Chapter Thirteen #3
Those words strike deep—reaching a place no amount of darkness could kill. A place only they have touched. Emerson’s grip tightens on my thighs. Ronan’s breath stutters against the back of my shoulder.
Their voices surround me. Low. Filthy. Encouraging. Each one murmuring exactly what they want from me, what they love about the way I move, the way I sound, the way I break for them.
“Good girl…”
“That’s it…”
“Let go for us…”
It washes over me in waves, building, stealing my breath and replacing it with heat that coils tight in my belly. It’s overwhelming and perfect and more than I can hold inside for another heartbeat.
“I’m close,” I pull off Rowan and whisper, the confession ragged.
“We know,” Rowan murmurs, kissing me deep. “Give in.”
Emerson’s voice follows, rougher, strained. “Do it, baby. I’m right there with you.”
Ronan’s breath falls against my neck one last time, his words a growl laced with tenderness. “Come for us, Berk.”
My vision goes white around the edges. I arch so sharply it almost hurts; the tension detonating inside me and ripping the breath from my lungs.
Their hands clamp down, their breaths shatter, their voices break into a tangle of filthy curses and reverent murmurs.
Rowan slides back between my lips, and the three of them come undone with me—shaking, swearing, surrendering to the same savage rush that owns me.
Their foreheads rest against my skin. Their hands stroking my sides, my back, my hips. Rowan’s thumb drags across my lower lip. Emerson kisses my shoulder. Ronan presses his face into my neck like he’s grounding himself.
No one speaks for a long moment. The silence isn’t empty. It’s full of breathless recovery, the kind that hums in the air and sinks into my bones. My body feels like it’s dissolving into the sheets, every limb boneless, every muscle warm and pliant. I’d float if they let go of me.
But they don’t.
Ronan is the first to move. His hands press against my hips, steadying me when he pulls slowly free. “Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice a soft rumble vibrating against my skin. “Let us take care of you.”
Emerson shifts beneath me, easing me off him with slow, careful movements that make my body twitch from the aftershocks still rippling through me. Rowan presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, lingering for a beat, as if grounding himself while grounding me.
I’m dimly aware of warm cloth on my skin—Ronan again, wiping gently between my thighs, along the insides, up my hips.
He moves with a tenderness that borders on reverent, as if I might break if he presses too hard.
Emerson lifts my upper body, his arm a solid band around my middle while Rowan brushes damp hair off my forehead and kisses the crown of my head.
Their touches blur together. Soft words. Warm hands. Care I never thought I’d feel again.
“Stay awake for a second,” Emerson whispers, even though his hold cradles me like he expects me to crumble at any moment.
“I’m trying,” I mumble, but the world is already pulsing at the edges, darkness tugging at me like a tide pulling back from the shore.
The guys shift around me with a quiet efficiency that only comes from years and years of moving like one organism.
Fresh sheets. Soft blankets. Warmth. One of them lifts me—Rowan, I know by the familiar strength and the steady thrum of his heart against my cheek—and lowers himself onto the bed, easing me down with him.
He adjusts us with quiet care until I’m settled against his chest, fitted there like I belong.
Ronan moves in next, sliding close, his body aligning along our side as if it’s always known where to be.
His presence is solid, grounding, warmth bleeding in slow and constant.
Emerson takes his place in front of me, stretching out with serene confidence, one arm hooking over my hip to draw me in, holding me flush against his heat.
I’m surrounded. Anchored on all sides. Contained, protected—exactly where I belong.
Their warmth closes in around me. Their breathing anchors me. Their presence presses back the darkness waiting on the other side of sleep—the battles we’ll face when morning comes.
My eyes drift shut, heavy and sore but settled, the world shrinking down to the brush of fingers along my cheek and the quiet imprint of a kiss against my shoulder.
“Sleep, Pix,” Ronan murmurs against my neck.
I let myself sink, floating down into a darkness that feels safe for once. A rare gift. One of the best ways to fall asleep when chaos is clawing at every corner of our lives.
