“It’s a little funny,” Ghost said.
“No, it isn’t,” Buck growled.
Wren pointed between them accusingly. “Absolutely not.”
Ghost’s grin widened. “Sweetheart, you don’t even know what you’re refusing yet.”
“Yes, I do. You’re about to say one of you needs to sleep in here,” she said. Buck and Ghost exchanged a look.
Then Ghost said, “Actually—” Wren groaned.
Buck rubbed the back of his neck roughly. “Until we know how close the Vultures are getting, nobody sleeps alone.”
“Nobody?”
Ghost stood and stretched lazily before pointing between the three of them. “Congratulations. We’re all traumatized together now.” Wren stared at them both like they’d lost their minds.
“You cannot seriously think I’m sharing a room with you two after everything that was said downstairs,” she said.
Ghost smirked. “That’s exactly why we think it.” Buck looked seconds away from punching him again.
Wren pressed a hand to her forehead. “This is insane.”
“Probably,” Buck admitted. That surprised her enough to look at him again. He held her gaze steadily now, all roughhonesty and dangerous intensity. “But I’m not risking you,” he continued quietly. “Not for pride. Not for comfort. Not for anything.” Something in her chest twisted painfully because she could tell that he meant it.
Ghost softened slightly, too, as he looked at her. “Nobody’s asking anything from you tonight, pretty thing.” Wren’s pulse jumped harder anyway despite his reassurances. She didn’t know how this was going to work with three people sleeping in one room and one bed. She looked at Buck standing near the door with his broad shoulders tense like he was prepared to fight the world for her. She looked over at Ghost lounging nearby while his pale eyes stayed fixed on her with surprising gentleness beneath all the teasing. And suddenly the room didn’t feel frightening—it felt safe. That realization scared her more than anything.
Buck noticed her hesitation immediately. “If you’re uncomfortable, say the word. I’ll sit outside the door.”
Ghost snorted. “And freeze to death dramatically for romance points.” Buck ignored him.
Wren looked between them slowly. “You’d really do that?”
“Yes,” he admitted without hesitation. God help her. Something melted a little inside her then.
Ghost watched the expression cross her face and smiled knowingly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re in trouble now.”
Wren glared weakly at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Ghost teased lightly, “you haven’t kicked either of us out.” That was the problem, wasn’t it? She absolutely should have kicked them both out. Instead, she found herself shifting over slightly on the bed to make room. Buck went perfectly still, and Ghost’s grin disappeared entirely for the first time all night. The emotional weight of the gesture hit the room harder than anything sexual could have.
Wren looked down nervously at her hands. “Just for tonight,” she whispered.
Buck’s voice came rougher than before. “Yeah, just for tonight,” he breathed. Ghost moved first, sitting carefully on one side of the bed while Buck remained near the door like he still didn’t fully trust himself.
Wren looked up at him quietly. “Buck,” she whispered. His eyes locked onto hers instantly. “You can come closer.” The vulnerability in the words nearly wrecked him. She saw it in his eyes. Slowly, cautiously, Buck crossed the room and sat on the other side of her, and for the first time in years, Wren didn’t feel alone. Outside, the storm raged harder against the north, but inside that tiny room above the Kings of Anarchy clubhouse, three damaged people sat shoulder to shoulder while something dangerous and beautiful began to grow between them.
Wren had never shared a bed with two men before. Hell, she’d barely shared emotional vulnerability with one. And yet somehow, somewhere between gunfire, dead wolves, and threats painted on abandoned trucks, she’d ended up in a tiny room above an outlaw clubhouse with Buck on one side of her and Ghost on the other. Neither touched her, and that almost made it worse, because the tension in the room felt alive.
Buck sat against the headboard with his arms crossed over his chest, broad shoulders tense beneath a black thermal Henley he’d changed into sometime after coming upstairs. His hair was still damp from melted snow, and every few seconds, his eyes drifted toward the door like he expected danger to kick it open.
Ghost lounged beside her like this was the most natural thing in the world, one tattooed arm stretched behind her on themattress while his boot tapped lazily against the floor; neither man looked relaxed. Both of them kept looking at her when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. Wren stared determinedly at the blanket pooled in her lap, trying to tell herself that this was fine—totally fine.
Ghost broke first. “You’re overthinking so loud I can hear it.”
Wren looked up sharply. “I am not.”
Ghost grinned. “Sweetheart, you’re sitting here like somebody threatened you with a tax audit.” Buck’s mouth twitched faintly. The sight almost distracted her from her humiliation—almost.
