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“Delaney, it’s Riot. Mayhem and I are right outside if you need us.”

The room went silent, and then her frightened voice reached them through the door. “You’re both still there?”

Mayhem placed his palm against the wood. “We’re here.”

A few seconds passed. “Okay,” she whispered. Mayhem and Riot looked at each other. Mayhem saw the same realization in Riot’s eyes—neither of them was leaving.

RIOT

Riot had always been good at leaving—beds, towns, and even relationships. He could walk away from almost anything without looking back, but Mayhem was the exception. Riot sat on the floor outside Delaney’s room with his back against the wall and watched the man he’d loved for six years pretend not to care. Mayhem occupied the opposite side of the hallway. His long legs stretched in front of him, and his arms were folded over his chest. His eyes were closed, but Riot knew he wasn’t sleeping. Mayhem didn’t sleep when someone needed protection. He stood guard, he watched, and he worried in silence while acting as though he didn’t feel a damn thing. Riot had once found that quality admirable. Now, it mostly made him want to shake the stubborn bastard until everything trapped inside him spilled out.

“You’re staring at me,” Mayhem said without opening his eyes.

“I’m admiring your delicate features,” Riot teased.

“Go to sleep,” Mayhem ordered.

“I’m not tired,” Riot lied.

“You’ve yawned four times in the past ten minutes,” Mayhem pointed out.

Riot smiled. “You counted.”

Mayhem opened one eye. “There isn’t anything else to do.”

“We could talk,” Riot offered.

“I’d rather listen to you snore,” Mayhem grumbled.

“I don’t snore,” Riot insisted.

“You sound like a chainsaw choking on gravel,” Mayhem challenged.

“That’s incredibly specific,” Riot said.

“I have experience.” The casual reminder of the nights they’d spent together changed the air between them. Riot’s smile faded. Mayhem closed his eyes again, shutting down the conversation before it could go somewhere neither of them was ready to follow. Coward. Riot didn’t say the word aloud, but he didn’t have to. Mayhem had always been able to read him better than anyone else. That was part of what made their situation so infuriating. The man could read every emotion Riot tried to hide, yet he remained determined to pretend his own feelings didn’t exist.

A soft sound came from behind the locked door, and both men went still. Riot listened for another cry, but none came. Mayhem started to rise. “She’s asleep,” Riot said.

“She might need something,” Mayhem insisted.

“If she needs us, she’ll call,” Riot said.

“She might not,” Mayhem worried.

Riot studied him. “You can’t protect her from every bad dream.”

Mayhem’s expression hardened. “I can try.” There it was—the dangerous edge Riot had seen the moment Mayhem carried her through the clubhouse doors. He had witnessed Mayhem becoming protective of people before. It was part of his role as sergeant at arms. This was different. Mayhem had looked ready to tear apart the world because Delaney had scratches on her skin. Riot understood the impulse. He hadn’t been the one to find her on that road. He hadn’t felt her terrified body clinging to him or faced the men hunting her. Still, one look at the bruises around her wrists had made him want blood.

Then she’d smiled at his joke about the skeleton prospect. That tiny smile had done something unexpected to his chest. Riot wasn’t foolish enough to call it love. He didn’t believe in instant love, but he understood instant interest, and instant recognition. Delaney had been bruised, exhausted, and terrified, yet she’d still found enough of herself to laugh. Riot wanted to meet the woman she had been before those men hurt her. He wanted to help her find that woman again.

“You like her,” Riot said again.

Mayhem released a heavy breath. “We’ve already had this conversation.”

“No, I asked, and you avoided my question,” Riot said.

“She needs help,” Mayhem insisted.