His whine turns into a laugh, ruined and sulky. “Fine.” He stomps toward his bag, naked as the day he was born, muttering about cruel and unusual punishment.
I smirk as I pull on clean sweats, then a shirt, moving slow, steady. My cock is still hard, straining, but I don’t touch it. I won’t. Control is mine. He doesn’t get that yet—but he will.
When he turns back, dressed and still pouting, I let my eyes drag slow over him once more before jerking my chin at the door.
“Let’s go feed you before you start chirping me about starvation.”
He grins despite himself, crooked and reckless, following me out into the hall.
The inn’s restaurant looks like it hasn’t been touched since the day the trains stopped running. Yellowed wallpaper peeling at the corners, lampshades tilted, tables draped in cloth that smells faintly of mildew and smoke. A fire wheezes in the old brick hearth, struggling to keep up with the storm hammering outside.
The boys are already spread out across two long tables, loud and restless. Wet jackets hang over chair backs, boots thud against warped floorboards. Half of them look like drowned rats, the other half like they’re about to climb the walls if they don’t eat soon.
Cole spots us first. His grin splits wide, loud enough to cut through the storm when he throws his arms up. “Finally!Took you long enough, Cap. Thought you two got lost in the wallpaper.” He jabs at the sad little menu in front of him, horror etched across his face. “Also, what thefuckis half this food? I asked the waiter what schnitzel is, and he said ‘meat.’ That’s it. Justmeat.”
Elias doesn’t miss a beat. He drops into the chair across from Cole, towel-dried curls bouncing, smirk already in place. “Don’t act like you don’t eat mystery meat all the time, Hollywood. Half your protein shakes smell like they were scooped out of a swamp.”
The table erupts in laughter. Cole clutches his chest like he’s been mortally wounded, then cuts a glance at me. A silent question:Is he too fragile to chirp back tonight?
I tip my chin once. Permission.
Cole’s grin snaps back feral. “Listen here, curls—at least my protein doesn’t look like a toddler dumped candy into a blender. What the hell was that gummy worm graveyard you were snacking on during the flight?”
The whole table howls. Elias throws his hands up. “Hey, it’s called a balanced diet. Carbs, sugar, joy—you should try it sometime instead of choking down kale like it owes you money.”
It’s chaos instantly. Viktor grunts, smirking into his beer. Mats tips his chair back, muttering, “He’s not wrong.” Shane starts whispering about cursed schnitzel. Tyler’s trying not to laugh but failing. And Elias and Cole are off—snapping, one-upping each other so fast it’s impossible to tell who’s winning.
I flag down the server while they’re still at it. The man looks half terrified of twenty hockey players packed into his dying inn, but he nods quick when I give him the order: two plates of schnitzel, bread, potatoes, water, whiskey. One for me, one for Elias—because he hasn’t even looked at the menu, too busy grinning at Cole like they’re fighting for a crown.
When the drinks land, Elias grabs his glass without missing a beat in their war. Cole’s pointing a fork at him, Elias is leaning halfway across the table like he’s going to stab him with a butter knife, and the rest of the team is egging them on.
I sit back, silent, watching the storm rattle the windows and Elias Mercer light up the table like chaos itself.
The storm kills the lights halfway through my plate. One second it’s clinking silverware and Cole trying to tell me schnitzel isn’t a real food group, and the next—the whole place goes black. A crack outside, like the sky just split open, and then nothing but the hiss of rain and the groan of wind against the warped windows.
The boys erupt instantly.
Shane makes the sign of the cross so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t sprain his wrist. Mats mutters something in Spanish under his breath. Cole? He slaps both hands dramatically over his heart, tips sideways into Viktor’s shoulder, and sighs like a Victorian bride. “Ah, romance. Our candlelit night begins.”
The inn staff scramble, rushing candles onto tables like they knew this was coming. Flame flickers against the old wallpaper, shadows stretching, faces carved in orange glow. The whole place smells like wax and wet coats.
Viktor doesn’t even shove Cole off. He just sits there, silent, massive, letting Hollywood hang off him like dead weight. The big bastard only scoffs under his breath when Cole presses a hand to his forehead and whispers, “My hero.”
Phones light up next—half the guys flicking their flashlights on, beams cutting through the gloom. The room looks like a haunted movie set. The storm rattles the windows so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
I laugh, loud, just to keep the panic at bay. “What’s next? Seance? Bloody Mary in the bathroom mirror? Shane, you got a Ouija board hidden in your pads?”
“Don’t joke,” he mutters immediately. “The walls are listening.”
That only makes me cackle harder, smirking as I lean back in my chair. “Relax, curse boy. Worst that happens is we get haunted schnitzel.”
That’s when Damian’s voice cuts through, low and final.
“Enough.”
It silences the table like a whip crack. Even Cole shuts his mouth mid-laugh. His eyes burn steady in the candlelight, his jaw hard, shoulders heavy like he carries the whole storm in his chest.
“Up,” he says, calm as stone. “All of you. Bed. Now.”
