41. Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-One
Wrenley
The bathroom door has barely clicked shut before Max pins me against it, his whole body trembling with the kind of need that borders on hunger.
Not rough. Not gentle. Feral. His mouth crashes into mine, stealing whatever breath is left in my lungs.
The kiss is deep, consuming, tasting the violence still clinging to my skin.
I bite his lower lip, hard, and the groan he lets out vibrates straight into my spine.
Liam is behind me an instant later, one hand sliding into my hair, tugging my head back so his teeth can graze the side of my throat. “You’re covered in blood, little warrior.” he rasps against my pulse. “Let’s change that.”
Max lifts the hem of my shirt and tears it over my head without hesitation, sending a sharp thrill through me.
Cool air hits my skin before his mouth is on one of my breasts, hot, frantic, worshipping.
Liam’s hands roam down my side, his touch firmer, claiming me inch by inch as he peels the rest of my clothes away.
His finger slides through the slick mess already coating me.
“Jesus fuck, Sparrow,” Max growls, dropping to his knees. “You’re drenched already.”
His tongue licks a hot, possessive stripe up my center, tongue flattening over my clit like he owns it. My knees buckle. Liam catches me, one arm banded under my breasts, the other sliding two thick fingers inside me alongside Max’s tongue.
Between the two of them, I’m barely standing. Between the two of them, I don’t have to.
“Shower,” I manage, breathless.
Max stands, moving instantly, turning on the water. Steam blooms in the room, thick and hot. Liam guides me toward it, his mouth brushing the back of my neck, my shoulder, everywhere he knows will unravel me.
By the time the water spills over us, I’m pinned between their bodies, Max in front of me, Liam behind. Heat, strength, and devotion pressing in from all sides. Liam lifts me, and my legs wrap around Max’s waist, sliding onto his cock in one smooth motion, gravity doing half the work.
Liam steps in behind me, chest to my back, and I feel his slick fingers circle where Max is stretching me open. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs, nipping my earlobe. “Let me in.”
I do. God help me, I do.
The burn as he pushes in alongside Max is exquisite, too much, not enough, everything. They both groan, low and wrecked, and then they move together, slow at first, finding the rhythm that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
Max kisses me like he’s drowning, Liam holds me like I’m something precious he almost lost. Their hands trace over my wet skin, slow at first, then more insistent as the need between us builds.
Fingers sliding over hips, spines, mapping me, memorizing me, claiming me in ways that have nothing to do with pain and everything to do with possession.
I lose track of how many times I cum, shattered apart and put back together between them, mouth open on silent screams, nails raking down Max’s back hard enough to draw blood.
Liam bites the junction of my neck and shoulder when he cums, pulsing hot inside me.
Max follows seconds later, hips stuttering, spilling deep with my name broken on his tongue.
Max whispers against my mouth, voice wrecked. “You’re going to destroy us, Sparrow.”
Liam’s lips find the shells of my ear. “Good,” he murmurs. “We deserve it.”
The heat rises, fierce and consuming, a storm of breathless kisses and tangled limbs and whispered promises they don’t have to say out loud for me to understand.
The world narrows to the sound of water hitting tile, the feel of their hands on my skin, the way they say my name like a vow.
At some point, the glass fogs, my knees give way, and the only thing keeping me upright is them.
Max’s grip, and Liam’s strength, their bodies bracketing mine like they were built for it.
By the time the water cools, I’m shaking, boneless and wrung-out in the best way possible. Eventually, Liam pulls out slowly, reverently, and Max lowers me to my feet. My legs don’t work. They never do after this.
Liam turns the water hotter. Max washes me like I’m something sacred, fingers gentle between my thighs, pressing soft kisses to every bruise they left.
Liam works shampoo into my hair, massaging my scalp until I’m boneless against his chest, and my thoughts turn to nothing. When we finally step out, he wraps me in a towel, and Max lifts me easily into his arms.
The bed is warm, familiar. Home. They settle on either side of me, hair still damp from the shower, still smelling like heat, lust and devotion. I fall asleep to Max’s hand tracing lazy patterns on my hip, and Liam’s lips touching my temple as he whispers, quiet and certain. “Mine. Ours. Always.”
I wake before the sun has fully claimed the room. Max is draped over my stomach, one arm heavy across my waist. Liam is behind me, his breath slow and warm against the back of my neck, his hand resting low on my hip; he’s still guarding me in this sleep.
For a moment, I let myself sink into it.
The peace. The warmth. The strange, fragile gentleness after the frenzy of last night.
Then I ease myself out from between them.
Max murmurs something unintelligible and rolls onto his back.
Liam’s fingers tighten for a breath before releasing.
Neither one wakes. I press a soft kiss to Max’s shoulder, another to Liam’s temple, then slip out of the room quietly.
The mansion feels different this morning.
Not softer, just quieter. The day hasn’t had a chance to get its hands on it yet.
In the kitchen, the familiar smell of coffee grounds pulls me into motion.
I fill the pot, hit the button, and lean against the counter as I wait for the first drip.
I’m halfway through my first sip when small footsteps shuffle behind me.
I turn. Daisy stands in the doorway, hair tangled from sleep, hoodie too big, eyes a little unsure.
“Morning,” I say gently.
She rubs her arms. “Can I… have coffee?”
I smile. “How about some juice instead?”
She hesitates, then nods. There’s something in her expression, not fear, not guilt, but that quiet, heavy look kids get when something’s sitting too big on their chest. I pour her juice and slide it across the counter.
She takes it but doesn’t drink. Just keeps glancing toward the hallway like she’s afraid someone else will walk in.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
Daisy bites her lip. Looks at the floor. Then around the room. Then at me.
