KIRA
A night without bad dreams, at least none I remember, is a relief.
I’ve been sleeping surprisingly well since moving upstairs into the guest room. The top level of the house is a sort of loft overlooking the great room below, with the bedrooms arranged around the open space. Grizz’s room is next to mine, and Atlas’s and Viper’s are across the open span.
When I refer to the guest room, the men insist that it’smyroom. I wonder how long they think I’ll be staying here.
I’m still healing, but I have more energy than I did a few days ago, and after what I’ve been through, I no longer take that for granted.
My strength is returning, too. My body feels less fragile and bruised, though I still need to take it easy.
Soft morning light spills across the floorboards and onto the pine walls on the opposite side of myroom. The space is simple but cozy, with a quilt on the bed, and a rug that’s warm under my feet.
In the corner, there’s a cedar chest with white folded fabric on top that makes me shudder.
My wedding gown is neatly creased and carefully arranged, with the ripped seams tucked inward so the damage is mostly hidden. Someone, maybe all three of the men, handled it with unnecessary care.
Atlas was apologetic when he told me they had to cut me out of my clothing the night they found me. He sounded guilty, as if he’d ruined something precious.
I liked the dress well enough before my wedding day, but it was only a costume for a life that was never real.
Atlas also showed me where they’d stashed the jewelry I’d been wearing. The necklace and earrings were nestled in a towel inside the top dresser drawer. They’d left my engagement ring on my finger, but as soon as I was alone in this new room, I added it to the pile and closed it up out of sight. I should wedge the dress into the drawer, too, but I can’t bring myself to touch it.
I’d like to burn everything from that day. The thought of it all going up in flames is satisfying, but I suppose that would be wasteful. Maybe I can donate the jewelry to a charitable organization.
One of the things I wonder when I’m lying in bed trying to fall asleep is what Preston told our wedding guests. It wasn’t going to be a big wedding, about thirty attendees, most of them his family and friends, but a few of my old work associates were coming, too. And Brianna.
He’d said he wanted it to be an intimate affair, with no press there, and I thought that was romantic at the time. Now I wonder if he was embarrassed about the pregnancy, or maybe the whole event was a cover for whatever shady dealings he was doing.
A wave of guilt washes over me when I think of Brianna, her car, and how confused she must be. I intend to replace her car, somehow, when I can. My only consolation is that her husband was going to be arriving for the ceremony, so she won’t have been alone. I wish I could call her to explain, but I can’t risk putting her in danger, too.
I get out of bed slowly, gently stretching tight muscles. I pull on the robe I draped over a nearby chair last night, cinch it at my waist, and gather clothes to take into the bathroom.
It seems that new clothing and care items appear every few days, coinciding with the men’s trips into town. It’s usually Atlas, who shrugs it off by saying he just “picked up a few things.”
In addition to the unwanted wedding jewelry, the dresser now holds several sweaters, multiple pairs of leggings, warm socks, and underwear. There’s floral-scented body wash beside the new brush on top of the dresser, and a few books stacked near the edge: two classics and a romance novel.
Beneath it all, there’s a faint smell of lemon, as if someone dusted recently. The whole house is immaculately clean, with nothing out of place.
As soon as I step out into the hall, the rich aromas of coffee and bacon wafting up from downstairs make mystomach growl. On the floor below the bedrooms, there’s a great room space that includes an open kitchen, a dining area with a massive wooden table, and the living room, which is situated around a broad stone fireplace. The large patterned wool rug in front of the fireplace is one of the few soft touches I’ve seen in the men’s home so far.
I’m comforted by the low murmur of voices also drifting up from the first floor. They sound warm and already familiar. When I’m dressed and go downstairs, all three men look up as if they’ve been waiting for me.
“Morning, Kira.” Eyes crinkling, Atlas pauses over a plate that holds enough food for my entire day. Rays of morning light shining in make the gray in his hair more pronounced. He’s always clean shaven in the morning, though his face shades in with dense stubble by dinner.
“Hey, sunshine.” Grizz is at the stove, cooking something in a skillet. His thick hair and beard both look like he didn’t do anything more than run a hand through them when he got out of bed. “You’re just in time,” he says. “Viper was about to steal your portion of the eggs and say it was an accident.”
Viper, who’s slicing an apple with expert precision, doesn’t even blink. “Not my fault if she oversleeps.”
I slip into the chair that’s become my spot at the big table. “I wasn’t late.”
Viper slides some of the apple slices onto my plate, but doesn’t say anything.
“Don’t mind him,” Grizz mutters as he deposits a generous pile of scrambled eggs next to the apples. “He’s always quiet in the morning. And the rest of the day.”
Viper chews and swallows a piece of apple. “I save my words for when they matter.”
After adding three slices of bacon to my plate, Grizz settles into a chair across from me. “Right. Because breakfast is a tactical operation requiring silence.”
