring gondola like three protective stalkers.
"Think they're plotting something else?" Jax asked as our car began its slow ascent.
I wasn’t sure it could hold our combined weight of like 750 pounds.
“Yeah,” Connor replied. "Question is what."
I leaned back in my seat, watching Isla's profile as she pointed out landmarks to Sierra and Estelle.
The city spread out below us, all glittering lights and dark water, but I only had eyes for her.
The carnival lights caught in her hair, animating the way she gestured as she talked, the smile that seemed to be permanently attached to her face tonight.
This is what happiness looked like.
The thought hit me with clarity. Not the manic energy I usually thrived on, or the adrenaline rush of controlled chaos.
It was this quieter thing, this sense of rightness that came from being exactly where I belonged, with the people I was meant to be with.
"You're getting sappy again," Connor mused.
"Fuck off," I replied without heat. "I'm allowed to get sappy. I have a girlfriend now. It's in the handbook."
"There's a handbook?"
"Absolutely. Chapter one: Get possessive. Chapter two: Get sappy. Chapter three: Learn to appreciate romantic shit like Ferris wheels and starlight. "
Jax snorted. "What's chapter four?"
I grinned, the expression probably visible from space. "Chapter four is classified."
The wheel carried us higher, and I could see the girls in their gondola, heads together as they shared some secret that had them all giggling.
Whatever they were sharing, I was pretty sure we weren't going to like it.
They could plot and scheme and laugh and turn us inside out with their perfectly orchestrated plans—we’d be right there to catch them when they fell, to clean up whatever messes they created, to love them through whatever madness they dragged us into.
Because that's what families do. Not the kind I'd been born into, made of violence and fear. It was the kind we'd chosen, built from blood, trust, and loyalty that ran soul-deep.
My girl. My brothers. Their girls. My perfect, insane, unbreakable family.
The carnival spread out below us, all lights and laughter and temporary magic.
But us, together, complete for the first time in any of our lives, was permanent.