Chapter 9 Silas
SILAS
The club throbs with bass that makes the ice in abandoned drinks dance, purple and gold lights cutting through smoke that tastes like vanilla and bad decisions.
The bachelor/bachelorette party has devolved into exactly what you’d expect, but there’s an undercurrent of something else tonight.
Something that has my skin crawling with the need to finish what we started on that stage.
I find Cal in one of the private booths, black sheer curtains pulled halfway closed. He’s nursing a glass of water instead of his usual whiskey, and his hands are still shaking slightly. We’re all feeling it—the aftershock of what just happened under those lights.
“Water?” I slide into the booth across from him. “Smart choice. I’m not sure I trust myself with anything stronger right now.”
He doesn’t smile, just rotates the glass between his fingers. “After what just happened up there...” He trails off, shakes his head. “Fuck, Silas. Did you see her face when the lights went down?”
The image flashes through my mind again—Parker on her knees between us, chest heaving, eyes wild with something that looked dangerously close to surrender.
The way she’d whispered in Jace’s ear, the way her body had moved against mine, the electricity that crackled between all of us under those lights.
“She ran,” Cal continues, voice rough. “The second the curtain dropped, she bolted backstage.”
“Can you blame her?” I lean back, scanning the crowd through the gap in the curtains. “We just claimed her in front of half the wedding party.”
“We told her to dance for us. She delivered.” Cal’s amber eyes are dark with something dangerous.
What do we do now?
Before I can respond, the crowd erupts in applause. The bridal party files in, dressed for clubbing now, but when Parker appears, the cheers become deafening. She’s changed into a black dress that hugs every curve I just had my hands on, and she’s trying to smile through what’s clearly panic.
Her skin still holds that post-performance flush. Her hair falls in waves past her shoulders, slightly mussed from the quick costume change. But it’s her eyes that give her away—wide, vulnerable, like she’s seeing us all for the first time.
“There,” Cal breathes. “Look at her.”
She’s overwhelmed. Hands trembling as she accepts congratulations, that practiced smile not fooling anyone who knows how to read her. She keeps glancing toward the exits like she’s calculating escape routes.
“She’s about to bolt,” I mutter, already shifting to stand.
But Jace cuts through the crowd like a blade, grabs her before she can flee, and throws her over his shoulder in one smooth motion that has the crowd cheering and Parker squealing half in protest, half in relief.
“Jace!” She beats on his back, but there’s no real fight in it. If anything, she sounds relieved that someone made the choice for her.
He carries her to our booth and sets her on the table between us. The movement makes her dress ride up slightly, exposing the smooth expanse of her thighs, and I have to clench my hands to keep from reaching for her.
I draw the curtains closed, sealing us in. The party becomes muffled background noise, creating an intimate bubble around the four of us.
“Put me down,” she says, but she doesn’t move from the table. Her breathing is still uneven, and I can smell her perfume mixed with the faint sheen of sweat from performing.
“You were about to run,” Jace states, positioning himself between her and any potential escape.
“I was not—”
“You were.” Cal sets down his water, and when he looks at her, there’s heat in his gaze that makes her breath catch. “Same way you’ve been running from this for years.”
Her spine goes rigid. “There is no ‘this.’ What happened up there was what you three demanded. Nothing more.”
“Was it?” I lean forward, studying her face. Flushed cheeks, rapid pulse visible at her throat, pupils still dilated from adrenaline and something else. “Because from where I was sitting, it felt like a lot more than just following orders.”
She opens her mouth, closes it. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips—the same lips that were inches from mine on that stage—and I track the movement like a predator.
“You told me to dance for you,” she says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “You cornered me in my room and dared me to prove I wasn’t just Charlie’s little sister. So I did.”
“We gave you an option,” Cal corrects, but there’s a playful edge to his voice now, like he’s enjoying watching her squirm. “We didn’t force you to change the staging. You could have kept the single chair, danced for some random stranger.”
“Could I?” Her laugh is sharp, brittle. “When have any of you ever given me a choice that was actually a choice?”
The accusation hangs in the air like smoke. There’s truth in it, and we all know it.
