“How?” I drain the rest of my whiskey, reach for Ash’s glass since he hasn’t touched his yet. “Storm Dad’s office and demand he cancel? That’ll go over real well.”
“Better than watching you get handed over to a monster.”
Ghost sets his glass down with careful precision. “When?”
“In one week.”
His jaw tightens, the only visible sign of emotion on that stone face. “Not much time.”
“No shit.”
The waitress reappears with another round. I’ve already finished three glasses and I’m reaching for my fourth. The edgesof the world are starting to soften, the panic and rage dulling to a manageable roar.
“This is wrong.” Titan’s hands curl into fists on the table. “On every possible level, this is wrong.”
“Welcome to my life. If I refuse, the war continues. More brothers die. More families get destroyed. And eventually, the Ruthless Devils cease to exist. So yeah, I’m going to do this. I’m going to marry that psychopath and smile while I do it, because that’s what’s best for the club.”
“Fuck the club.” Titan’s voice is low and dangerous. “What about what’s best for you?”
“That stopped mattering when I was born with a vagina instead of a dick.”
Ghost flinches slightly at my language. Good. I’m tired of pretending to be the nice girl who doesn’t say what she’s thinking.
I grab another glass—I’ve lost count of whose is whose—and take a long swallow. The alcohol is hitting harder now, making my head swim in a way that’s almost pleasant. At least when I’m drunk, I can pretend this isn’t happening.
“I had it all figured out when I was younger,” I hear myself saying, words slurring slightly. “Thought I’d end up being the old lady of one of you guys. Couldn’t decide which one I fancied most, so I figured I’d just let fate decide.”
Great. Said it out loud. Shouldn’t have. Definitely shouldn’t have. But whiskey’s got the wheel, and my filter checked out two drinks ago.
Titan stares at me. Ghost’s eyebrows have climbed toward his hairline. Ash shifts beside me, and I can feel his eyes on the side of my face.
“Shit,” I mutter, reaching for another drink. “Forget I said that.”
“Not happening.” Titan’s grin is back, but different now. Sharper. More interested. “You had a crush on us?”
“Have. Had. Whatever. Past tense. Ancient history.” I wave my hand dismissively and nearly knock over a glass. “The point is that it was a stupid teenage fantasy and this is reality. In one week, I become Mrs. Marcus Stone, and there’s not a damn thing any of us can do about it.”
“Is that what you want?” Ash asks quietly. “To marry him?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what do you want?”
The question stops me cold. What do I want? I want to rewind time. I want Mom back. I want Jackal home. I want the war to end without me having to sacrifice myself. I want a lot of things I can’t have.
But right now, with whiskey making me brave and reckless, I want something else entirely.
I turn to look at Ash, really look at him. Dark eyes watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. Strong jaw, full lips, the kind of face that’s starred in too many of my teenage fantasies.
“I want one night,” I say, the words coming out steadier than I feel. “One night where I get to choose.”
Ash’s gaze sharpens. “Choose what?”
“Who I’m with.” I lean forward, elbows on the table. “What I do with my body before someone else decides that for me.”
Titan sets his glass down. Ghost goes still in that way he does before taking a shot.
“I want you.” The confession spills out, alcohol loosening my tongue. “All three of you. I’ve wanted you for years and pretended I didn’t because you’re Jackal’s friends and I was just his kid sister. But I’m not a kid anymore, and in one week I become Marcus Stone’s property, so if I’m going to have one night where I get to choose?—”
