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I rinse her hair, then condition it, combing through the knots with careful fingers. The simple intimacy of it feels more exposing than anything we did in that bedroom. I wrap her in a towel and lift her out, then dry her off like she’s something precious. Because she is. She has been from the moment I saw her.

I carry her back to the bedroom and settle her under the covers. She’s drifting already, her eyelids heavy, her body finally surrendering to exhaustion. I pull the comforter up to her chin and sit beside her, stroking her hair until her breathing evens out, and she falls asleep.

The suite is quiet when Noah and Kipton return. I meet them in the living area, closing the bedroom door softly behind me. Bailey is with them, wide-eyed and clutching her phone like a lifeline, her gaze darting around the luxury suite like she’s waiting for the trap to spring shut.

“She’s sleeping,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Fawn, I mean. She’s in there. She’s okay.”

Bailey’s shoulders drop with relief, but her eyes are still suspicious. “I want to see her.”

“She needs rest,” Noah says. “You can see her in the morning. You’ll stay here tonight. Order room service if you need anything. We’ll pay for everything.”

Bailey opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched, smart enough to recognize the danger in Noah’s stillness. She nods reluctantly, and Kipton guides her toward the second bedroom with a hand on her elbow that seems almost gentle.

Noah and I stand in silence until the door closes. When he turns to me, I see it in his eyes before he says a word. The same thing I’m thinking. The same conclusion I’ve been fighting since I laid Fawn down on that bed.

“This can’t happen again,” he says.

“I know.”

“We need to stay away from her.” His voice is hard, final, the voice of a man who’s made impossible choices before. “For her protection. Our world doesn’t allow this. For what she makes us feel.”

I think of Fawn in there, sleeping under our protection, trusting us with her sister’s safety even after everything we did to her. I think of the way she melted against me in the bath, the way she let me care for her without fighting, without fear.

“Yeah,” I say, and the word tastes rotten. “We stay away.”

We leave the suite without looking back. In the elevator, even in the car, the silence between the three of us is heavy with everything we’re not saying. Kipton drives, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Noah stares out the window at the city passing by, his face carved from stone.

“This was a mistake,” Kipton says finally, his voice rough. “All of it. We never should have touched her.”

“No,” Noah agrees. “We shouldn’t have.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. Because I’m thinking of Fawn’s tears, her fear for her sister, the way she asked about Bailey before she asked about herself. I’m thinking of the bruises on her skin and the way she flinched when I reached for her, and the impossible gentleness of her trust when I washed her hair.

All because we wanted her so much. We thought one night would soothe the burning desire we had for her.

We couldn’t have been more wrong.

6

FAWN

My body is still on fire when I wake up to an empty room that feels even more enormous than before.

Empty.

I lie there with the comforter pulled to my chin, staring at the ceiling, every nerve ending raw and sparking like a live wire. Between my legs, I’m swollen, tender, throbbing with the memory of what they did to me. What I let them do. And if I’m being honest with myself, what I silently begged for, in those last moments before my brain shut off completely.

I hate that I can still feel them. I hate that some traitorous part of me already misses them. I squeeze my thighs together, and the ache deepens. I will not touch myself while thinking of them. I refuse. I am not that pathetic. But God, my body doesn’t care about my pride. My body remembers Noah’s hands gripping my hips, Kipton’s fingers in my hair, the way they moved inside me like they owned every inch of me. I roll onto my side, and the sheets feel like sandpaper against my oversensitive skin.

I need to stop and think about literally anything else.

Bailey.

I need to check on Bailey. My sister finally cuts through the fog, and I push myself up on shaky arms. My muscles protest, sore in places I didn’t know could get sore, and I have to pause until the dizziness passes. The bathroom door is ajar, and I can see the tub still filled with cooling water, the evidence of what happened in there. I avoid looking in a mirror. I don’t want to see what I look like right now. I don’t want to see the marks they left, the glassy eyes, or the girl who let three strangers use her body and liked it.

I need to find my sister. I need to know she’s alive. The door across the hall is cracked open, and curious to see whether I’m alone, I push it wider, wincing at the light from the hallway lamp.

Bailey!