30. Maddox
30
MADDOX
The sound of Rowan’s bike fades into the distance, but the image of her and Ryder coming down those stairs together is burned into my brain. The flush in her cheeks. The slight sway in her walk. The way my brother couldn’t keep his eyes off her. And that fucking kiss on her cheek while he stared right at me—marking territory like we’re goddamn animals.
I wait until I can’t hear her engine anymore. Then I turn to Ryder, who’s still watching the door like he can see through it to her retreating form.
“You asshole,” I say, my voice deceptively calm.
He turns to me, expression neutral. “Problem?”
The casual dismissal snaps something in me. I close the distance between us in three quick strides and drive my fist into his jaw with every ounce of frustration I’ve been carrying for days.
Ryder’s head snaps back, but he recovers fast—he always does. His counterattack is swift, a straight jab to my ribs that knocks the wind out of me. I stumble back, gasping, but manage to dodge his follow-up swing.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growls, the most emotion I’ve heard from him in weeks.
“You know exactly what’s wrong,” I spit back, lunging forward to tackle him into a display rack of parts. Metal clatters to the concrete as we hit the ground, grappling for dominance. “First, Brick disappears with her. Now you’re fucking her upstairs?”
Ryder gets a hand on my throat, flipping our positions. “Jealous?” he sneers. “Is that what this is about?”
I buck my hips, throwing him off balance enough to break his grip. “It’s about respect,” I pant, scrambling to my feet. “It’s about loyalty.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” Ryder wipes blood from his split lip, circling me with the predatory focus he usually reserves for fights that aren’t with family. “Like you haven’t had her too.”
The confirmation that all three of us have been with her hits harder than I expected. I knew, of course. We all suspected. But hearing it out loud makes it real in a way that fury alone can’t express.
I rush him again, catching him in the stomach with my shoulder. We crash into a workbench, tools scattering as we exchange blows—none pulled, none softened by the fact that we’re brothers. This has been brewing since the moment we discovered we all wanted the same woman, a powder keg just waiting for a spark.
“She’s not just some girl,” I snarl between punches. “She’s?—”
“She’s what?” Ryder’s fist connects with my cheekbone, sending pain radiating through my skull. “Yours? Is that what you think?”
“At least I’m honest about what I want!” I swing wildly, clipping his shoulder. “You’ve been sneaking around, acting like?—”
The garage door rolls open, cutting off whatever accusation I was about to hurl. Brick’s Jeep pulls in, followed closely by a sleek black motorcycle I recognize immediately—Chase Cross.
Ryder and I freeze mid-fight, my fist still tangled in his shirt, his hand pulled back for another blow. Brick steps out of the Jeep, taking in the scene—the overturned displays, scattered tools, and blood on both our faces—with a tightening of his jaw that speaks volumes.
“What the fuck is going on?” he demands, voice deadly quiet.
Neither of us answers. What can we say? That we’re fighting over a woman like teenagers? That the unspoken rules between brothers—rules we’ve lived by our entire lives—are crumbling because of one baker with green eyes and a smile that gets under your skin?
Chase dismounts his bike with fluid grace, helmet tucked under his arm. His expression is more amused than concerned as he surveys the destruction.
“Let me guess,” he says dryly. “Woman trouble?”
Ryder and I separate reluctantly, both of us breathing hard. The fire hasn’t gone out, but Brick’s presence acts as a damper on the worst of it. He’s always been the peacekeeper, the buffer between Ryder’s intensity and my impulse.
“Upstairs,” Brick orders, not waiting for a response. “Now.”
We follow like chastised children, Chase bringing up the rear with a barely concealed smirk. The apartment—the same space where Ryder had Rowan not thirty minutes ago—feels smaller with all four of us inside.
Brick goes straight to the fridge, pulling out four beers. He tosses one to each of us, the action so familiar it momentarily cuts through the tension. How many fights has he broken up over the years? How many times has he stepped between us when tempers flared?
“Spit it out,” he says, twisting the cap off his bottle. “What started this?”
I take a long pull of beer, buying time. The cold liquid soothes my throat but does nothing for the burn of anger still simmering beneath my skin.
“He fucked Rowan,” I say finally, gesturing toward Ryder with my bottle. “Right here. In this room.”
Chase lets out a low whistle, settling onto the couch like he’s getting comfortable for a show. “The baker? The one who trashed your bikes?”
“That’s the one,” Brick confirms, his expression unreadable.
“She’s been busy,” Chase observes mildly. “From what I hear, she’s been working her way through all three of you.”
The silence that follows is deafening. We all stand there, none of us willing to be the first to confirm what we all know to be true.