“You’re right,” Jace says quietly, and the admission surprises all of us. His voice carries that military precision, but there’s something raw underneath. “We’ve never given you real choices. We’ve manipulated situations, eliminated options, guided you toward what we thought was safe.”
“Then why—”
“Because we were terrified,” he continues, and now there’s the protector in him showing through. “Terrified of losing you. Terrified of wanting something we couldn’t have. Terrified of admitting that our best friend’s little sister had become the center of our entire world.”
The confession hits her like a physical blow. Her hands grip the edge of the table, knuckles white.
“Don’t say things like that,” she whispers.
“Why not?” Cal reaches out, trails one finger along her bare arm with deliberate slowness. She shivers but doesn’t pull away. “Because it makes it real?”
“Because I don’t know how to handle real.” The words come out broken, honest. “I don’t know how to want this without destroying everything.”
“What if we told you that you already destroyed us?” I ask gently. “That watching you leave six years ago broke something in each of us that never healed?”
Tears start to well in her eyes, and she blinks them back furiously. “Stop.”
“You want to know what I was thinking up there?” Cal continues, his finger still tracing patterns on her skin. His voice takes on that teasing quality that’s purely him. “When you straddled me and rolled that perfect body against mine?”
“Cal—”
“I was thinking about how you tasted like strawberries and champagne when you leaned close.” His grin is wicked now, all charm and heat. “How your hands felt in my hair. How I wanted to strip that costume off you with my teeth and hear you scream my name for real.”
Her breathing goes ragged. “Please—”
“And when you moved to me,” I pick up the thread, keeping my voice gentler but no less intense, “when you brought my hand to your face and guided it down your throat, I wanted to memorize every inch of your skin. I wanted to map you with my hands, my mouth, until you forgot your own name.”
“Jesus,” she breathes, and there’s want in her voice now, raw and undeniable.
“And Jace,” Cal’s voice turns darker, more dangerous. “What did you whisper to him, angel? What did you say that made him look ready to commit murder?”
She glances at Jace, who’s been silent through our confessions. He’s coiled tension, barely controlled violence, and when she meets his eyes, something electric passes between them.
“I asked him if I was still his princess,” she admits quietly.
The booth goes dead silent except for the muffled bass from the party beyond.
“And what did he say?” I ask, though I can guess from the way Jace’s hands are clenched into fists.
“He said I was his.” Her voice is barely audible. “He said I belonged to him.”
“Do you?” Jace asks, and there’s something raw in his voice, something that sounds like years of suppressed longing mixed with that protective instinct that defines him.
“I don’t know.” The honesty in her admission cracks something open in my chest. “I don’t know how to belong to anyone. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be independent, trying to prove I don’t need protecting or saving or managing.”
“This isn’t about protection,” Cal says softly, the teasing gone, replaced by something deeper. “This is about three men who have been half-alive for six years because the woman they love won’t let them love her.”
“Love.” She repeats the word like it’s foreign. “You can’t love me. I’m—”
“What?” I challenge. “Charlie’s little sister? The Carter princess? The girl who ran away to California?”
“I’m broken,” she whispers, and the confession hits like a punch to the gut. “I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve never... I don’t know how to be what you need me to be.”
The vulnerability in her voice, the fear, the self-doubt—it all crashes over me at once. She’s not just talking about inexperience. She’s talking about terror. About feeling inadequate.
“Parker,” Jace says, and his voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “Look at me.”
She does, reluctantly.
“You think we want you to be something you’re not?”
“Don’t you?” Her voice cracks. “Don’t you want someone who knows what she’s doing? Someone who isn’t going to disappoint you?”
“Angel,” Cal breathes, “you could never disappoint us. Ever.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Then explain it to us,” I say. “Tell us what you’re so afraid of.”
She looks between the three of us, trapped and terrified and beautiful in her vulnerability. “I’ve never been with anyone. Not really. Not the way you’re talking about. I don’t know how to... I can’t...”
The admission hangs in the air like a confession and a plea all at once.
Wait, what?
I glance at Cal, whose face has gone carefully blank, then at Jace, whose jaw has tightened. We all knew her dating life had been... limited. But never?
Then it hits me. Cal’s surveillance. His systematic interference. Jesus Christ, he was more thorough than I thought.