14. Alexandra
I make it back behind the bar on autopilot. My hands move through the motions—bottles in their slots, glasses lined up in gleaming rows—but inside my skin, nothing feels automatic.
My pulse is a drum in my ears. My body is still humming from the way Stone closed the distance in that office, like the air belonged to him, the weight of his presence pinning me without effort. The barely-there kiss that wasn’t a kiss at all. The way his restraint felt more dangerous than any touch, like he was holding back a storm with his teeth.
And God help me, I wasn’t just along for the ride. I wanted him to break that restraint. I wanted the heat of his hand on my back and the look in his eyes that said he was two seconds away from forgetting every rule in the building.
I felt it when I sat in his lap—how fast his control thinned, how little pretending there was in his reaction—and instead of panicking, I’d leaned into it. Tested it. Enjoyed it.
I told myself this was temporary. A crush born out of chaos and proximity, adrenaline wearing a man’s face.
I’m done lying to myself.
I want him.
The realization settles deep and steady instead of frantic, warm instead of reckless, and that’s what scares me most—how certain it feels. How much of me was already his before I ever admitted it.
Ella takes one look at my face and snorts. “Okay,” she says. “What the hell was that?”
I grab a towel and scrub a spot on the counter that’s already clean. “I’ll tell you. Just... not yet.”
She studies me for a second, then nods. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”
Movement by the long table draws my attention. The Romanians are standing now, all smiles and firm handshakes. Stone’s posture is relaxed but cold, Bruiser and Riot flanking him like bookends. Whatever was said, it’s over. The men file out without looking back.
My stomach unclenches a notch.
Stone doesn’t look at me right away. When he does, his gaze locks on like it’s found its mark.
“Church,” he says, voice carrying. “Now.”
The word cuts clean through the room. Conversations die mid-sentence, chairs scrape back. Then, without hesitation, “Lex. You’re coming.”
The shift in the room is instant. It’s not just surprise—it’s total, vibrating attention.
I glance toward Ella on instinct and find her already staring at me, eyes wide, brows halfway to her hairline. Her mouth parts like she’s about to say something and then thinks better of it. She gives a tiny, frantic shake of her head, the universal are-you-kidding-me look, equal parts shocked and impressed. Ella’s been around this life for a long time—she knows exactly how strange this is.
I step away from the bar, pulse quickening.
I don’t need anyone to explain what this means. I’ve only been here a short time, but I’ve seen enough. Outsiders don’t get called into church. Ever.
The church room smells like old wood and smoke, the kind that never really leaves, as if it’s soaked into the beams and the cracks in the floor. It reminds me of bonfires that burned too low and were forgotten, a bitter, comfortable scent that clings to your clothes long after you step outside. I’m surprised how the smell of smoke doesn’t bother me; if anything, it settles my nerves, makes the place feel lived-in instead of threatening. The men settle quickly, chairs scraping, denim and leather creaking, bodies going still the way a storm goes quiet before it breaks. I hover near the door, fingers hooked in my back pockets, suddenly very aware of how many eyes are on me and how loud my breathing sounds in a room that has learned to hold its breath.
I shouldn’t be here. I know that — even if no one’s said it out loud.
Stone looks at me. “Here.”
He doesn’t mean a chair.
His hand closes around my wrist and he pulls me in, unceremonious, settling me into his lap like it’s already decided. One arm wraps around my waist, solid. Possessive enough that the message is unmistakable. The heat of him bleeds straight through my clothes, firm chest at my shoulder, thigh braced under mine, and for a dizzy second all I can think about is how easily I fit there.
I stiffen for half a second. Then I breathe.
My body notices everything it shouldn’t—the steady rise of his breathing against my back, the lazy strength in the hand spread over my hip, the way his thumb shifts like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. My pulse kicks up, traitorous, and I hate that part of me wants to lean closer instead of away.
No one says a word.
Bruiser’s gaze is a scalpel, flicking from Stone’s arm to my face. A couple of the others exchange looks I can’t read, the kind passed between men who’ve already decided something and just haven’t said it out loud yet.
Stone leans in, his mouth a fraction of an inch from my ear. “Just talk,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration I feel in my bones. “I’ve got you.”
I tell them everything. The language shift. The assumption. The ease with which the words were spoken—like the outcome was already settled. No dramatics, just facts. When I get to the part about the girls, the room turns frigid.
Riot exhales an ugly sound through his teeth. Bruiser leans back in his chair like he needs distance from the story, jaw working. One of the others mutters something under his breath, disgust clear on his face.
Anger moves around the table in different flavors—tight, controlled fury from some, open disbelief from others. A few looks land on me again, heavier now, like I’ve just changed shape in front of them and they’re not sure what to call me anymore.
Stone’s arm tightens at my waist, barely an inch, but I feel it everywhere. No one questions why I’m sitting there anymore.
Bruiser studies me for a long moment. “They didn’t know anyone listening would understand.”
“No,” I say, softer than I mean to. “Why would they?”
“And you’re sure,” he presses. “Sure enough to drag this in here.”
I swallow once. Then lift my chin. “They weren’t careful. They didn’t think they had to be.”
Stone’s arm tightens slightly, a quiet signal — keep going.
“They talked like it was already done,” I add.
Stone exhales slowly. “They already moved.”
“Yes.”
Bruiser’s gaze flicks pointedly to Stone’s arm around me, then back to my face, like he’s lining up a problem he doesn’t like the shape of.
“Why him?”
The question feels like a trap. Not asking about what I just told them, but why I chose the man I did.
The room waits.
I don’t hesitate this time. “Because there was never a question of who I’d take it to.”
A muscle jumps in Bruiser’s jaw. A couple of the others shift in their seats. Stone doesn’t move, but I feel the quiet tension in him ease by a fraction, like he’d been braced for something worse.
Bruiser studies me for a long moment, something like surprise flickering through his expression before it smooths out. “That so,” he says almost teasingly. “Didn’t even consider alternatives.”
“No,” I say simply.
Stone’s arm tightens fully around my waist, pulling me closer. His voice is calm, edged with unmistakable satisfaction.
“I hope you don’t mean she should’ve come to you.”
Then Bruiser huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head once. “Wasn’t planning on it.” His eyes return to me, sharper now, assessing in a different way. “You didn’t hesitate.”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t.”
That earns me a nod.
“Alright,” Bruiser says. “That tells me what I need to know.”
Stone doesn’t loosen his hold.
“That’s enough,” he says. “I’ll handle the rest.”
He looks down at me then, expression unreadable to anyone else. For me it’s different—I can see the restraint in the tight line of his mouth, the heat he’s keeping on a leash.
He bends just enough to press a slow kiss to my temple, warm and deliberate, the kind of touch that feels more intimate than it has any right to. Tingles scatter across my skin, racing down my neck and straight through the rest of me before I can pretend I don’t feel it.
“You’re done for now, baby,” he says, low. “Go to your room. Wait for me there.”
My breath catches. Wait for me.
I slide off his lap carefully, legs a little unsteady, my body still buzzing from that simple kiss, from the promise wrapped inside it. I head for the door without looking back.
But every step feels charged now. Because I know he’s coming.
And the thought makes my pulse race in the best possible way.