None of us care that they're absolutely going to pay us back. Because for the first time in too long, all of them are alive in the same room. The girls are plotting. The guys are swearing. No one's bleeding. Or being sold. No one's alone.
The emergency meeting happens the way all "not a big deal" meetings happen. James clears his throat. Malachi tips his chin toward the war room. Nash mutters about demons. The air shifts. The men peel away one by one.
Malachi first, all coiled calm. Nash next, muttering. East goes with them, hand brushing Darla's shoulder as he passes. James follows, scratching his beard. Knox comes last. He pauses by the end of our couch, fingers brushing the cushion near my shoulder.
"Try not to burn the place down while we're gone."
Ruby gives him a wounded look. "We'd never."
Frankie snorts. "We absolutely would."
His gaze flicks over us, lingering on me a heartbeat longer. Then he turns and follows the others.
Ruby waits exactly three seconds. "You think they know it's us?"
Candace snorts. "Malachi knows. He's just letting it cook."
"They're definitely planning payback," Frankie says.
"Good," Darla murmurs, head tipped back. "Then we all have something to look forward to."
I look around at them. At these broken, brilliant, feral women who have seen too much but are somehow still here laughing over mayonnaise milk and sabotaged boot insoles. They're not flinching. For once, neither am I.
When the war room door opens, we all go still without meaning to, tracking footsteps. Malachi comes out first, expression in that familiar neutral that isn't neutral at all. James follows, brows furrowed but eyes calmer. Nash looks murderous but slightly less unhinged. East rubs his temples.
Knox steps out last. Tired. But different. Less explosive, more settled. Whatever they decided scraped the sharpest edges off his anger and left resolve, heavier but steadier. He scans the room automatically. His eyes find me.
Shoulders drop a fraction. Then his gaze sharpens, darkens, goes predatory in a way that makes my thighs clench.
He crosses the distance with purpose. His hand finds my hip, thumb pressing into that spot above my waistband. Instead of sitting, he leans down, mouth close to my ear.
"Come with me. Now."
"Knox—"
His fingers tighten. "Now, Sloane."
Ruby's eyes go wide. Frankie smirks. Candace covers her mouth.
I don't argue. Just stand, heart hammering, and let him guide me away from the couch, his hand possessive on the small of my back. He steers me down the back hallway, past the war room, past the bathrooms, to the supply closet at the end.
"We can't—" I start, but he's already pushing the door open, dragging me inside, locking it behind us. Tiny. Shelves stacked with cleaning supplies, paint cans, old bar rags. One bare bulb hanging overhead. Barely enough room for both of us. Perfect.
"Knox, everyone's right outside—"
"Exactly," he growls.
He crowds me into the wall and kisses me hard, catching my mouth before I can finish the sentence. My hands grab his shirt automatically, rough and impatient. He breaks away only to drag his mouth down my jaw, beard scraping my skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. My head tips back before I can stop it.
"You've been driving me insane all night." His hands slide up my thighs under my skirt.
My breath catches. "I was literally just sitting there—"
"Sitting there in this skirt." Rough fingers finding the edge of my panties. "Laughing with Ruby. Looking so fucking happy I couldn't think straight."
Heat rushes through me, sharp and sudden. "That's not—"
"You know what it does to me?" His thumb hooks under the lace, dragging it aside. "Watching you laugh like that? Watching you be part of this?"
