Page 230 of What We Become

Eli’s shoulders are shaking.

“This is definitely . . .” I pause and stare at the gift. “A fucking knife.”

“Two point oh,” Milo corrects.

I laugh, then immediately regret it when my ribs protest. Micah takes the box while I lift out the knife and ease off the sheath.

“I’m about to cut my birthday cake with Holden’s dick.”

“Really puts the cream in strawberry cream cake,” Milo says.

“It absolutely fucking does not,” Holden tells him.

Knox makes a low, strangled sound beside me. I turn to find him laughing into his hand.

I wrap my fingers around the silicone handle and face the cake. Everyone watches like this is ceremonial, which, in a house full of violent weirdos, I guess it kind of is.

“Any preferences?” I ask.

“I prefer Holden’s dick in my ass,” Milo says immediately.

I almost choke on my laughter and start coughing, my ribs screaming in response. “Oh my God, Milo! Stop making me laugh,” I force out. “I’m talking about the cake.”

“Oh! In that case, I would like a large slice. And that will go in my mouth.”

“Thank God you’re not putting it up your ass,” Micah mutters, and we all do our best not to laugh again.

I smile despite myself and press the fucking knife down through the pink frosting. The cake gives easily, layers parting under my hand—soft sponge, cream, strawberries. Normal things. Ridiculously normal things. Made ridiculous by the fact a massive dildo is sticking out the side of them.

“Cuts well,” Milo says, nodding his appreciation of his own work.

I cut six slices, a little uneven because dicks don’t make the most ergonomic knife handles.

Micah takes over before I can struggle through plating it all. “Let me,” he says softly, taking the knife from me. “You did the important part.”

“The important part was assaulting a dessert?”

“The important part,” Eli says, reaching out to brush his knuckles over my wrist, “was being the person wielding Holden’s replica dick.”

I press my hand into my side as I laugh again.

Micah slides a plate in front of me first with the biggest strawberry on top. Knox’s hand settles on my thigh under the table, big and warm and quiet. I lean into him without thinking about it.

Nobody talks for the first few bites.

There’s just the scrape of forks, steady breath, a dildo knife on the table, and the strange intimacy of six people eating cake while held together by gauze, trauma, and criminal conspiracy.

It’s really good cake.

But I don’t think I’m ever going to use the knife in bed.

Knox finishes eating, then lifts the knife, testing its weight. “Not bad,” he says, nodding at Milo. “We should do me next.”

Around the table, everyone stops eating.

Milo’s gaze drops pointedly to Knox’s crotch. “Brother, I already checked, and there ain’t a kit big enough for your kraken.”

I snort, gasping when my ribs protest once more. “Milo!”