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“Silas expects the world to bend to his will,” Nova counters, a fierce, adoring grin stretching her cheeks. “Caleb is teaching him humility. One bodily fluid at a time.”
Wren sits beside Jules, her legs pulled up to her chest on the stool, nursing a pale ale. The dark-haired veterinarian smiles, the soft expression reaching all the way to her warm brown eyes. “Rowe went over there an hour ago to drop off some supplies. He texted me two minutes later saying Teddy looked like he was defusing a bomb while holding a diaper.”
Laughter fills the cabin, bouncing off the sleek aluminum fixtures.
I take a slow sip of my beer. The chaotic, unfiltered warmth radiating through this room settles deep into my bones. A few months ago, sitting in a locked room with three other women would have sent my nervous system into a frantic, spiraling overdrive. I would have mapped the exits. I would have mentally rehearsed my escape route.
Now, I just watch Jules kick her biker boots against the base of the counter. I watch Nova type out a ruthless reply to her panicked men. I watch Wren peel the label off her bottle with quiet contentment.
This is a family. A strange, bloody, fiercely loyal family built entirely out of monsters and the women who love them.
Jules finishes her whiskey, setting the glass down with a sharp clack. Her dark brown eyes drift across the kitchen, taking in the unpacked boxes stacked near the hallway, then lock directly onto me.
“So.” Jules leans her elbows on the granite. “New trailer. Massive bed. A kitchen you can actually cook in, assuming Deke ever gives either of you the need to be near a stove.” She arches a single, sharp eyebrow. “How’s the knife thrower handling domestic bliss?”
The casual question hangs in the air.
Nova locks her phone, dropping it onto the leather cushions. Wren shifts on her stool, her full attention turning my way. The collective focus of three incredibly perceptive women hits me like a physical weight.
I drag my thumb over the raised ridge of the scar on my palm. “He handles it.”
“He handles it,” Jules repeats, her tone bone-dry. “Sloane, the man bought a thirty-eight-foot hangar on wheels because he wanted you to have a decent shower. He looks at you like you invented oxygen. I need a better update than he handles it.”
A hot, uncomfortable flush creeps up my neck. I stare at the label on my beer.
Cole is perfect. He is chaos and fire in the sawdust ring, a predator covered in steel, but the second we step through the door of this trailer, he transforms. He gives me absolute, unyielding control. If I tense, he steps back. If I go quiet, he gives me space. He reads my body language with the terrifying precision of a man who spends his life calculating trajectories.
That is exactly the problem.
“I love him.”
The words fall out of my mouth before my brain can construct a proper barricade. They sound raspy, raw, and undeniable.
The trailer goes dead silent.
Nova pushes herself up into a seated position, her green eyes wide. Wren’s hands freeze on her bottle. Jules stares at me, a slow, triumphant smirk carving into her cheeks.
“Well, damn,” Jules murmurs, reaching for the whiskey bottle to pour herself another two fingers. “Took you long enough to admit it out loud. Does he know?”
The flush burning my skin deepens. My chest tightens, the familiar, icy grip of panic digging its claws into my ribs.
“No.” I grip the edge of the granite counter, my knuckles turning white. “I haven’t told him.”
“Why?” Wren asks softly.
I let out a ragged breath, dropping my head forward. “Because I’m terrified. Losing June nearly killed me. Surviving the accident hollowed me out so completely that I didn’t think I had a single working piece of a heart left.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Handing him the pieces… telling him he holds the power to wreck me… it feels like standing in front of a firing squad without a vest.”
Nova swings her legs off the couch, planting her bare feet on the hardwood floor. “Sloane, Cole would rather gut himself with his own blades than hurt you.”
“I know that.” I open my eyes, meeting Nova’s fierce gaze. “I know he wouldn’t hurt me intentionally. But the universe doesn’t care about intentions. People leave. People die.”
“You can’t live your life waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Jules states. Her voice lacks any trace of pity. It’s a harsh, blunt truth forged in her own fires. “You survived Raymond. You buried him. You took your life back. Don’t waste it hiding behind a technicality.”
I drag a hand through my loose blonde hair, twisting the strands around my fingers. “It isn’t just me. It’s him, too. Cole is so hyper-aware of my boundaries. He’s so terrified of pushing me back into the dark that he pulls his punches outside the ring. He follows my cues. He’ll ask about my past. But when it comes to us… to what he wants from me… he waits for me to say it first. He thinks silence keeps me safe.”
Wren tilts her head, her brown eyes softening with pure understanding. “Rowe does the same thing. He waits for me to bridge the gap because he’s afraid his darkness will contaminate me.”
“Exactly.” I look at Wren, desperate for the solidarity. “We exist in this perfect, unspoken bubble. I sleep in his bed. I catch his knives. We tore Raymond to pieces together. But we circle around the actual words because I’m too scared to say them, and he’s too careful to demand them.”