“I… can I talk to you,” she whispers.
Something inside me tightens. Not dread, instinct.
I grab my coffee, slide my hand over hers, and nod toward the back door. “Come on,” I say quietly. “Let me show you my favorite place to sit. To think. Or talk, if you want.”
She follows me out into the early morning light.
The grass is damp, the air cool, and the garden is still half-asleep.
We walk to the far corner where the massive oak spreads its branches like an old, patient guardian.
I sit with my back against the trunk. Daisy settles beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush.
She takes a long sip of juice, then sets the cup down beside her. “Wrenley… there’s something I think you should know.”
I turn toward her fully. “Okay,” I say. “No rush. Just tell me when you’re ready.”
She nods, trying to steady herself. I wait, coffee warm in my hands, sunlight creeping through the branches, heart steady but braced, for the words I can feel building behind her silence.
Daisy keeps twisting the hem of her sleeve, her gaze fixed on the grass between us. When she finally speaks, it comes out small. Fragile. “I stole the money,” she whispers.
I don’t react. Not with shock. Not with anger. I just nod. “Okay. Tell me why.”
Her breath hitches. She picks at the bark of the oak tree.
“I… I didn’t fit in at Maura’s,” she admits. “Not really. The girls were nice enough, but it felt like I was supposed to… belong there. And I didn’t. Not the way they wanted.”
Her voice thins with embarrassment. “And I just… I feel safer… With you. With Wrecker.” She swallows. “I know I shouldn’t have left without saying anything, but I—I didn’t want to be somewhere that didn’t feel like home.”
Something warm and painful settles behind my ribs. “You should’ve told Maura,” I say gently. “She would’ve understood. We could have come and gotten you.”
Daisy nods, but her shoulders hunch like she’s bracing for reprimand. “I know,” she whispers. “I just… panicked. And I didn’t want to bother anyone.”
“You are not a bother.”
The words come out fiercer than I intend. She startles a little, then smiles timidly. I exhale slowly, letting the moment settle. “Alright,” I say softly. “Now tell me about the black eye.”
Daisy blinks, surprised I caught it. Her hand comes up instinctively, brushing the fading bruise. “Oh. That.” She shrugs. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
I wait. She sighs.
“One of the older girls got mad because I wouldn’t let her shower first. She shoved me. I shoved back. She swung first.” She pauses. “I ducked. Mostly.”
I stare at her for a second, then huff a laugh. “I’m proud of you,” I say.
Her eyes widen. “For getting hit?”
“No, for standing your ground.”
Color rises in her cheeks. She looks relieved in a way that cracks something open inside me.
A rustle of footsteps behind us draws my attention.
I don’t need to look to know who it is. Liam lowers himself to the grass on my right, pulling me into him, and pressing a kiss to my temple.
Wrecker sits on Daisy’s other side, his expression a storm of concern and affection.
Daisy brightens the moment she sees him.
“Morning,” Wrecker says softly. “You good out here, kiddo?”
She nods, leaning just slightly into him. Liam’s hand finds my thigh, warm and grounding. I take a slow breath, looking at the three of them, Daisy tucked between us, Wrecker protective, Liam steady, the garden wrapped around us like a cocoon.
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I feel it settle. This is family. Messy. Loud. Chaotic. Chosen. And Daisy, bruised, scared, stubborn little miracle that she is… Is part of it now.
Daisy’s gaze drifts across the garden, settling on the old hammock strung between two massive oak branches. It sways in the breeze, fabric faded from all the time in the sun and storms.
She points at it. “Can I… get in that?”
The question is so earnest, so small, I can’t help the laugh that slips out of me. “Of course you can.”
Liam huffs a quiet chuckle beside me. “Careful,” he warns her. “It’ll try to throw you out before you’re settled.”
Right on cue, another voice chimes in “Yeah, he would know.”
We all turn. Max is walking toward us, hair a total wreck, shirt half buttoned, looking wholly unapologetic about it.
He drops into the grass next to me and Liam.
Daisy giggles. Wrecker smirks. Liam rolls his eyes.
I lean over and kiss Max without thinking, soft, slow, the kind of morning kiss that tastes like contentment and danger all at once.
His hand slides up my thigh, warm and grounding, like he can’t help touching me when I’m near.
Daisy climbs awkwardly into the hammock, testing her balance. It wobbles once, violently, before she settles, arms thrown wide, grinning up at the leaves. Wrecker watches her with that quiet awe he always gets when she smiles.
That’s when Max speaks. He looks at me. Then Liam. Then Wrecker. Then back at the small girl curled in the hammock, like she’s finally found a place to rest.
“That’s it,” Max says, voice firm and final. “She’s staying with us.”
The words hit the air like a stone dropped in still water. We all stare at him. Wrecker is the first to speak. “You sure?” he asks, voice low, rough with emotion he tries, and fails to hide.
I tilt my head, searching Max’s face. “Our lives aren’t exactly set up for kids to be running around,” I remind him gently. “Danger follows us like a shadow.”
Max doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t waver. He glances at Daisy again, kicking her feet gently in the hammock. Then at Wrecker, whose whole expression has softened. Then at me and Liam, who sit flanking him like twin pillars of something unbreakable.
Max’s voice goes quiet. Certain. “She belongs with us.”
Liam meets Max’s eyes, the silent communication between them as old as brothers, deeper than blood. Then Liam nods once, slow and absolute. “We’ll figure it out.” He says.
The four of us sit there in the morning light, me, Max, Liam, Wrecker, watching Daisy laugh in the hammock as the wind sways her gently. For the first time in a long time, I feel something warm and steady bloom beneath my ribs. Hope. The dangerous kind. The kind you build a life around.