7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Reaper
Nights like this are the ones I hate most. The club is crawling with money. High-powered men and women who think the world bends to their whims. They smile like their teeth aren’t daggers. They sip expensive liquor and pretend they don’t see who we are. What we’ve built.
But I see everything. I always do. I’m posted near the booth when she walks in. She changed out of her dress. No silk. No heals. She dressed for war.
Tight black pants hug her hips like a second skin. A black tank top clings to her frame, her collarbones framed by the dagger on her chain. Her boots are laced high and her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, face carved in precision, makeup redone like war paint. Eyes sharp. Lips blood red.
She looks like vengeance incarnate. And fuck if I don’t want to fall to my knees for her.
She slides into the booth between Max and me without a word. We don’t bring up the compass. The photos. The cameras. It’s too public out here. Too many eyes. So we sit. Watch. Wait.
Margot’s already dragging Elias and Riot onto the dance floor, both of them laughing as she spins between them like she owns the world.
Wrenley sips her tequila, giggles at something Max murmurs into her ear. Then she turns to me, catching fire with that wild spark she gets when she’s about to choose chaos, and kisses me. Then Max. A soft, slow press to our lips. Nothing obscene. Just enough to silence the room.
Our first public claim. People notice. I see the looks. The curiosity. The envy. But I don’t give a damn. Let them watch. The only thing that matters is her.
She sets her drink down, then pushes at Max’s shoulder. “Move, Blackwood. We’re dancing.”
Max groans but stands, stretching with exaggeration. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“I’m luckier than you know,” she tosses a look over her shoulder, already grabbing my hand. I expect myself to resist. I usually do. But tonight? I let her lead me onto the dance floor. Into the fire. This time I don’t think I want to protest.
The bass pulses through the floor, shaking the soles of my boots and rattling something loose in my chest, but it’s not the music that’s got me feeling out of control.
It’s her. Wrenley. Dancing like sin wrapped in black leather and fire, pressed between me and Max like we’re the only three people in the world.
It’s all hand and hips, bodies brushing, friction is the only language we speak. Wrenley moves as fire, rolling her hips between us, hair swinging, arms looped around Max, then me. She doesn’t break. She doesn’t shy away. She owns every second of it. And I… fuck I live for it.
After a few songs, Wrenley peels away, breathless, and pulls me toward the bar. We grab waters, cooling off in the low light. I step aside to speak with Hunter, who just finished doing a round by the back hallway. That’s when I hear it. Tiffany, she’s wearing a smirk and batting her lashes.
Leaning back against the bar like she belongs here, eyes glued to Wrenley. “No wonder they all want you,” she sneers. “Who knew being a whore came with benefits.”
My fists curl instantly. I start to turn, already tasting blood in the back of my throat. But Wrenley’s face doesn’t crack. She doesn’t even blink. She just sets her glass down gently and looks at Tiffany like she’s a piece of gum stuck to her boot.
“You know,” she says, voice smooth as poison. “It’s always the one no one wants who screams the loudest.”
The people at the bar freeze. Heads turn. A few hide their smiles behind raised glasses.
Wrenley smiles wide. She just fired the opening shot in a war she’s already won. Tiffany’s mouth parts in stunned disbelief. Wrenley doesn’t stop.
“Careful, honey. Envy looks desperate on you.”
Some of the people at the bar cheer, some clap. God, I could kiss her. And I do. Feverish and frantic. Before hovering my lips over hers “That’s my girl.”
She pulls back with a wicked grin “Damn right I am.”
I don’t care who’s watching. She’s fire and fury and mine. Let the world burn.
Even after everything she learned tonight, and dancing until she couldn’t anymore, she still looks like sin draped in softness.
We’re standing at the bottom of the stairs, the three of us tangled together, me, Max, Wrenley, her fingers hooked in mine and his.
Her eyes burn as they flick between us. And then she says it.
“Take me to bed,” she whispers.
It guts me. Max freezes. So do I. For half a second. One shared look. No hesitation after that. We move together, up the stairs two at a time, like men on a mission. Like wolves following the only scent that matters.
Our hands never leave her. Not once. Max’s palm settles at the small of her back. Possessive. Mine stay curled around her fingers, tight like I’m afraid she’ll vanish if I let go. When we step into her room. I reach back and close the door with a low, final click.
