"The blushing,” he said. Wren grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him, and Ghost laughed.
"Violence already? We just woke up,” he teased.
Buck groaned beside her, and the deep sound immediately pulled both their attention. Slowly, Buck opened one eye, and then the other, and he reached for her without hesitation. His hand settled against her hip, possessively.
"You okay?" he asked. The question made her chest ache because after everything, that was still his first concern. Not himself, but her.
"I'm okay,” she said. Buck studied her for another second and then nodded when he seemed satisfied with her answer.
Ghost looked personally offended. "I almost died too,” he grumbled.
Buck didn't even look at him. "You'll complain if you're really hurt."
"Damn right,” Ghost said as though it was something that he was proud of. Wren laughed as the sound filled the room, and for one perfect moment, everything felt normal.
A knock sounded at the door, and all three of them groaned. Ghost dramatically threw an arm over his eyes. "If that's Reaper, tell him I died."
The door opened, and the older biker stepped inside carrying a cup of coffee. "You're alive,” Reaper said.
Ghost sighed. “Tragic, but true.” Reaper ignored him.
His expression sobered as he looked toward Buck. "What is it?" Buck asked.
Reaper handed him a folder. "We got statements from the women we rescued." Buck sat up straighter, and Ghost did too. Wren's stomach tightened because suddenly this wasn't just their story anymore. It was about everyone else who had suffered along with her. It was about everyone Eli and the traffickers had hurt.
Reaper crossed his arms. "The numbers are worse than we thought." Buck opened the folder, and the color drained from his face. Wren had never seen that happen before.
"What?" Ghost asked. Buck looked up slowly, and murder lived in his eyes—cold, controlled, and terrifying.
"There's another facility,” Buck breathed.
The words hit like a punch to her gut. "No," Wren whispered.
Reaper nodded grimly. "One of the girls gave us a location before the police arrived." Buck closed the folder, and the sound echoed through the room.
"How many girls do they have there?" Ghost asked.
"Nobody knows,” Reaper admitted. Ghost cursed viciously, and Wren's heart sank, because she'd hoped this was over and they would finally be able to breathe, heal, and figure out whatever existed between the three of them. Instead, more women were still trapped and suffering.
Buck looked toward the window and the snow-covered north. He looked back at Wren, and she immediately knew what he was thinking. Absolutely not. "No."
Buck blinked. "What?"
"No,” she repeated, feeling the doom of Deja Vue. Ghost started laughing immediately, but Buck looked confused. Wren pointed at both men. "No more burning buildings." Ghost laughed harder, and Buck actually looked offended.
"We haven't even discussed anything yet,” Buck said.
"You have that face,” she breathed.
"What face?" Buck asked.
"The heroic face you wore just before running into a burning building yesterday.” Ghost nearly fell off the bed laughing, and Buck glared at both of them. Wren wasn't intimidated—not even a little bit- because she knew him now, and she knew Ghost too. She knew exactly what kind of men they were. They were the kind who couldn't walk away when somebody needed help, even if it killed them.
Buck's expression softened, and he reached for her hand. Ghost immediately took the other, and the simple gesture made her chest ache. "Nobody's leaving today," Buck said quietly.
Ghost nodded. "Today, we stay here."
"And rest,” Buck said.
