I hook my hand behind her thigh and lift, her leg wrapping around my hip. My mouth drags along her jaw. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” I promise. “So if some asshole even thinks he has a chance, you’ll laugh in his face.”
She moans, soft and needy, and it lights me up. My fingers push the sweater higher. Skin. Heat. Perfection.
“One more thing,” I breathe into her ear. “From now on, when people look at you, they’ll know.”
She shivers. “Know what?”
“That you’re taken.” I kiss her collarbone. “Marked.” My hand spreads over her stomach. “Loved.”
She gasps at that last word and I feel the way it hits her. Deep. Real. I look her in the eyes so she sees the truth in mine. “I love you. I’m not letting you go. Ever.”
Her whole body melts into me like her soul just unclenched. “I love you too,” she whispers.
My smile is slow and hungry. “Good.” I lift her fully into my arms and she squeaks, grabbing onto me. “Then let me show you exactly what that means.”
I carry her toward the bedroom, her legs tight around my waist, her lips on my neck, both of us breathing like we’re sprinting straight into something life-changing.
FOURTEEN
BRI
It’s been…what? Four days since my sister group-chat ambushed me about Blade like they were staging an intervention for a drug problem. Four very long days of me professionally ignoring them like it’s my full-time job.
And, look, maybe I’m being a little dramatic. Maybe. But that whole thing pissed me off. I get it. I’m the baby. The one they think still needs training wheels for life. But they didn’t react with concern or curiosity. They reacted like I told them I was moving into a van with a murder clown I met online.
As if I’ve been living under a rock this whole time. Like I don’t know Blade has demons. Like I haven’t seen how carefully he handles the people he cares about. Like I’m incapable of making my own choices without a permission slip from Big Sister HQ.
And yeah… maybe I should call them and clear the air. Be the mature one. But I’m not ready to listen to them try and talk me out of something that feels real. Something that scares me in the best possible way.
So for now? Petty mode is still fully active.
I sigh and drop my head back against my office chair at Iron Reapers Customs, staring up at the ceiling like it personally offended me. The guys are out in the garage working and blasting music loud enough to rattle the freaking floor. Voices carry through the walls, laughter mixed with tools clanging. It’s homey in a chaotic, grease-scented kind of way.
My phone lights up on the desk. Brooke’s name flashes again. Nope. I hit ignore and chuck the phone into my drawer like that solves everything. Not even ten seconds later… it rings again. I groan. “Persistent little pest.” I yank it open and swipe to answer. “What?”
Brooke’s sigh is loud enough to travel through radio waves. “You know exactly why I’m calling. We’re worried. You’ve gone dark, and Bella’s convinced you’ve been kidnapped by wolves.”
“I would gladly join a wolf pack to avoid this conversation.”
“Bri—”
“Brooke, I’m working. I can’t right now. Seriously.”
“You’re working?” she asks slowly.
“Yes,” I snap, gesturing wildly to an empty room like she can see it.
“Funny,” she says, voice flattening, “because I’m standing right behind you.”
My entire soul leaves my body. I spin in my chair so fast I nearly catapult myself to the floor. And there she is, looking like she stepped straight out of a luxury car commercial and into a motorcycle shop just to personally ruin my life. She’s in a fitted cream blouse tucked into tailored high-waisted pants that probably cost more than my rent, stylish heels clickingagainst the concrete like she’s daring someone to challenge her authority. Her hair is smooth and glossy, not a strand daring to fall out of line, and her makeup is subtle but perfect in thatI-woke-up-flawlesskind of way. A designer purse hangs from her arm, the kind that screams old-money confidence even though we 100% did not come from old money. And parked crooked outside like she owns the entire street is her black Mercedes, its glossy shine looking extremely out of place next to the row of Harley-Davidsons and oil stains.
She looks powerful. Collected. Like she’s here to fix my life whether I’m on board or not.
“Jesus tap-dancing Christ!” I press a hand over my chest. “Have you been taking ninja lessons?”
She doesn’t smile. “Hey, Bri. I’m taking you to lunch.”
“Oh, no you’re not.” I hold up a hand. “I have deadlines.”
