Page 14 of Vows of Ruin

She sets her drink down, then pushes at Max’s shoulder. “Move, Blackwood. We’re dancing.”

Max groans but stands, stretching with exaggeration. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m luckier than you know,” she tosses a look over her shoulder, already grabbing my hand. I expect myself to resist. I usually do. But tonight? I let her lead me onto the dance floor. Into the fire. This time I don’t think I want to protest.

The bass pulses through the floor, shaking the soles of my boots and rattling something loose in my chest, but it’s not the music that’s got me feeling out of control. It’s her. Wrenley. Dancing like sin wrapped in black leather and fire, pressed between me and Max like we’re the only three people in the world.

It’s all hand and hips, bodies brushing, friction is the only language we speak. Wrenley moves as fire, rolling her hips between us, hair swinging, arms looped around Max, then me. She doesn’t break. She doesn’t shy away. She owns every second of it. And I… fuck I live for it.

After a few songs, Wrenley peels away, breathless, and pulls me toward the bar. We grab waters, cooling off in the low light. I step aside to speak with Hunter, who just finished doing a round by the back hallway. That’s when I hear it. Tiffany, she’s wearing a smirk and batting her lashes.

Leaning back against the bar like she belongs here, eyes glued to Wrenley. “No wonder they all want you,” she sneers. “Who knew being a whore came with benefits.”

My fists curl instantly. I start to turn, already tasting blood in the back of my throat. But Wrenley’s face doesn’t crack. She doesn’t even blink. She just sets her glass down gently and looks at Tiffany like she’s a piece of gum stuck to her boot.

“You know,” she says, voice smooth as poison. “It’s always the one no one wants who screams the loudest.”

The people at the bar freeze. Heads turn. A few hide their smiles behind raised glasses.

Wrenley smiles wide. She just fired the opening shot in a war she’s already won. Tiffany’s mouth parts in stunned disbelief. Wrenley doesn’t stop.

“Careful, honey. Envy looks desperate on you.”

Some of the people at the bar cheer, some clap. God, I could kiss her. And I do. Feverish and frantic. Before hovering my lips over hers “That’s my girl.”

She pulls back with a wicked grin “Damn right I am.”

I don’t care who’s watching. She’s fire and fury and mine. Let the world burn.

Even after everything she learned tonight, and dancing until she couldn’t anymore, she still looks like sin draped in softness. We’re standing at the bottom of the stairs, the three of us tangled together, me, Max, Wrenley, her fingers hooked in mine and his. Her eyes burn as they flick between us. And then she says it.

“Take me to bed,” she whispers.

It guts me. Max freezes. So do I. For half a second. One shared look. No hesitation after that. We move together, up the stairs two at a time, like men on a mission. Like wolves following the only scent that matters.

Our hands never leave her. Not once. Max’s palm settles at the small of her back. Possessive. Mine stay curled around her fingers, tight like I’m afraid she’ll vanish if I let go. When we step into her room. I reach back and close the door with a low, final click.

The air shifts. It’s quiet now, tense, thick with anticipation and something that borders on reverence. When she turns to face us, there’s something wild in her eyes. Feral. She’s made of want and fire and not an ounce of fear.

They say I look at her like she’s holy, precious, something to cherish. But not tonight. Tonight, she wants to be ruined, devastated in a way that is anything but holy.

“I want both of you,” she breathes. “At the same time.”

A slow ache spreads through my chest.

Max exhales a quiet “Fuck”. My fingers twitch at my side. We look at each other—me and my brother—not a single word between us, but the message is there. Clear. This is happening.

Max reaches her first. His mouth crashes into hers like a wave, all salt and hunger and history. My hands find her waist as I step behind her, palms dragging over denim and heat. I reach for the zipper on her jeans and start stripping her down, slow and reverent. A gift wrapped just for us.

Her jeans hit the floor. Then her top. Then her panties. I watch every inch of her skin appear, devouring it with my eyes. She’s stunning. Fucking lethal.

“Look at you,” Max whispers against her lips. “Our perfect girl.”

My hands, rough and calloused, travel up her thighs, hungry to memorize every curve. I press my mouth to her throat, letting her feel my words more than hear them.

“Ours,” I growl. “Every inch.”

We don’t take turns. Not really. We treat her like something sacred. Like two men who’ve found their way to the same altar and realized they’re worshiping the same god.