Jake lifts a wooden spoon out of a drawer and points it at us. “And nothing on the signals. Network signature was flat. No spikes, no scramblers, no new devices broadcasting.”
Ryder leans back in his chair, arms folded, his fury cooling.
“If they’ll respect me as Ryan,” Wyatt says, “and Max as…Max, then us going in is our best bet.”
“And it sounds like this woman could soften the ground,” Jake adds. “If she spreads the word you’re alive and not a threat.”
“I don’t like the idea of Max going in,” Ryder says stubbornly. His eyes flick to mine. “I don’t ever want you near a motorcycle club again.”
Damian sits down and drops his forearms onto the table. “Max had status in this club. If the guys who are still there respect her, then she’s the safest one of us to send in.”
Ryder’s eyes narrow. “If being the operative word.”
“Ryder,” I say softly. “I know these people. Babydoll’s not the type to set me up. And Cipher…he’s not like Billy. Right, Wyatt?”
Wyatt nods. “Cipher’s solid. Those older guys like Pluto, Brandon, Knox…they didn’t agree with the way things were going at the club. It’s some of the newer idiots like Dutch and Ray I’d be worried about.”
“But Babydoll specifically said they weren’t there. She said it’s just the longer-term guys, the ones who actually live there and don’t know where else to go. The ones that live offsite have been staying away since the cops were there.” I reach for Ryder’s arm, my hand resting on the impossibly thick knot of his bicep muscle. “I’ll be okay,” I tell him. “And I won’t be alone. Wyatt will be beside me.”
“I hate this idea,” he grumbles. “I fucking hate it.”
But he doesn’t say no.
Jake catches my eye over Ryder’s shoulder and gives me a shrug, like I guess you did it.
After dinner, the five of us migrate to the living room, settling into a constellation around the TV. We watch a grim detective show, the kind of show Wyatt likes, but I’m only half paying attention. Soon I notice that Ryder is leaning his head back in his chair and closing his eyes. Around ten, he pushes himself to his feet and presses a hand briefly to my shoulder as he walks by.
“I’m beat,” he says. “Good night, all.”
I watch him walk down the stairs to the basement couch. Part of me wants to go with him, but another part of me wants to stay right where I am, anchored in the warmth between Jake and Damian, with Wyatt nearby in the easy chair, long legs stretched out.
I thought Hellbent Night cracked us open and changed everything, but now I’m not sure what it means, or how much anything’s really shifted. It seems like we’ve gone back to the kind of unspoken restraint that defined our time in the cabin. Nothing said out loud, no rules laid out.
I don’t know if what I really want is just too much. Loving more than one person goes against everything I’ve been taught about love. But how could I choose Wyatt over Ryder, or Damian over Jake? What I really want is for all of us to always be together, and it fucking sucks that that’s…just not how things work. That Hellbent Night might have been a once in a lifetime experience. A crack in reality that sealed shut again when morning came.
Nonetheless, I can’t take my focus off Jake. It’s been so long since we were together. I’ve begun to miss him in a deep, aching way. He’s just so…easy. Since our conversation on the beach at the cabin, when he told me how pissed he was I didn’t tell themabout the O.D., that anger seems to have dissolved. Jake doesn’t hold onto things. He’s honest, straightforward, and he talks about his feelings. It’s one of the things I love about him. You always know where you stand.
Sitting beside him tonight, I’m way too aware of his clean, warm, and utterly familiar scent. I can picture exactly what it would feel like to rest my head on his shoulder, where the hard lines of his bones and muscles are, and the angle where his shoulder would fit just right against my cheek.
And then, before I can overthink it, I just do it. I shift onto my side and lean against him, dropping my cheek onto his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t flinch or move or react with any surprise. He simply lifts his arm and drapes it over my shoulder, pulling me in a little tighter and holding me against him. I let out a long, slow sigh.
I’m not watching the TV anymore. I burrow myself into Jake, inhaling the smell right near his neck, where it’s strongest. My nose brushes his skin, and I feel the fine scratch of stubble at his jaw.
He shifts his arm a little, his hand resting on my shoulder, and after a little while, it begins to move. His thumb traces a slow line along my collarbone. Fingers slide under the neck of my shirt, the brush of his touch electric against my skin. His hand slides under the fabric, softly stroking over my skin, lower and lower, until it’s brushing against the lace edge of my bra cup. My nipples harden in anticipation as he moves down my body.
Will he or won’t he?
My whole body seems to hold still around the question. And then his hand goes lower still, until it’s slipping under the fabric of my bra and over my breast, my sensitive nipple grazing against his palm. I exhale a small, shuddering breath, relief and tension spiking together.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Damian’s gaze flick my way. Jake circles my nipple with one slow finger, making warmth spread from my core.
So maybe things have changed. Maybe everything is on the table for us. I don’t know. All I know is that when he cups his whole hand around my breast and squeezes it, fondling its weight, I can’t hold back anymore. I roll my head back, letting out a soft sigh, and Damian chuckles, low and dark.
I look to Wyatt and catch him watching me, his gaze dark and focused. And that turns me on even more.
His attention feels like pressure on my skin. I can feel his gaze exactly where Jake’s hand is. I’m still looking at him when Jake dips his chin and kisses me, the soft, slow slide of his tongue against mine further igniting the heat in my core.
Damian shifts beside us then, and soon I can feel his knee pressing against my thigh, the solid warmth of his body along my side. He moves in close enough that his breath brushes my neck when he speaks.