“Well?” Chase prompts, looking between us with growing amusement. “Am I wrong?”
“No,” Ryder says finally.
Brick takes another drink, his jaw tight. I can’t read him—never could when he doesn’t want me to.
“So you’re all sleeping with the same woman,” Chase summarizes, “and instead of talking about it like adults, you’re destroying your garage and each other’s faces.” He shakes his head, a small laugh escaping. “You’re acting like fucking children, you know that?”
“It’s not funny,” I snap. “This is?—”
“Complicated?” Chase finishes for me. “Yeah, no shit. Welcome to Wolf Pike’s favorite pastime.”
The casual way he dismisses our situation makes my temper flare again. “This isn’t a joke. She’s coming between us.”
“Is she?” Chase counters, sitting forward, suddenly serious. “Or are you three doing that all on your own?”
Ryder moves to the window, staring out at nothing in particular. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“None of us planned it,” Brick adds, the first hint of emotion cracking through his stoic facade.
“Do any of you actually know what you want?” Chase asks, looking at each of us in turn. “Because it seems like you all want the same thing but are too stubborn to admit it.”
I drain half my beer in one go. “What are you saying?”
Chase’s smile is knowing, almost sympathetic. “I’m saying that sharing isn’t just possible. It’s sometimes necessary. Some women are worth breaking every rule for.”
The room goes quiet as his words sink in. I know what he’s implying. Everyone in Wolf Pike knows about Chase and his brothers—how they share a life, a home, and a woman. Evie. The single mother who somehow tamed all three Cross brothers.
“That’s different,” Brick argues, but there’s a hollow quality to his protest.
“Is it?” Chase raises an eyebrow. “You’re all attracted to her. You all care about her. And from what I’m gathering, she feels the same about all of you.”
“So what—we’re supposed to set up some kind of rotation schedule?” I laugh bitterly. “Take turns?”
“No,” Chase says simply. “You’re supposed to be honest. With yourselves, with each other, and with her.” He stands, setting his half-finished beer on the coffee table. “Either that or two of you walk away. But looking at the state of your faces, I don’t think any of you is willing to do that.”
He’s right, damn him. The thought of walking away from Rowan feels impossible now. She’s gotten under my skin, into my blood, in a way no woman ever has before.
“It wouldn’t work,” Ryder says, but his voice lacks conviction.
“It works for us,” Chase counters. “It works for Teller and his brothers with Ayla. It works because we decide it works, because we all choose it, every day.”
Brick runs a hand over his face, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. “And what about her? What does she want?”
“Have you asked her?” Chase’s simple question lands like a grenade in the middle of the room.
We haven’t. We’ve been too busy fighting over her, claiming her, marking her as our own. Too busy being precisely what Chase accused us of—children.
“Think about it,” Chase says, grabbing his helmet and heading for the door. “But don’t think too long. Women like that don’t wait around forever for men to get their shit together.”
The door closes behind him, leaving the three of us in strained silence.
“He’s got a point,” Brick says finally, setting his empty bottle on the counter with a decisive clink.
“What, that we should share her?” I scoff, but there’s no heat behind it anymore. I’m too tired, too drained from the fight and the truth Chase laid bare.
“That we should talk to her,” Ryder corrects quietly. “Find out what she wants.”
I look between my brothers—Ryder with his split lip, Brick with his guarded expression, both of them as tangled up in this mess as I am. As much as I hate to admit it, Chase is right. This can’t continue as it has been. Something has to change.
“Fine,” I concede. “We talk to her. Together.”
Brick nods, a decision made. “Tomorrow. After closing.”
The prospect of sharing a woman goes against everything we’ve believed in. It’s not how we were raised, not how we’ve lived our lives. The Kane brothers have always been competitive—in business, in racing, in women. We’ve shared almost everything, but never this.
And yet, watching how naturally Rowan fits into our world, how she seems to understand each of us in different ways—Ryder’s silence, my playfulness, Brick’s control—makes me reconsider everything I thought I knew.
This late-night meeting in our garage, with Chase’s blunt insights, has brought out truths none of us have voiced before. We all want her. We all need her in ways that go beyond the physical. And maybe, just maybe, she needs all of us too.
“Let’s head home,” Brick suggests, rubbing his tired eyes. “Been a long day. We all need to clear our heads before tomorrow.”
Ryder and I nod in agreement, the fight drained out of us by exhaustion and revelation. Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever Rowan decides, one thing is certain—nothing between the Kane brothers will ever be the same again.
As we lock up the garage and head to our vehicles, I can’t help but wonder if Chase is right. If some women really are worth breaking every rule for.
If Rowan is one of them.