15. Stone
Church doesn’t settle after she leaves. If anything, the air feels tighter, like the room is holding its breath.
I stay where I am for a moment longer, watching the empty space she just occupied. My body already aches for her—the weight of her, the heat, the way she fit against me—and it’s ridiculous how fast it starts missing her the second she’s gone.
Riot’s voice cuts through the quiet once the door closes behind Lex. “So,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Why the hell are we still playing nice with the Romanians?”
I rest my forearms on the table, fingers laced. “Because if I’d pushed them out the second I came out of that room with her, they’d notice something was off.”
Bruiser frowns. “Notice what?”
“That it was her,” I say flatly. “Negotiations were moving forward. Everything looked normal. Then I disappear with Lex and come back and shut it down? That puts a target on her back. Gives them leverage we can’t afford.”
Riot nods slowly. “And we don’t give anyone leverage.”
“No,” I say. “The charter isn’t happening. We’re not pretending it is just to keep them comfortable. We just need a way to cut them loose without the fallout landing anywhere near her.”
The table goes quiet for a beat, then the ideas start circling. Bruiser talks about squeezing supply lines, making the partnership too expensive to keep. Riot suggests leaning on the other crews, letting pressure build from the outside until the Romanians decide leaving was their idea. Someone else mentions feeding them a smaller deal, something harmless, a bone to chase while we close the real doors behind them.
I listen, weighing each option the way I’ve done a hundred times before—cost, risk, timing. But my head keeps splitting in two directions. Half of me is running scenarios, clean and cold. The other half is still stuck on the feel of Lex in my lap, the way she looked at me like I was the only solid thing in the room. Every plan sounds fine until I picture it touching her, even by accident. Then it’s useless.
We need something quick. We need final. And above everything, we need distance between Lex and whatever storm we kick up.
I exhale and straighten in my chair. “Alright. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”
The room settles immediately.
“We remove them from the picture as soon as possible,” I say. “No long games, no half measures. We close doors they think are still open, choke out the charter talk, and make it clear this club isn’t an option for them. But we do it clean—and we do it in a way that never circles back to her.”
Bruiser studies me. “Meaning?”
“Meaning Lex stays invisible in this,” I say. “No connections, no questions, no reason for anyone to even remember she was in that room today. Whatever move we make, she’s three steps away from it. Minimum.”
Riot’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to grin. A couple of the others don’t bother hiding it at all.
I ignore them.
“Protect her first,” I finish. “Then we burn the rest to the ground.”
For a second no one speaks—then Bruiser gives a single nod. Riot follows. One by one the table answers the same way, a low chorus of agreement, the decision locking into place the way it always does when we’re aligned.
I glance around at my brothers, making sure there’s nothing left hanging. “Any other business?”
Cyber clears his throat. “I’ve got something.”
Every head turns.
“This isn’t about the Romanians,” he says. “It’s Justin.”
My jaw tightens. “Talk.”
“He’s been calling Lex. Repeatedly. She hasn’t answered.” A beat. “He’s also been in contact with his lawyers — big-name firm, expensive. And yesterday he wired money to a private security contractor.”
Riot straightens. “Armed?”
“Legal,” Cyber says. “But not subtle.”
The room goes very still.
“Anyone else?” I ask.
“One more number,” Cyber adds. “Burner, so harder to trace. I'm still working it.”
That’s enough. I push to my feet. “No. That ends now.”
I turn my head, locking eyes with Ink first. Then Neon.
“You two are on Lex,” I say. No room for debate. “She doesn’t go anywhere alone.”
Ink nods immediately. Neon’s jaw tightens, already running scenarios.
Riot tilts his head. “Is that really necessary?”
I don’t look away from them. “She won't be leverage.”
Then I finally turn back to the table. “And she’s not getting touched.”
Bruiser studies me for a long second, then gives a single nod. “Alright.”
Cyber’s hands are already moving. “I’ll keep tracking Justin. If he breathes wrong, you’ll know.”
“Good.”
Church breaks after that. But my mind doesn’t stay in the room. It drifts to the weight of her in my lap, to the way she didn’t hesitate, to the fact that she trusted me without blinking.
The hallway upstairs is dim, the clubhouse settling into its early-morning quiet. I stop outside her door, hand hovering for half a second before I knock.
I’m already wound too tight.
The door opens.
Lex stands there with damp hair curling against her shoulders, skin flushed from heat, a towel wrapped around her body like it’s the only thing keeping her decent. Water beads at her collarbone, slips lower, disappearing beneath the fabric.
Every thought I had fractures.
“You came,” she says softly.
“Yeah,” I answer, voice already rough. “I did.”
I step inside and shut the door behind me. The click is loud in the quiet room.
She shifts, suddenly aware — or maybe deliberately reminding me — of how little she’s wearing. The towel clings to her hips. To her thighs. My eyes track the movement before I can stop myself.
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, trying to keep my eyes on her face and not the way that towel clings to her hips. “This,” I say, my voice rough as gravel, “is where you tell me to leave.”
She doesn’t move back. She steps closer. And then, with a slow, agonizing deliberation, she sits in my lap.
Her weight settles against me and my breath punches out of my chest. Heat. Bare skin. The towel rides up just enough that my hands instinctively grip her waist to keep her steady — and to keep myself from losing control entirely.
Christ.
She feels it — all of it — the way my body goes rigid beneath her, the way my fingers flex like they’re fighting orders.
Only then does she lean in, mouth near my ear.
“You told me,” she murmurs, voice soft and needy and far too aware of what she’s doing, “if I ever pulled something like that again… we should be alone.”
Her hips shift slightly, just enough to remind me there’s nothing between us but fabric and willpower. The movement sends a hot, immediate jolt through me, and my body answers before I can even pretend control—hardening again with her right there in my lap like she belongs.
“We are now.”
I close my eyes, my head dropping back. “You’re killing me.”
She exhales against my jaw, warm and slow. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”
My hands tighten at her waist, thumbs digging in, anchoring her there because letting go feels impossible.
“You have no idea,” I say low, opening my eyes to meet hers, “what it does to me that you’re sitting here like this. Wet hair. Bare skin. Nothing but a towel and that look on your face.”
Her lips part. Her gaze flicks to my mouth.
“I wanted you to know,” she whispers. “I wanted you.”
That’s it.
I pull her closer and my mouth finds hers—hungrier than I planned, needier than I meant to show. The kiss is desperate and real, all the restraint I’ve been carrying finally cracking. My tongue brushes the seam of her lips, seeking entrance, and she grants it immediately, a soft sound catching in her throat that damn near undoes me.
She melts into it, fingers sliding into my hair, her body pressing closer like she’s been waiting for this exact second. The kiss turns heavier, slower, charged with everything we’ve been circling and refusing to say out loud, and I can feel how much she wants me in the way she answers, fearless and open.
I break it only long enough to rest my forehead against hers, breathing hard, my hands still locked on her like she might disappear if I loosen them.
“This was.. inevitable,” I murmur. “It was always going to end here.”
“Good,” she says.
I slide my hand to her waist and shift my weight, guiding us in one easy motion until she’s on her back and I’m above her, braced on my elbows, looking down at her.
The room narrows to heat and breath and the quiet trust in her eyes. She doesn’t look surprised—just ready.
Her smile stays soft and certain. And I don’t fight it anymore.
I want her, and I’m done pretending I don’t.