16. Jade
Jade
Tomorrow night, I walk into Tyler’s apartment and steal evidence that could get me killed. Tomorrow night, I become bait in a trap that might spring on me instead of him. Everything either works or it doesn’t, and if it doesn’t, I’m probably dead.
So tonight feels like the last night of something, even though I can’t name what.
Shadow’s in the kitchen making dinner, and from the smells drifting through the cabin it’s not the usual thrown-together meal of whatever’s in the fridge. This is deliberate. Garlic and herbs, and something roasting in the oven that makes my stomach growl despite the knot of anxiety sitting there.
I’m curled up on the couch pretending to read a book I found on the shelf, but really I’m watching the three men move through the space with the easy familiarity of people who’ve lived together a long time.
Razor’s at the table, cleaning guns with methodical precision, and every time I look at him, I remember this afternoon. The bathroom. The mirror. The way he looked at me and didn’t apologize for it.
The way I didn’t want him to apologize.
Hawk’s been outside for the past hour doing another perimeter check, which I’m starting to realize is his way of processing things he doesn’t want to talk about, like what happened between us on the ride back from seeing Mason.
Like the fact that he fingered me against a tree, and then we both pretended it didn’t happen as soon as we got back to the cabin.
My face heats at the memory, and I force myself to focus on the book even though I haven’t absorbed a single word in the past twenty minutes.
“Dinner’s ready,” Shadow calls from the kitchen.
We gather at the table like this is normal, like we’re a family sitting down to a meal instead of three bikers and the woman they kidnapped planning a dangerous operation. Shadow’s made roasted chicken with vegetables and some kind of potato dish that looks like it took actual effort.
“This looks amazing,” I say, and I mean it.
“Figured we should eat well before tomorrow.” Shadow serves everyone with practiced ease. “Might be our last chance for a while.”
We eat in relative silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that comes from people who are thinking the same things and don’t need to voice them out loud.
The food is incredible, and I find myself eating more than I have in days. Shadow watches me with satisfaction, and when our eyes meet across the table, he smiles in a way that makes warmth pool low in my belly.
Hawk barely touches his food, just pushes it around his plate while staring at nothing. Whatever’s eating at him, he’s not sharing.
Razor eats with the same methodical precision he applies to everything else, but I catch him watching me when he thinks I’m not looking. His eyes linger on my mouth, my throat, the curve of my shoulder under Shadow’s borrowed shirt.
He’s remembering this afternoon too.
After dinner, Shadow clears the table while I try to help, but he waves me off. “You need to rest. Big day tomorrow.”
“I’m too wired to rest.”
“Then let Razor teach you some things.” Shadow nods toward where Razor’s standing by the window. “Self-defense. Stuff you might need if things go wrong tomorrow.”
My stomach flips, but I nod. “Okay.”
Razor gestures for me to join him in the open space near the couch. “Come here.”
I cross the room, and he positions me in front of him, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
“First thing,” he says, voice all business. “If someone grabs your wrist, don’t pull away. That’s instinct, but it doesn’t work. You rotate and push.”
He demonstrates slowly, taking my wrist in his hand. His grip is firm but not painful, and the contact sends electricity up my arm. He shows me how to rotate my arm and push against his thumb, the weak point in the grip.
“Try it,” he says.
I do, and his hand releases easily. “That actually works.”
“Most people don’t know anatomy. Thumbs are weak. Use that.” He takes my wrist again, harder this time. “Now do it like you mean it.”
I rotate and push, breaking free. He nods approval and steps closer.
“If someone grabs you from behind, two options. If their arms are around your waist, you stomp on their instep as hard as you can, then drive your elbow back into their ribs or stomach. If their arms are around your chest, same stomp, but then you drop your weight and twist.”
He demonstrates by wrapping his arms around me from behind, and suddenly, I’m pressed back against his chest with his arms locked around my rib cage. I can feel every inch of him against me, solid and warm and overwhelming.
“Drop and twist,” he says, voice rough near my ear.
I try to focus on the technique instead of the way his breath feels on my neck, but it’s impossible. My body remembers this afternoon, remembers being naked and wet and having his eyes on me.
He releases me, and I step forward, trying to get my breathing under control.
Shadow’s watching from the kitchen doorway with an expression I can’t quite read. Not jealous. Interested. Like he’s seeing something he likes.
