Armen stays close at my side, eyes scanning every corner like instinct.
Sting finally stops in front of what looks like a sealed storefront gate, half lowered and tagged with old graffiti. A crooked sign still hangs above it—CLOSED FOR RENOVATION—so faded it’s almost a joke.
He reaches behind one of the mannequins slumpedinside the darkened display. There’s a click. The gate slides up just enough for us to slip through. Inside, the space is nothing like the abandoned shop it looks like from the mall.
The floor has been cleared. Couches scavenged from who knows where line one wall. Crates stacked into makeshift tables. Low lanterns and string lights cast warm, flickering light across graffiti-covered concrete. Rot symbols mark the walls in thick paint.
It smells like something faintly sweet. It feels alive. Illegal. Private.
“This is…” I trail off.
“Our spot,” Rogue says. “One of them.”
My chest tightens. “You live here?”
“We plan here,” Armen says. “Drink here. Settle things here.”
“And fuck here,” Rogue adds casually.
Heat rushes straight to my face. And other places.
Sting turns to me slowly. “No one else gets in,” he says. “You do because we say you do.”
I swallow. “And if I say no?”
His eyes darken. “You won’t.”
Something about the certainty in his voice makes my pulse jump. “This is what being chosen looks like. Access. Inclusion,” he adds
Suddenly, I’m very aware that we’re alone. Three men and me in a hidden lair inside a broken mall.
Sting steps closer. “So,” he says. “You still mad?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Before I can ask why, his hands come to my hips and he lifts me easily, setting me back against one of the cratetables. The wood is cool under my palms as I brace myself.
“You like pushing,” he says, stepping in between my knees.
“I like answers.”
“What you really like,” he replies, “is control.”
My breath catches as his body presses closer.
Rogue moves in behind me, one hand settling at my thigh, his fingers brushing slow and deliberate along my skin.
Armen stands in front of me now too, gaze burning, intense and focused. “You walk into lions’ dens,” he says. “You challenge men who don’t play nice.”
“And you still want me,” I shoot back.
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation.
“Bad idea,” Rogue’s murmurs in my ear. His lips touch me and I realize his mask is gone.
“Very,” Sting agrees.
