Page 60 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

A dark car tears up the gravel driveway, spraying rocks violently against the cottage. Nick is out of bed with a gun in his hand before I can even process what's happening.

23

NICK

My feet hit the floor before my brain fully processes the threat. Years of training override everything else. The Glock is in my hand, safety off, barrel pointed at the window before the sedan even finishes skidding to a stop outside.

Behind me, Russ rolls off the bed and reaches for the weapon he left on the nightstand. His movements are fast and efficient despite being naked. Alex is already moving toward the doorway, his body low and controlled, positioning himself to cover the hallway.

The atmosphere in the bedroom transforms in seconds. The warmth and intimacy evaporate, replaced by cold calculation and the promise of violence. This is who we really are. Not the men who just made love to Marla. Not businessmen in expensive suits. We're predators who've survived decades in a world that kills the weak.

I move to the side of the window, keeping my body out of the direct line of sight while I scan the vehicle. Dark blue sedan with one occupant visible in the driver's seat. No backup vehicles. No armed men pouring out of the treeline.

"One person," I say quietly. "Female."

Russ moves beside me, his gun raised. "Could be a distraction."

"Could be," I agree.

Alex stays at the doorway, watching the hallway and listening for movement from other directions. His jaw is tight, his eyes cold and focused. This is the version of Alex that built an empire from nothing. The fighter who doesn't lose.

The driver's door opens and a blonde woman stumbles out, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. She's wearing jeans and a t-shirt from the Ivory Wolf, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looks panicked, not dangerous.

"Fuck," Russ mutters. "That's Sharon."

I don't lower my weapon. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Sharon rushes toward the porch, nearly tripping over her own feet. "Marla!" she shouts, her voice high and frightened. "Marla, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay!"

Behind us, Marla makes a strangled sound. I glance back and see her sitting up in bed, the sheet clutched to her chest, her eyes wide with shock. She's staring at me like she's never seen me before. At the gun in my hand, at Russ standing naked with a weapon pointed at the window, and at Alex positioned in the doorway like he's ready to kill. Because he is.

This is the moment she truly understands what we are.

Russ lowers his gun first, irritation crossing his face. "It's just Sharon."

"Just Sharon who drove here like she was being chased," I say flatly, but I lower my weapon slightly. Not all the way. Not until I'm certain.

Alex moves away from the doorway more slowly, his expression still cold and assessing. He doesn't trust easily, and a panicked friend showing up unannounced at a secluded location raises questions.

I step back from the window and scan the treeline one more time. The woods are quiet. No movement. No vehicles hidden in the shadows or glint of sunlight off a rifle scope. After a long moment, I click the safety back on and set the gun on the dresser.

"Nick!" Marla's voice cracks like a whip. "You pulled a gun on Sharon!"

I turn to face her, my expression neutral. "I pulled a gun on an unidentified vehicle speeding toward a secluded cabin where three pakhans are currently located. That's exactly how ambushes happen."

"She's my best friend!"

"I didn't know that until Russ identified her." I pull on my pants, my movements calm and controlled.

Marla stares at me, her face pale. "You were going to shoot her."

"If she'd been a threat, yes." I don't soften the truth. She needs to understand this. "Without hesitation."

Russ is already pulling on his clothes, his earlier irritation fading into something more serious. Alex buttons his shirt, his eyes still on the window. Marla looks between the three of us, and I can see the reality settling over her like a weight. We're not playing at being dangerous. We are dangerous. Violence is as natural to us as breathing.

Sharon's fist pounds on the front door. "Marla! Please!"