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My feet won’t stop until we hit the front porch. Then Sol’s command lets us stop. Otherwise, I’d be pied-pipered off the fucking pier.
I smooth my sleeves against the loss of control chopping through my veins, but my fingers drag in shower-soaked fabric.
My hair’s fucked, my slacks slosh, and I can taste Marisol’s vomit at the back of my throat.
I’m desperate to scrub us both.
To clean and care for Sol, to groom her and ground her, and let our fucked-up pieces snap together until we stop lying, claiming we could ever be whole alone.
Her scars go deeper than I feared.
My fingers strum my sternum, trading buttons for bone.
Never let them see you flail.
Her violation tastes more bitter than my own.
Fucking coward.
Who the fuck am I? Trying to tease out her secrets when the wet fabric pulling across my chest leaves me weak.
My queen should never reveal shit, unless it’s on her own terms.
Now I’ve got the realness I was gagging for.
I don’t give a gilded fuck if being a gamma elevates our mate to the top of the dominance pyramid. She deserves the throne.
But what the fuck happens to us when she shuts us out for seeing through secrets she wasn’t ready to tell?
My heart seizes.
Then who’ll brush her hair?
Jin pins my hand to my chest. “Breathe.”
His dominance brute-forces my airways open.
Reese scrapes fingers through his beard. “Was afraid she could do that.”
“Who… How… Fuck. She’s so fucking beautiful.” Dutch cups the rod in shorts. His lust rises thick as maple sucked from the trunk.
Jin ropes us into a panic huddle.
While Dutch and Reese thrum, and I breathe through a toothpick-width of working throat, Jin holds up the sky. “Do you want to let her go?”
“Fuck no,” the answer is instant, echoed by three ragged growls.
“Then be what she needs.” Jin purrs with evil certainty.
“She needs fucking revenge,” Reese snarls. “Whoever did that to—”
“Make a call.” Jin’s lightning paddle-charges my sluggish thoughts.
Yes.
I’ve been clinging to shit that doesn’t matter.
What good is looking good if we can’t protect her?
