Chapter 16 Bellamy
BELLAMY
I blink once, slow and deliberate, and decide Bishop Calloway has just crossed a line he doesn’t know how to step back from. “Wow.”
Cruz lets out a low laugh that sounds like he’s delighted by this turn of events. “Jesus, Bishop.”
Gage bristles, stepping forward. “That’s not—”
“Save it,” Bishop cuts him off, sharp. “We’re not risking a federal sentence because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”
I blink. Hard.
I shouldn’t be shocked. I’m not even offended. But the fact that Bishop Calloway is standing in a model home accusing me of being a distraction—something viciously amused curls low in my stomach.
Before I can respond, Cruz straightens, tipping his chin my way.
“I’ll go.”
My head snaps toward him.
Cruz is… Cruz. Ridiculous smile and infectiously charming. That backwards hat, dark blond hair curling underneath it. Sweatshirt sleeves shoved to his elbows, veins visible along his forearms.
Cruz is objectively good-looking in that easy, California way. The kind that belongs on surf shop posters and beer commercials.
There was a time when his smile would have set my teenage heart racing, but those days are buried beneath years of survival.
Cruz is fine. Preferable to Bishop, even. But eight hours in a car with that grin and all that casual confidence? That's a different calculation entirely.
“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Cruz shrugs, casual to the point of arrogant. “Gage said you run tight jobs. I want to see how tight.“ His grin widens. “Besides, I’m a great road-trip hang.”
Lola snorts. “You’re insufferable.”
“Accurate,” Cruz agrees easily. “But useful.”
My gaze flicks to Gage to measure his reaction. Any emotion is masked by an infuriatingly calm expression.
Rafe's face remains impassive, his features set in that permanent stone-carved expression I'm beginning to realize is just his default.
“Fine,” I say finally, turning back to Cruz. “We’ll try it. One recon run. If it doesn’t work, I swap partners.”
Cruz gives a two-finger salute. “Deal.”
Bishop mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like, “You’re gonna regret it,” but he doesn’t argue further.
Gage blows out a slow breath. “Perfect. So we’re doing this. Together.”
Beckett crosses his arms, and Lola mirrors him. And even though neither of them says a word, I feel their words against my skin anyway.
Their trust in me settles around my shoulders like a thirty-pound blanket, and it takes effort to stay standing upright. My stomach twists, nerves sparking like live wires under my skin.
Fuck, if we pull this off, it’ll set us up for months. Give us a real shot at planting roots here.
This partnership could ruin us, bind us to the Calloways in ways we can’t undo.
Or make us powerful enough that nothing can touch us.
And once I say yes, there’s no backing out.
I inhale once, the air catching like sandpaper in my throat. My fingers curl against my palm, nails digging half-moons into skin as the weight of our futures balances on the knife-edge of my next words. “Alright, we’re in.”
Gage's teeth flash white, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his whole face lights up.
Cruz's palm connects with Rafe's shoulder in a loud smack that echoes through the room.
The right corner of Rafe's mouth twitches upward—just a millimeter, just for a second—but I catch it.
Bishop's jaw tightens, the muscle there jumping once beneath tanned skin.
His fingers drum once against his thigh, but his boots remain planted on the tile.
And somehow, that feels like its own kind of victory.
The corner of my mouth twitches upward before I can stop it.
Gage rubs his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. It’s the same expression he used to have before he did something wild, like jump off their roof into the pool on a whim. God, I hope this doesn’t end in the ER with a broken bone.
“What’s our timeline, Bell?” Gage asks.
“Reverie’s a two-day music festival that takes place three hours away from us, but only about thirty minutes from Bayview.
From our connection, we know that we need to hit Highlight Entertainment within a certain window.
I’m not willing to give you that information yet. Let’s say we have three weeks.”
Gage nods. “Got it. Recon starts tomorrow then. Cruz will meet you at the address you sent earlier.”
Cruz lifts two fingers in a lazy salute. “I’ll bring coffee.”
“Bring competence,” Lola mutters.
Cruz grins wider. “That too.”
I ignore them both and straighten. “We go light tomorrow. No gear yet. We map delivery schedules, foot traffic, shift changes, cameras, utility access.” I glance around the room. “Then we reassess.”
Beckett nods. Lola crosses her arms, still unconvinced but resigned to ride it out.
Gage leans his hip against the back of the sofa. “In-person discussions about the job. Nothing via phone, not even calls.”
His eyes don’t waver from mine. The boy I once knew is buried under the man he’s turned into.
My spine stiffens. The hair on my arms rises, and I study each of their faces, searching for a tell—a twitch, a glance, anything that might reveal what they're hiding. “Is there something we need to know? If you guys have heat on you, then this conversation never happened.”
“It’s our standard practice,” Rafe says.
I nod, but I’m not entirely convinced. Something cold slides down my spine.
Bishop pushes off the wall, crossing his arms as he studies me like he’s trying to peel back my skin and see what’s underneath. “It better be worth it.”
Only that’s not what it feels like he’s saying. What it feels like he’s really saying is: You better be worth it.
And fuck me if that doesn’t hit like a punch to the cheekbone.
I hold his stare, muscles tensing with the effort not to blink or glance away. The air between us crackles with unspoken challenge, like we're two wolves circling, waiting to see who'll show their throat first.
He finally breaks, turning and walking out. The sharp crack of his boots against the tile punctuates his exit as he stalks through the front door without a backward glance.
Silence hangs for the length of a heartbeat. Then the Calloways start filing out.
Cruz pushes off the wall, an easy grin pulling at his mouth as he steps into my space, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “See you tomorrow, partner.”
He dips in, breath warm along the shell of my ear as his lips ghost across the delicate edge of my earlobe. It’s barely a touch, a whisper of contact really, but enough to send a bright, traitorous shiver down my spine.
Cruz’s low chuckle tells me he felt it.
Rafe is next, strolling past with that slow, deliberate swagger of his. He taps the counter beside me with two fingers, an absent-minded rhythm against quartz. “Good plan,” he murmurs.
Two words that land like a warm hand low on my spine.
I catch the flick of Cruz’s gaze and his sharp little smirk before he turns to follow his brothers out.
Lola’s already herding Beckett toward the door. “I’m gonna make sure the Calloways remember how to use a front exit.”
“There’s still one in here,” Beck mutters.
“Just get outside,” Lola hisses, shoving him through the doorway.
The door shuts behind them, and then it’s just me and Gage.
He hasn’t moved. Still leaning against the island, still smelling like cedar and heat and the kind of danger I never outgrew.
When he dips his head toward me, I feel his breath along my jaw.
“I knew you were trouble,” he murmurs.
The words curl beneath my skin, low and molten.
I swallow, turning until my hip brushes the island, and I’m facing him fully. “Trouble usually has a reason.”
“Oh, you’ve got plenty of reasons,” he says softly, amusement swirling in his voice.
His hand finds my waist, the gentle curve of his palm along the side of my body, fingers brushing the hem of my shirt.
It’s nothing.
And it’s fucking everything.
“Do you know what you just agreed to?” he asks.
I lift my chin. “Clearing almost a million dollars?”
A corner of his mouth curves, slow and wickedly fond. “Yeah, that too.”
We stand there in the quiet. His thumb tracing a single, unhurried arc at my waist, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, the empty model home suddenly too small to hold any of it.
Then he steps back, just far enough to break the charge without breaking eye contact.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bells.” It feels like a promise and a threat. Like a memory of who we were and a warning about who we’re about to become.
He slips out the door, and I’m left alone in the echoing quiet with one truth pounding in my chest: we’ve just crossed a line.
There’s no going back now.