Chapter 46 Bellamy
BELLAMY
The coffeepot gurgles its last breath, leaving behind that scorched smell that only comes from it being empty on the warmer for too long. No one’s talking much. Not because there’s nothing to say—but because everything that matters has already been said, argued, rewritten, memorized.
Bishop's fingers tap a rhythm against the marble island as he slides burner phones across the counter, counting out everyone’s pre-programmed number.
“And Bellamy—seven.” He pushes the last phone toward me, dangling an earpiece from his other hand. The corner of his mouth ticks up.
I take both; the plastic still cool against my palm. “What’s your favorite number, Bishop? It’s seven, isn’t it?” I flash him a dry look and fit the earpiece in place anyway, the weight of it familiar against my skin.
“Wrong. Thirty-four,” Bishop shoots back, his brows arching toward his hairline.
“Just curious. You do know what three plus four is, right?” Lola drawls, putting her earpiece in.
I bite the inside of my cheek and share a look with my sister.
He’s so ridiculous, I say with my eyes.
Ugh, he’s the worst, she agrees.
“If you’re done?” Bishop asks in that same shitty tone.
“Get on with it, brother,” Rafe grumbles.
Bishop sighs. “When we get on the road, everyone call me. Beck set up a conference call. We all stay on the line, no matter what. You can mute and unmute as much as you need to, but I expect everyone to be dialed the fuck in when it matters.”
The air in the kitchen shimmers with a nearly physical charge; the constant, low static of collective adrenaline everyone is fighting right now.
Bishop’s breathing has gone shallow and tight. I watch his hands. For all the shit he talks, those are the hands of a surgeon—steady, precise, always in control. I wonder if they’d shake at all if I asked him to touch me.
Gage’s hand finds my lower back. I let my weight lean into him for a split-second before the moment snaps back.
“Everyone ready?” Coco asks from the corner of the kitchen, but it’s not a question.
Gage grins beside me. “Born ready, Ma.”
Cruz raises his mug. “I second that.”
Rafe’s lips curl up at the edges, but his eyes are pinned to me. There’s a thousand things buried in those blue-gray depths.
I nod at him. I’m ready. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s the way all my choices have folded down to this one perfect point, but the anticipation feels clean, like oxygen after a thunderstorm. I’m not scared. Not even a little.
Coco’s gaze flicks over us. “Alright. Don’t embarrass me, boys.” She winks, but her mouth doesn’t smile. “I’ll see you all tonight.”
Coco steps back, chin lifting slightly. One by one, the guys move past her, each pausing to press their lips to her cheek.
Rafe lingers a half-second longer, murmuring something that makes her jaw tighten.
The kitchen air carries hints of gunmetal and coffee grounds; the scent wrapping around us like a promise we can't take back.
Beck’s fingers drum against his thigh. “I'll call out any irregularities in traffic cams—”
I rest my hand on his forearm. “Hey, we’ll be fine. And you’re gonna retag the chips in record time.”
“Yeah, little bro. We believe in you. Don’t let Bishop get in your head, okay?” Lola says, leaning her head against his bicep as she side-hugs him.
He drags his hand through his hair. and expels a breath. “Yeah, okay.”
Cruz leans on the horn of the construction truck, the sound cutting through the pre-dawn air. “Clock's ticking!” he shouts, one boot already up on the running board, keys jangling between his fingers.
Beck nods at us, then turns to jog toward Cruz’s car for the day.
Lola and I cross to our sedan—navy blue, forgettable, plates that belong to someone three counties over.
My vision sharpens, peripheral details fading.
The weight of the gun on my hip. The cold metal of the car door handle.
My heartbeat slowing, steady as a metronome.
I inhale, hold it, like standing at the edge of a high cliff with nothing but air below.
Rafe catches my wrist as I turn away. His fingers circle the bone, warm against my skin. My pulse skips beneath his grip. He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his aftershave—sandalwood and something metallic.
The pendant light catches in his eyes, turning them slate. His breath fans against my cheek, then my lips. The brush of his mouth against mine lasts half a second, maybe less. His thumb slides up to the hollow of my throat, pressing lightly against the flutter there.
“See you on the other side, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough at the edges.
My heartbeat stutters, then races like I've been shocked. Heat blooms across my skin—first my lips, then spreading down my neck, pooling low in my belly. I open my mouth, but he's already turning away, his fingers slipping from my wrist like smoke.
I slide into the driver's seat. My ass barely hit the seat before Lola's eyes go wide, her jaw dropping as she stares at me. “What the actual fuck, Bells?” Her whisper has teeth.
I reach for the door handle, but fingers wrap around the edge.
Gage leans into the gap, his breath fogging the cold air between us. “To our second job together.”
When his mouth presses against mine, his lips are soft, but his stubble scrapes my chin.
My body responds with a slow burn, like embers catching rather than the lightning strike that Rafe ignited.
Gage's kiss is deliberate, a steady promise, while my skin still tingles from the ghost of Rafe's touch—a memory that shouldn't feel so raw when another man's breath is warming my lips.
His forehead presses against mine, three heartbeats when two would've been goodbye. “Be safe.”
I nod, throat tight. “You too.”
Bishop's voice cuts through the air. “Move.” His knuckles whiten around his phone. “Now.”
Metal clinks against metal. Car doors slam shut. Motors growl to life. Three vehicles peel away in the same direction, swallowed by the middle-of-the-night shadows.
Lola's eyes are fixed on me as I patch into the conference call, her lips pressed together like she's physically holding back words.
The moment I hit mute, her eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly touch her hairline.
She extends her palm across the center console, fingers splayed, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
The dashboard lights catch the gleam in her eyes.
I swat her hand away, my cheeks burning hot enough to feel it in my ears. “Don't.”
“Two Calloways,” she mouths silently, holding up two fingers and waggling them. She fans herself dramatically with her hand, then points at me, mouthing “You” before making an obscene gesture that involves both hands.
“Please say at the same time,” she squeaks out.
“Do you even hear yourself?” I snort, shooting her a side-eye as we roll through the first empty intersection. Our headlights carve out a tunnel of blue-black and nothing.
She throws her head back, laughter bubbling up and spilling out, bright and unhinged. The sound is so pure it makes something inside me want to fracture open and spill, too. I let myself laugh along, the tension in my shoulders loosening just enough that my hands don't strangle the wheel.
Lola leans across the center console, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “Girl, I mean this with all the love in my heart.” She waits until I meet her eyes. “Hell yeah!” Her palm hovers in the air between us, fingers splayed for a high five.
“God, you're a menace.” I bat her hand away, heat crawling up my neck. “It's not what you think.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows arch. “So you're not fucking around with not one, but two Calloway brothers? Because that kiss situation suggests otherwise.”
Heat crawls up my neck, but I grip the wheel tighter, eyes fixed on the yellow line cutting through the darkness. “Define fucking around.”
“Oh. My. God.” Lola's words punctuate the air between us on a wheeze. Her shoulders shake as she doubles over, one hand slapping against her thigh. “I can’t wait to see the look on Bishop’s face when he realizes he lost two of his brothers to your magical vagina.
“ She holds up peace fingers, twisting them in the air.
I press my lips together, but a snort escapes anyway, betraying me. “Jesus, Lola.” My fingers flex on the steering wheel. “This is not some kind of revenge plot.”
She rolls her head along the headrest, her smile fading into something sharper as she studies my profile. One eyebrow arches.
“Isn't it though?” Her voice drops to a knowing whisper that slices right through my defenses.