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Asudden commotion outside the penthouse front door startles us from our thoughts. A thud and a muffled curse has Ciarán’s eyes narrowed as he cautiously approaches the door, his hand poised on the doorknob.
Cathal is quick to push me behind him as Ciarán glares at the security camera footage but must see nothing untoward as he swings the door open with a forceful jerk, a string of colorful curses escaping his lips. Cathal rushes over, and together they haul a man inside, his body limp and heavy between them. I can’t see his face yet, but I can tell he’s in terrible shape.
“Jesus Christ, you fucking wanker. What happened?” Cathal asks.
“Never mind that now,” Ciarán barks, clearly agitated. “Just help me get him onto the couch.”
Catching a glimpse of the man’s face, strange recognition hits me like a ton of bricks. This is the third triplet brother. Caden, I think his name is. His dark hair clings to his sweaty forehead, and his blue eyes are clouded with pain.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, unable to tear my gaze away from him and my two lovers, rampant thoughts ripping their way through my mind that I can’t stop, and I’m not even sure I want to.
“Summer, stay back,” Ciarán orders, the raw emotion betraying his tough exterior.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask, desperate to be useful in this terrifying moment, seeing as Caden is hurt and bleeding all over the couch.
When they don’t answer, I take matters into my own hands. I’m not letting their brother die on our couch. It’s not happening. A sense of urgency overwhelms me as I rush to Caden’s side, and I catch sight of his wound—a deep gash in his side that seeps blood, staining his shirt a dark crimson.
“Shit,” Caden grits out through clenched teeth, his face contorted with pain. “That fucking hurts.”
“Well, it will do, you fucking cunt,” Cathal growls. “Who did this?”
“Later,” he murmurs, catching sight of me and showing more than a passing interest which buoys my ego like it’s filled with helium.
“Stay still,” I instruct, trying to keep my voice steady despite the panic I feel at how bad this wound is. “Let me get the first aid box.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Cathal growls. “I was nearly blown up, but you get the full Florence Nightingale treatment.”
“That shocks you?” Ciarán asks.
I don’t hear the reply over my rummaging in the cupboard for the first aid box.
Returning with it, I kneel beside him and meticulously pull out everything I think I might need to clean and bandage the wound. The air between us is charged with something I can’t quite place as I work carefully, doing my best to minimize his pain.
“Fuck, that hurts,” he gasps, his fingers digging into the couch cushions when I start.
“I guess a hospital is out of the question?” Our eyes meet for a split second, and something electric passes between us. It’s a connection I can’t deny—one I haven’t felt with anyone besides Ciarán and Cathal. Is it possible to feel this way about all three brothers?
“Have I died?” he murmurs.
“Not yet.”
“You sure? Because you look like a fucking Angel.”
“Oh, smooth,” I giggle, rolling my eyes. “That ever work for you?”
“All the fucking time. Is it working now?” His gaze lingers on mine for a moment, and I’m struck by the marked difference in his blue eyes. Ciarán and Cathal have a darkness that lurks in theirs that draws me to them instinctually. Caden, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to share that darkness, which intrigues me. A lot more than it should. A strange warmth spreads through my chest as we share this brief connection.
“No,” I murmur, feeling Ciarán and Cathal’s burning gaze on me.
As I tend to Caden, my thoughts race, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. This dangerous dance between us has only just begun, and I’m left wondering where it’ll lead, if anywhere.
“You always have to be the center of attention, don’t you?” Cathal mutters, tearing his gaze away from me to cast a sidelong glance at his younger brother.
“Fuck off, Cathal,” Caden replies, voice strained but still managing to inject some sass into his words. “It’s not like I planned this.”
“Well?” Ciarán snaps. “Who was it?”
“No one. It’s nothing,” Caden mutters.