~~~~~
A quiet beep cuts through the darkness, threading itself into my dream like meaningless background noise.
It takes a few seconds for awareness to catch, to click into place and drag me fully awake.
The moment I recognize the sound, my body goes rigid, every muscle locking tight.
The auto-dump on Bryce’s phone only pings when something important hits the line.
My eyes open to the dim room. The guys are still dead asleep, sprawled in a tangle of limbs and blankets, their breathing heavy and even. When I glance at my phone, the time explains everything. We haven’t even hit the halfway mark of the four hours I promised them. Two hours. Maybe a little less.
I should go back to sleep. I should honor the deal.
But the alert keeps pulsing at the back of my skull like a heartbeat.
If it’s nothing, I’ll slide right back in without any of them waking.
I peel myself out of their hold, slow and careful.
Emerson’s arm drops away first, heavy with sleep.
Ronan’s hand loosens on my hip. Rowan instinctively reaches for whatever warmth moved away from him and ends up curling into his brother instead.
A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it, because for a heartbeat, they look like the boys they were.
The boys who used to fall asleep in a dog pile after movies or summer games.
Except now they’re bigger, harder, stronger.
Men carved from muscle and vengeance… but still the same in ways that count.
Mine in every single way that matters.
Once I’m free, I slip out of the room and pad down the hallway, shutting the war room door behind me with barely a whisper. The glow of the screens welcomes me like an old friend. I slide into my chair, fingers already flying as the latest dump loads on the main monitor.
Lines of text. Data tables. Location updates. App logs.
And then something freezes me mid-breath.
A message. Not to Bryce. Not routed through any of the dummy accounts.
A text addressed to me.
From Dean.
My heart clenches, heat and ice surging through me at the same time. For a long moment I can’t move. Can’t blink. Can’t breathe.
Then I click it open.
And the world narrows to a point sharp enough to cut as the message sits on the screen like a live wire, humming, poisonous.
Good morning, Berkley. Bryce is gone—I assume the warehouse fire explains that.
You’re much more resourceful than you were in your youth.
Hopefully, the boys haven’t loosened you up too much.
I’d love to play again. You were such a tight number before.
If you want Kimber back, I propose a swap.
You for her. You have one hour to respond.
My stomach lurches, but my mind… my mind goes quiet. Too quiet. A numb, frozen stillness spreads through me as each sentence burns itself into my brain.
Play again.
Tight number.
Swap.
The bile rises hot and sharp, but I swallow it down.
I sit back; fingers slack in my lap. My thoughts are blank for a long beat, like someone kicked the plug out of the wall and every circuit shorted.
Then it settles inside me.
Heavy.
Cold.
Immovable.
Because even as the shock rattles my bones, the answer isn’t a question. It never was.
I’d trade myself for Emerson’s sister a thousand times without blinking. I’d walk into hell barefoot if it meant she didn’t have to go through what I did. Kimber is innocent. She doesn’t deserve one second of this nightmare.
But the boys…
My boys…
The thought of them slams into me hard enough to sting behind my eyes. I glance toward the war room door, imagining them just down the hall, tangled in blankets and warm skin, trusting that I’m here. Trusting that I’m safe.
Trusting that I promised to never leave them again.
My lower lip trembles. I clench it between my teeth to stop it.
They’ll break if I disappear.
I know that. I feel it in my bones.
And still… I can’t let Kimber suffer a worse fate than death.
I can’t let her become me.
A sharp breath shudders out of me, my chest tight and aching as I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “Please forgive me,” I whisper to no one. To all three of them. To the version of myself who swore she was done being a sacrifice.
The screen keeps glowing, the message taunting me as the clock runs down, but my mind is already made up.
Finally, I reach for Bryce’s phone. It feels heavier than it should, like it knows the weight of what I’m about to do. My thumb hovers for a single heartbeat. One last chance to back out.
I don’t.
I type quickly, fingers trembling before I steady them.
What do I need to do?