19. MARCY
MARCY
Iwalk out of that house with my head held high and my heart pounding like a war drum.
The air is crisp against my cheeks, but it feels like freedom.
For the first time in my life, I said what needed to be said.
I told my father to his face that I wasn’t going to play his game anymore. And I meant every damn word.
I feel… badass.
I’m halfway down the street, ignoring the ache in my calves from my sandals and the tension still knotted in my chest, when a weird prickle creeps up the back of my neck.
I slow down. It’s that eerie, skin-crawling sense you get when someone’s watching you. And this time, I know it’s not just paranoia.
I turn the corner, about to head toward the train station, when a figure steps out from behind a parked SUV.
“Marcy Hollingbow, right?”
The man’s voice is smooth. He’s in jeans and a puffer vest, holding a little black notebook and a cheap press badge that dangles from his neck like a joke. His smile is too wide, and his eyes don’t match it.
“Can I help you?” I ask, already stepping back.
“I’m with The Inside Stream,” he says, as if that means anything. “We’re doing a piece on political families, scandals, the whole juicy mess. Your name’s been all over the feeds lately, and I just thought maybe you’d want a chance to tell your side of the story.”
“No thanks,” I say flatly, trying to move past him.
But he steps with me. “Come on, Marcy. Everyone’s dying to know—what’s it like being the fallen princess?”
“None of your business,” I say.
His smile gets impossibly wider. “But it is. I’m a reporter, it’s my job to dig out the truth.”
“I told you I’m not interested,” I say firmly.
“Come on,” he says, moving closer. “Just a few questions. People want to know if you’ve really been sleeping with those bikers or if it’s just a political stunt.”
I stiffen. “Back off.”
But he doesn’t. He grins like we’re sharing a joke and steps even closer.
“Relax. I’m just trying to get the truth. Everyone’s got a price for a good story. Maybe you do, too.”
I try to turn away, but he grabs my wrist.
“Let me go!” I shout, struggling against his grip.
That’s when it happens.
A voice snarls behind him, hard and furious. “Hey, asshole!”
The man barely has time to turn before Ryder slams into him, fist colliding with his jaw. The guy stumbles back and hits the pavement with a crack.
I stumble, too, clutching my wrist, heart racing.
Ryder looms over the man, fists clenched, chest heaving. “Touch her again, and I’ll break every one of your teeth.”
The man groans, holding his face, but doesn’t get up.
Ryder doesn’t even glance at him as he steps over and wraps an arm around me, pulling me into his chest. “You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of fire.
I nod shakily, burying my face in his shirt. “I am now.”
Ryder still has one arm around me, eyes locked on the groaning creep sprawled on the sidewalk like he’s daring him to move again. My heart is pounding, my skin flushed with a mix of fear and leftover adrenaline.
Then I hear it. Tires crunching over gravel. Headlights swing over us, and I instinctively step closer to Ryder as a dark van pulls up to the curb.
For a split second, panic flashes through me. Tonight has already been way too full of surprises.
The passenger window rolls down, and CJ’s face appears, grim and sharp. “Get in.”
I blink. “What?—?”
The back door slides open with a thunk, and there’s Hawk, lounging like he’s been there the whole time.
“Well,” he says casually, “we were just gonna wait around the corner, but then this asshole had to show up.” He jerks a thumb toward the news guy, still moaning on the pavement.
I gape at him. “You followed me?”
“Yeah.” Hawk shrugs. “Didn’t trust your mom.”
I narrow my eyes. “Seriously?”
He meets my gaze dead-on. “Call it a hunch.”
Ryder raises an eyebrow. “Good hunch.”
I shake my head in disbelief, half-laughing even though my chest still feels tight. “Unreal.”
CJ leans forward from the driver’s seat, expression unreadable. “Get in. Before we draw a crowd.”
Ryder gently nudges me toward the open door, and I slide inside. It’s warm, the van smells faintly of leather and spearmint, and I let out a long breath as the door slams shut behind us.
As Hawk pulls the door closed, he smirks at me. “So… how’d it go?”
I let my head fall back against the seat and roll my eyes. “About as well as you’d expect.”
“He threaten you?” CJ asks, eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
“Of course he did,” I mutter. “Told me to beg for forgiveness. Promised he’d forget all about this if I came crawling back.”
“Sounds like him,” CJ grumbles.
Hawk tilts his head, studying me. “You okay?”
I pause, then pat my stomach with mock seriousness. “Well, my mom was up to something.”
Hawk and Ryder both whip their heads toward me. CJ slams the brakes just enough to jolt the van. “What?”
I grin faintly. “Kidding. Sort of.”
Hawk groans. “Jesus, Marcy.”
