Chapter 6
Rook
By now, things have almost settled into something that almost looks like routine, with Sloane working most days while the guys take care of Jessy, though she’s constantly checking in, making sure everything is good.
Sloane might be infuriatingly stubborn, but she’s a good mom; she clearly adores Jessy.
It’s easy to see why. I’m not great with kids, but even I’ve developed a soft spot for the little girl.
The main room is bustling with activity, and Jessy sits right in the middle of it as if she belongs there, and she does.
Men who’ve broken bones for less than a bad look handle her like she’s made of glass and gold at the same time.
She swings her legs as she eats her dinner.
She’s laughing—full, easy, unafraid—and it does something strange to the room, it softens it.
I lean back in my chair, watching not just her, but the person whom I can’t keep my eyes off of for long, Sloane.
She sits at the table with her laptop open, posture straight, even when she’s supposed to be off the clock, fingers moving across the keys with the same sharp precision she uses in conversation.
Half her attention is on whatever she’s working on.
The other half tracks Jessy without her ever needing to look directly at her.
Sloane is always aware, always calculating, and in control. Except when she isn’t, in the small moments when she doesn’t realize anyone’s watching.
Cruz walks in and drops a stack of journals beside her. “Thought you might want these.”
I see a flicker of interest and relief in her eyes, followed by something softer that she locks down almost immediately.
A glance at the titles tells me these are the items she’s been arguing with me about needing to leave the clubhouse to go and get, a request I denied.
She looks up at Cruz. “Where did you get these?” He shrugs like it’s nothing as realization dawns on her. “Did you break into my house?”
“It’s not breaking in if I have the key,” he grins, holding up the key to her house that he must have pilfered from her room.
“You looked like you were running out of things to read, so I went to get the stuff you’ve been asking for as well as a couple of things for Jessy. ” He holds up a duffel bag to prove it.
I wait for her to yell at him as she would be, but she just laughs and shakes her head as she swipes the key from his hands. “Next time, ask.”
She doesn’t berate him, doesn’t thank him either, and Cruz doesn’t expect thanks.
The interaction is easy, simple, that’s the part that gets under my skin.
Between Sloane and the others, there’s no tension, no pushing back, no sharp edges.
They just seem to understand each other.
I watch the way she looks at Cruz, studying as if there’s a test. She’s not soft, exactly, but she’s open in a way she never is with me.
She always acts like she’s bracing for impact and expecting a fight, which somehow inevitably means there is—a self-fulfilling prophecy and a spiral I can’t seem to stop.
The more I try, the worse it gets. I’ve never wanted a woman so much yet found them so utterly infuriating, nor have I been rejected like that before, which has bruised my ego, if I’m being honest.
Boone passes behind their table a few minutes later, and Jessy spots him instantly. “Boone, look what I drew!” she cries out in delight, holding her sketch out
Boone stops, he always does for her, and picks up the drawing, studying intently. “More dinosaurs should be purple,” he says with a smile.
“Everyone thinks they’re green, but no one really knows what color they were. A blue one would be awesome, right? Jessy asks.
He considers it, brow furrowed. “You know what, I think you’re probably right. You ever seen pictures of lizards with the bright colored neck frills? They’re red.”
Jessy beams, furiously scribbling away as soon as he hands the paper back. Jessy’s half-eaten plate of food now sits forgotten as she loses herself in the project. Boone watches over her shoulder, quietly making suggestions and offering help.
Sloane watches them too, and she has that look again.
With Boone, it goes deeper than just approval.
She trusts him. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does because Boone didn’t have to work for it.
She doesn’t fight him or push back; the same goes for Cruz.
They slip past her defenses like they were never there.
Meanwhile, I get teeth—every damn time. I drag a hand over my jaw and lean back further in my chair, watching the whole thing play out like it has nothing to do with me, like it doesn’t bother me.
But it does. I can’t stop thinking about Sloane since she walked in here and agreed to be mine like meant nothing.
She thought she could reduce this place and our customs to paperwork and terms. She thinks she’s my old lady in name only.
For now, I’ll let her believe that. But she’s mine.
I’ll happily share her with Cruz and Boone if that’s what it takes; it wouldn’t be the first time.
I have to claim her to make her my old lady in every way that counts, or it will kill me.
I watch the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she reads, the way her fingers pause over the keyboard when Jessy laughs, the way her shoulders relax just a fraction in this room she swore she wouldn’t belong in.
Frustration and attraction bubble up inside me as they always do when I’m near her.
It’s almost like a physical ache, an itch I can’t scratch.
I try to avoid her, but I can’t, always finding myself drawn into her orbit until I crash into her and we collide.
I want to taste her, to peel off that armor and see the softness underneath, to make her scream my name and beg me for more.
I want her so badly it hurts, but underneath the physical desire, there’s something softer, something that I haven’t fully accepted yet.
All I know is that I want that look she gives them, and I hate that I don’t get it. Not yet.
***
Later, the noise has died down, and the lights are dim, I’m in my room, not sleeping, because I don’t sleep until late.
I’m staring at nothing in particular when I hear it.
The sound is soft at first, like the mewling of a kitten, then sharper.
I realize with a start that it’s Jessy crying, and I’m on my feet before I think about it.
Her door is cracked open when I get there, the room bathed in the soft green glow of her nightlight.
Jessy curls into herself, blanket twisted around her legs, breath coming too fast as she moans out in her nightmare.
I don’t hesitate or think; I act on instinct.
I sit on the edge of the bed, reach for the first thing on the nightstand, one of her books, and start reading.
I don’t want to wake her too abruptly and frighten her further.
Waking to the sight of me in her room might be worse than a nightmare, but I can’t leave her like this, and I can’t bring myself to face Sloane’s barbs.
I speak softly and steadily, hoping the story will pierce through the nightmare, soothe her subconscious, and give her a life raft to cling to.
Gradually, her breathing slows, and her fingers uncurl from the blanket.
Encouraged, I keep reading page after page, until she settles and the tension leaves her small body.
The room feels quiet again, peaceful. I close the book but don’t move right away.
I’ll give it a minute to make sure. Fast asleep like this, she’s so vulnerable, so small, I feel a pang of anger at whoever tried to hurt this innocent child and the overwhelming desire to keep her safe.
“You’re safe, you’re always safe with us,” I whisper, perhaps trying to reassure myself more than her.
The air shifts, and I feel the presence of someone in the doorway. I look up to see Sloane standing, watching. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, she just stands there, half-shadowed in the hall, like she doesn’t want to interrupt something she doesn’t quite understand.
For a second, neither of us moves, suspended in disbelief, before there’s a shift between us, it’s subtle but real. I get up and slowly walk toward Sloane. She doesn’t back up, not this time.
“She’s fine,” I murmur.
“I know.” Her voice is quiet, less sharp and guarded than normal. Then she adds, “Thank you.”
It hits me harder than anything she’s thrown at me all week.
Have I finally gotten what the others have found so easily?
We stand there a second longer than necessary.
Then I nod once and walk past her. If I don’t leave now, I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do.
I don’t want to spoil the one peaceful moment we’ve had, as much as I want to pull her into my arms and kiss those soft lips.