“Let’s clear the air right now,” I say, voice carrying easily now. “ If anyone else thinks they can do better as president of this club, now’s your moment. Challenge me. Right here. Right now. Or forever shut the fuck up. ”
The room holds still.
No one moves. Not the prospects. Not the full-patch members. Not the council. Not even the ones who hate me enough that their hands curl around their forks like they wish they were knives.
The only sound is the faint hiss of eggs on the warmer and the drip of Johnson’s blood on the floor.
“Thought so,” I say softly.
When I turn back toward the head of the table, I catch Asher watching me. His expression has barely shifted, but there’s a subtle change at the corner of his mouth—a tiny, reluctant curve that almost, almost qualifies as a smile. It’s gone the second I notice it, but the fact that it was there at all does something strange to my chest.
“Are we done with the theatrics?” I ask him.
“For now,” he answers.
I walk back to the chair and sit. This time, no one says a word. A plate appears in front of me that I didn’t ask for—scrambled eggs, bacon, toast. Isaiah slinks closer and drops into the chair at my right, eyes bright with manic pride, dried ink smudged on his knuckles. He looks like he wants to climb onto the table and declare me queen of hell.
“Marry me,” he whispers.
“Eat your food,” I mutter back.
Across from me, Asher picks up his fork with all the calm of a man who didn’t just watch me rearrange council hierarchy with my bare hands. For a while, the only sounds in the room are cutlery scraping plates, low conversation starting to trickle backin, the quiet, grudging acknowledgement that—for today at least—the girl in Xavier’s chair has earned the right to sit there.
I lift a forkful of eggs to my mouth. They’re lukewarm, a little rubbery from sitting too long on the warmer, and taste like victory and bile all at once.
5
ISAIAH
I hearthe shower shut off, and something primal tightens in my chest. I should stand. Leave. Pretend I still have boundaries, or decency, or whatever thin threads were holding me together this morning, but I don't move.
I sit on the edge of Xavier’s bed, staring at the floor like a fucking idiot who can’t get away from his own thoughts. The whole room smells like her. Vanilla, heat, that little floral thing she always leaves behind without even trying. And underneath it? Him. Xavier. That ash-and-musk shit he carries everywhere. It’s all over this room, mixed with her scent, and it makes my blood boil.
If he wasn’t in a coma right now, I’d put him in one just for that. For letting his scent sit anywhere near hers. For being the reason she’s not with me right now. I’m going to sleep alone again, like every other miserable night, and it’s his fault. Xavier always has to take up space, even when he’s unconscious. Even now, he’s still in the way. Still selfish. Still costing me the one thing I want more than anything.
And he doesn’t even know it. The fucking prick.
The bathroom door opens.
Steam spills out first. Then she steps into view, and my breath slips out of me like she knocked it free. A towel clings to her body—barely. Water trails down her throat, her collarbone, the slope of her chest. She looks like a goddess, like my type of communion. A body that makes logic collapse, that makes my pulse punch through my ribs, that makes me want to drop to my knees and thank whatever hell spat her out for putting her in my path.
Everything about her is designed to kill me. The shape of her hips. The sweetness of her mouth. The long line of her legs, toned and soft at the same time. The towel riding up just enough to show the start of her thigh. Even the way she breathes. It’s all temptation. All invitation. All mine if she would just let me.
And I can’t understand how I ever said yes to sharing her. Or if I actually did. Maybe I only thought I did, trying to pretend I could be selfless. I would share her if she asked—if she looked at me with those pretty green eyes and told me she wanted it—but she hasn’t asked. So why the hell am I acting like I owe anyone else a piece of her?
You can’t be selfless with a girl like this. She’s too beautiful for sharing.
She turns around, her hand scrunching the long strands of her hair and freezes.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” She sneers.
“Easy, Angel.” My voice comes out low, hoarse. I lift my palms. “I just needed to talk.”
“No, what youneededwas to knock.” She adjusts the towel tighter across her chest, and somehow the movement makes my pulse throb harder. “Do you understand the concept of privacy, or do the Raiders not teach that?”
“I knocked.” I didn’t.
“You didn’t answer.” She was in the shower.
