Page 67 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"Would he follow you here?" Nick asks.

"I don't know," Marla says again. "I thought I'd covered my tracks. I didn't tell anyone where I was going except Sharon, and she wouldn't tell him. But if he has his father's resources..."

She trails off, but the implication is clear. If this Zach has access to political connections and money, finding her wouldn't be difficult. And if he's obsessive enough to stalk her after six months, he's dangerous.

I look at Nick, then at Alex. I can see the same realization forming in their eyes that's forming in mine. We need to investigate this Zach asshole.

27

MARLA

The atmosphere in the cottage shifts the moment I finish telling them about Zach. I expect more questions, more accusations, more suspicion about whether I'm telling the truth. Instead, something fundamental changes in the air around me.

For the first time since these three men practically forced their way into my life, I don't feel like I'm being watched or interrogated. The tension that's existed between us since they showed up at my door, the constant assessment in their eyes, all of it evaporates in seconds.

The anger radiating from all three of them is almost frightening in its intensity. But it's not directed at me. It's aimed outward, at Zach, and the threat he represents. I can see it in the way Russ's jaw clenches, how Alex's hands curl into fists, and the way Nick's green eyes go cold and calculating.

"We'll handle it," Nick says, his voice flat and final.

I open my mouth to argue, to insist I can take care of myself, but Russ moves closer and his hand finds the small of my back. The touch is gentle, grounding, and completely different from the possessive way he's touched me before.

Alex stands and moves inside the kitchen without saying anything. He opens cabinet doors one by one. I can't tell if he's just expending nervous energy or actually looking for something. Then he moves to the sink and fills a pan with water. He's making dinner like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he belongs in my kitchen, and taking care of me is something he's always done.

Nick pulls out his phone and steps toward the window, speaking in low tones. His posture is relaxed but alert, and I realize he's positioning himself where he can watch both the driveway and the woods beyond.

Russ and I move into the living room and sit on the couch, his hand never leaving my back. His thumb traces small circles against my spine through my shirt, a repetitive motion that's incredibly soothing, relaxing muscles I didn't even realize were tensed. Every few minutes, his hand moves, sliding to my hip or my shoulder or tangling briefly in my hair before returning to my back.

The cottage fills with the smell of garlic and butter as Alex cooks. I watch him move through my small kitchen with surprising ease, chopping vegetables, stirring something on the stove with one hand while checking his phone with the other. He's wearing dark jeans and a black henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and there's something almost domestic about the scene that makes my chest tighten even as it sends a flutter of tingles along my nerves. How is it a man cooking can be such a turn on?

Nick finishes his call and returns to the living room. He sits in the armchair across from us, his long black hair loose around his shoulders, his green eyes softer than I've ever seen them. He's still wearing the charcoal button-down shirt from earlier, though he's rolled the sleeves up and unbuttoned the top two buttons. He looks more relaxed than I thought possible.

"Dinner's ready," Alex announces.

We eat at my small kitchen table, the four of us crowded around a space meant for two. The food is simple—-pasta with garlic and olive oil, roasted vegetables, and crusty bread. Alex serves everyone without asking and Russ sits beside me, his thigh pressed against mine, his hand occasionally finding my knee under the table. Nick sits across from us, watching everything with that quiet intensity that used to make me nervous but now feels protective.

Nobody talks about Zach or the warehouse attack or the danger closing in around us. Instead, Russ tells a story about his mother trying to set him up with the daughter of one of her friends, and Alex makes a dry comment about Russ's terrible taste in women that makes me laugh. Nick smiles, a real smile that transforms his entire face, and for a moment we're just four people sharing a meal.

After dinner, exhaustion hits me like a physical weight. The emotional toll of the past few days crashes down all at once, and I can barely keep my eyes open. Russ notices immediately.

"Come on," he says, standing and offering me his hand.

I let him pull me to my feet and lead me toward the bedroom. Alex and Nick follow without discussion, moving through my cottage like they've done this a hundred times before. The bedroom is dark except for the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Someone, probably Alex, has already checked the window locks and drawn the curtains closed.

I climb into bed still wearing my clothes, too tired to care. Russ slides in beside me, pulling me against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, and his arms wrap around me with a gentleness that makes my throat tight. Alex settles on my other side, his hand finding my hip, his thumb stroking small circles against my skin through my shirt. Nick turns off the lights and joins us, his larger frame fitting behind Russ, his hand reaching across to rest on my shoulder.

We lie tangled together in the darkness, and for the first time in six months, I don't feel the constant vigilance that's become second nature. I'm not listening for footsteps outside or checking shadows in corners or planning escape routes. I'm not waiting for something terrible to happen.

I feel safe.

The realization hits me with unexpected force. These three dangerous men who've turned my life upside down, who've admitted to operating outside the law, and who've threatened and interrogated and controlled me, have somehow become like a security blanket. Despite their danger, they make me feel safe, and if I'm being honest with myself, I can't even recall a time when I could completely relax. Foster homes were never a good place to let one's guard down. But here and now, I feel safer than I have my entire life, wrapped up in a warm and solid cocoon of capable men bent on protecting me.

Russ's fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. Alex's breathing evens out beside me. Nick's hand tightens briefly on my shoulder before relaxing again. I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under, recognizing that this intimacy is different than the sex we've shared. This is more personal and I'm not exactly sure what to think about that.

When I wake, the bedroom is still dark, and I'm all alone in the bed. My thoughts drift back to last night and finding the footsteps, and then further back to my time with Zach. I'd been such an ignorant fool. Of course someone like Zach wouldn't be interested in an orphan like me.

I'd known it, deep down, when he first asked me out. Zach was popular in high school, and that popularity continued beyond. He always drove the nicest cars, wore the best clothes, and dated the hottest and most popular women. I guess I'd just been too awestruck when he'd asked me out and had agreed immediately.

Oh, I debated actually going on a date with him, but he was just so handsome and charming, and I'd though—-why not enjoy life a little? Well, that was a mistake. At first, it was perfect. I'd felt like a princess in a Disney movie. But little by little things started changing. Small things at first, like when he'd asked me to change my dress before going out, saying what I wore and how I acted reflected on him.