“Again,” Razor says. “If someone grabs your throat, you don’t claw at their hands. That doesn’t work. You strike.”
He shows me where to hit, how to use my palm to drive up into someone’s nose, how to jab fingers into eyes if I have to. His hands on my body are firm and instructional, positioning my arms and hips and feet in the right stance.
But there’s nothing professional about the way it feels.
Every touch lingers just slightly too long. Every adjustment of my position brings us closer together. Every time his hands settle on my waist or my shoulders, I feel the weight of this afternoon between us.
Hawk appears in the corner, settling into a chair with his gun cleaning kit. He doesn’t say anything, just starts methodically breaking down his weapon and cleaning each piece with focused attention. But I can feel him watching. Can feel the weight of his gaze even when I’m not looking at him.
I’m surrounded by all three of them, and the feeling is intoxicating.
For four years with Tyler, I was afraid. Afraid of his moods, his fists, his control. I learned to make myself small and quiet and invisible.
But here, with these three men, I feel the opposite. I feel seen and wanted and protected in a way that makes me feel powerful instead of weak.
It’s dangerous, this feeling. Dangerous because tomorrow I might die, and dangerous because I’m starting to want things I shouldn’t want.
We practice for another thirty minutes. Razor drills me on escape techniques, weak points, and how to run if I need to. Shadow watches with arms crossed and a small smile. Hawk cleans his gun with steady hands and says nothing.
By the time we’re done, I’m sweating, and my heart is racing, and I’m more aware of my body than I’ve been in years.
“Good,” Razor says, stepping back. “You’re quick. If tomorrow goes wrong, use what I taught you.”
“Tomorrow’s not going wrong,” Shadow says from the doorway. “We’ve got this planned down to the minute.”
“Plans fall apart,” Razor counters. “That’s why we prepare for contingencies.”
“Tomorrow’s going to be fine.” Shadow crosses the room and pulls me into a hug that surprises me. His arms wrap around me, and he holds on longer than necessary, his cheek resting against the top of my head. “We’re going to keep you safe.”
When he finally releases me, Razor’s right there. He doesn’t hug me, just squeezes my shoulder. It’s brief and firm and somehow more intimate than Shadow’s embrace because Razor doesn’t do physical contact casually.
“Nothing happens to you,” he says quietly.
Then Hawk’s in front of me, and the other two step back to give us space. He cups my face in both hands, tilting my head up so I have to meet his eyes.
“Nothing happens to you,” he repeats, and there’s intensity in his voice that makes my breath catch. “Understand?”
I nod because I can’t speak around the lump in my throat.
He holds my gaze for another long moment, then releases me and steps back. “Get some rest. We leave at nine tomorrow night.”
He heads outside, probably for another perimeter check that’s really just an excuse to be alone with whatever he’s feeling.
Shadow and Razor exchange a look I can’t interpret, then Shadow heads toward his room. “Night, Jade.”
“Night.”
Razor follows without a word, and I’m left standing in the main room alone with the ghost of three different touches still burning on my skin.
I head upstairs to my room and close the door.
I change into the T-shirt I sleep in and climb into bed, but sleep won’t come. My mind is racing with too many thoughts. The plan for tomorrow. Mason waiting at the safe house. Tyler’s apartment, the laptop, and all the ways this could go wrong.
And underneath all of that, the three men downstairs who’ve somehow become more than my captors.
I’m falling for them. All three of them. And I don’t know what to do with that because tomorrow everything changes, and I might never see them again.
It should feel wrong. It should feel like some kind of Stockholm syndrome or trauma response.
It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like the first right thing I’ve felt in four years.
A knock on my door interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
I sit up, my pulse already racing. “Yeah?”
The door opens. Razor and Shadow stand there. Shadow holds three beers like it’s casual, but his eyes burn. Razor’s gaze locks on me, dark and unblinking, the kind of look that makes my skin heat without a single touch.
“We thought you might not want to be alone tonight,” Shadow says. His voice is warm, but the undercurrent pulls at something deep inside me.
Sleep isn’t what they’re offering, and the realization sends a shiver straight down my spine.
My heart pounds hard enough that I feel it in my throat. “I only have a single bed.”
Razor’s lips curve, just barely. “Who said anything about sleeping?”