The air shifts. It’s quiet now, tense, thick with anticipation and something that borders on reverence. When she turns to face us, there’s something wild in her eyes. Feral. She’s made of want and fire and not an ounce of fear.
They say I look at her like she’s holy, precious, something to cherish. But not tonight. Tonight, she wants to be ruined, devastated in a way that is anything but holy.
“I want both of you,” she breathes. “At the same time.”
A slow ache spreads through my chest.
Max exhales a quiet “Fuck”. My fingers twitch at my side. We look at each other—me and my brother—not a single word between us, but the message is there. Clear. This is happening.
Max reaches her first. His mouth crashes into hers like a wave, all salt and hunger and history. My hands find her waist as I step behind her, palms dragging over denim and heat. I reach for the zipper on her jeans and start stripping her down, slow and reverent. A gift wrapped just for us.
Her jeans hit the floor. Then her top. Then her panties. I watch every inch of her skin appear, devouring it with my eyes. She’s stunning. Fucking lethal.
“Look at you,” Max whispers against her lips. “Our perfect girl.”
My hands, rough and calloused, travel up her thighs, hungry to memorize every curve. I press my mouth to her throat, letting her feel my words more than hear them.
“Ours,” I growl. “Every inch.”
We don’t take turns. Not really. We treat her like something sacred. Like two men who’ve found their way to the same altar and realized they’re worshiping the same god.
Max presses her to the mattress, lips trailing down her stomach. I catch her wrists, pinning them over her head, watching her pupils blow wide as I whisper praise she doesn’t even know she’s desperate for.
Then we switch.
Max holds her steady while I slide two fingers inside, curling just right until her eyes roll back. Her hips buck. She moans my name like it’s the only word she remembers. Her nails rake down my back. Across Max’s shoulders. We groan in unison, deep, rough, undone. She’s marking us. Good.
Max leans in, voice dark and wrecked. “You like this, don’t you?”
She nods, gasping. “Yes. Give me more. Please.”
I bite her bottom lip just hard enough to make her gasp again. “That’s my good girl. So fucking pretty when you beg.”
And God, she is. This isn’t just sex. It’s a claiming. A surrender. An act of war written in sweat, teeth and devotion. She’s not ours because we’re taking her. She’s ours because she’s choosing us.
When I slide into her, her body arches like it’s been waiting, craving… starving for this. For us. Max’s lips crush into her while I move inside her, slow and deep and heavy with every ounce of love I’ve never said. She pulses around me. She shudders, barely holding on, but I’m not done.
I pull out, flipping her onto her stomach, dragging her hips back until she’s right where I want her.
I thrust in hard and fast, gritting my teeth as she cries out.
My hand tangles in her hair, holding her as I press kisses to her spine.
Max reaches for her front, stroking her clit, murmuring filth and worship all in one breath.
“Cum for us, baby,” he says.
“Now,” I growl. She does. She breaks. I follow, hips stuttering, groaning her name into her shoulder like a prayer I forgot how to say. Before she can even catch her breath, Max pulls her underneath him. She gasps when he slides into her.
“Oh my god,” she moans against my lips as I kiss her.
Max sets a relentless pace, driving her higher. She moans again when I catch one of her nipples between two of my fingers, rolling it gently.
“You’re perfect like this. Don’t hold back.” I say as I nip her ear. Sliding my hand down her chest and stomach until my fingers find her clit, tracing small circles, where I know she craves more friction. “You’re doing so good… so damn good.”
Max quickens his pace, sending her straight to the edge. “We’ve got you… Let go.” He says.
That’s all it takes for her to completely fall apart again, moaning both of our names.
Max isn’t far behind her, with one last hard thrust and a curse under his breath.
We collapse onto the bed, still tangled together.
We kiss her again, whisper to her, hold her, as she catches her breath.
We run our hands over every bruise, every mark, and I think to myself, I hope she never forgets this night. Because I won’t.
Max curls around her from behind, arm heavy across her waist. I keep one hand on her thigh, feeling her pulse echo through her against my palm. She’s trembling, and I think maybe we are too.
I don’t know when the world stops spinning. I only know I’m in the center of it now. Her. Us. This.
When her eyes flutter open, she looks at me like I hung the moon, then turns to Max with the same fire.
“Mine,” she whispers.
Our voices follow in unison, “Always.”