“You deserved it,” I say sweetly, settling back into the seat. “Maybe next time, don’t spy on me like a bunch of overprotective biker dads.”
Ryder chuckles. CJ just mutters something under his breath and drives.
CJ’s house comes into view, porch light glowing like a beacon. The van eases up the driveway. Ryder hops out first, scanning the quiet street before opening my door.
Inside, warm yellow lamplight spills through the windows, but Sam’s usual videogame noise is absent.
“Where’s Sam?” I ask. It feels weird without him here.
“Sam’s at a sleepover,” CJ explains as we step onto the porch. “Figured it was better he wasn’t here for… all this.”
The living room smells faintly of cedar and coffee. Hawk kicks the door shut, Ryder drops my overnight bag by the sofa, and CJ heads straight for the kitchen to make some coffee.
“None for me,” I say. “My tummy isn’t my best friend right now.”
“We’ll see,” CJ says before he disappears around the corner.
Hawk flops onto the couch, patting the cushion beside him. “C’mon, princess. Feet up.”
I sit, tucking my legs under me while Ryder leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like I might disappear. CJ returns with four mugs—tea for me, black coffee for himself, and something stronger for the other two.
“You didn’t have to,” I say, feeling touched.
“Nonsense. Now drink this up, there’s ginger in it. You’ll feel better.” He hands me my cup. Our fingers brush, and warmth hums through me.
I turn to Hawk. “About what you said earlier…”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to answer right away, Marcy. I know it. And I know deep down you feel it, too.”
My heart skips a beat.
“What are you two talking about?” Ryder asks.
“Stay out of it, Rockweiler,” Hawk says, earning him a frown from Ryder.
“So,” CJ says, settling into the armchair opposite. “Those photos. The article. And the fact that everyone now assumes you’re sharing a bed with three devils.”
I feel relieved that he changed the subject. The terrifying part isn’t that I can’t bring myself to tell Hawk I don’t love him.
It’s that I do.
Hawk chuckles. “Assumes? Pretty sure the evidence is… conclusive.”
Heat crawls up my neck, but I hold CJ’s gaze. “You’re not… angry?”
“Angry at you?” He shakes his head slowly. “No. At the timing? At the vultures? Absolutely.”
Hawk clears his throat. “Let’s be honest. Those pictures didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.”
“Really?” I ask. I was waiting for things to implode, not for it to make so much sense.
Ryder huffs a laugh and drops beside me, draping one tattooed arm across the back of the sofa. “Sweetheart, a guy notices when the woman he’s kissing shows up smelling like another man’s aftershave. Especially when I can smell the same aftershave on my brother.”
“Besides, we’ve been together for so long, so we can practically read each other’s minds,” CJ says.
I blush. Ryder, standing behind the couch, rests a warm hand on my shoulder.
“We weren’t sure how much to push,” he rumbles. “Didn’t want to make you choose, or scare you off. But the world forced your hand tonight.”
Hawk taps the rim of my mug. “Question is, sweetheart… do you want all three of us? Or was this just… accidental overlap?”
My heart bangs against my ribs. “Accidental overlap?” I echo, then shake my head. “No. It wasn’t an accident. I—” I swallow, fingers tightening around the ceramic. “I care about each of you. In different ways, but the same depth. I didn’t know how to explain that without sounding… greedy.”
CJ’s mouth curves in a half smile, half promise. “Greed’s not a sin in this house.”
Ryder squeezes my shoulder. “The only rule is honesty.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips out. “Then honestly—I want all of you. If that’s something you can live with.”
Hawk’s grin turns wolfish. “Baby, we were hoping you’d say that.”
CJ rises, walks over, and lifts my chin with two fingers. “No more hiding. From the press, from your father, or from us.” He kisses my forehead—gentle, claiming. “We handle this together.”
Ryder bends to murmur at my ear, his voice rough silk. “And we’ll handle you, too. In any way you need.”
Heat floods me. Hawk’s hand drifts to my knee, his thumb tracing circles that promise far more than comfort.
CJ’s thumb is still under my chin when Hawk slides closer, his warm breath skimming my neck. Ryder’s palm coasts from my shoulder to the small of my back, urging me up.
Before I can form a reply, Ryder hooks an arm beneath my knees, the other behind my shoulders, lifting me as though I weigh nothing. A surprised laugh escapes me, and it’s swallowed by Hawk’s mouth as he leans in, kissing me slow and deep while we move.
The hallway blurs—wallpaper, framed photos, dim lamplight—until we reach the staircase.
CJ walks ahead but glances back to make sure we’re steady. Halfway up, he glances over his shoulder, eyes smoldering. “You okay, baby?”
“More than okay,” I whisper, breath hitching when Hawk’s fingers brush my bare thigh, sliding under the borrowed shirt.