These feelings Finn has are obviously not the casual kind. Not the she’s-my-best-friend kind. No. It’s deeper. It’s in the way his voice cracks when he says her name. The way his hands won’t stay still. The way his panic takes on an edge that looks a hell of a lot like heartbreak. And maybe he hasn’t figured it out yet. Maybe he’s too fixated on Delilah to see what’s been right next to him all along. But I see it. I see it, and it’s pissing me the fuck off. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and taste copper. It’s a habit I picked up in combat—quiet pain over loud reaction. Keeps the thoughts steady. Sharp. Contained. But nothing about this scene in front of me feels contained. Finn’s pacing. Mom’s posturing. I step closer before I can talk myself out of it, and they both look up. Mom smooths her expression into a smile. Finn wipes his eyes. “Knox,” Mom says. “I thought you left.” “I didn’t. It’s my friend’s wedding rehearsal.” “Right. I keep forgetting you're the best man.
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** As soon as the door shuts behind Knox, I realize how cold the weather actually is. The air nips at my bare skin, prickling goosebumps across my arms and legs, raising every fine hair in protest. Knox had been my heat—his body, his mouth, his hands, his presence. Now that he’s gone, he’s taken all of it with him. Shivering, I get up from the chair and walk stiffly toward the heap of clothes tossed over the other seat. There’s a wetness between my legs that makes my steps stickier than they should be. I reach down and tug my ruined panties from where they’re bunched against my inner thigh. Wrapping the lace and the vibrator in a tissue, I shove them deep into my purse. My fingers brush against my phone, and I pull it out. The screen lights up. Missed calls. So many of them. And texts. Finn. I bite my lip and scroll through the list. ‘Where are you?’ ‘Sloane, please answer.’ ‘Tell me you’re okay.’ ‘I’m calling the police if I don’t hear from you in five
*** ~~FINN~~ *** To be honest, the words sounded a lot better in my head when I formed them. There’s a difference between planning the perfect conversation and actually speaking it out loud. Sloane’s eyes are locked on me now, narrowed. I’d been searching for the cleanest way to honor Knox’s deal, because I know my brother—he’s unhinged, and he meant every word he said. So I have to do this. Let Sloane go. Even if it’s just for now. Knox’s obsessions don’t last long. They burn bright and fast, and then they’re gone. He’ll move on. I’ll get Sloane back. And Delilah—Delilah will be mine once again. That’s how this plays out. That’s how it’s supposed to play out. But I can’t do it. I can’t. The moment I picture Sloane not speaking to me, not sitting beside me, not texting me to tell me how stupid I am, not looking at me like I’m still some kind of good—it’s like the air’s been sucked out of the car. My chest tightens. My breath shortens. She’s been my only real friend for years. T
*** ~~KNOX~~ *** I can hear Hunter retching his guts out in the bathroom, each heave a reminder that last night did its job. That’s how you know the bachelor party was a success—when the groom wakes up barely human, hungover, and halfway questioning every decision that led to this moment. We both got back late. Way after the rehearsal dinner ended. The after-party spiraled into something else entirely—shots of things I couldn’t name, groomsmen and strangers dragging us into different corners of the bar, music too loud to remember what it meant to have coherent thoughts. I have a strong stomach. Always have. But even I pushed my limit last night. Now I’m sprawled across Hunter's hotel room’s couch, one leg hanging off the edge, half-covered with a throw blanket I don’t remember grabbing. The air conditioner hums too cold. The light filtering through the curtains is too bright. My head doesn’t hurt, but it’s heavy. The bathroom door creaks open. Hunter emerges, pale and damp
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** I don't think I can see beyond the cloud of rage in front of my eyes. I stand still, arms folded over my chest, watching the two of them—Knox and Hunter—staring each other down like opponents in a ring. Knox’s face, as always, is unreadable. Hunter, on the other hand, looks… tired and confused. Today isn't turning out as I expected it to. It's coming with a lot of anger. It started the moment I opened my eyes to find someone beneath me. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. But when I turned, ready to fight, ready to scream or hit or run, I saw Finn. Lying on my bed like he belonged there. Said he couldn’t sleep. Said he needed to talk. That was when he told me. That Knox had asked him to end our friendship. Because Knox wanted me. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just grabbed whatever clothes I could find, yanked them on, and demanded one thing: tell me where Hunter is staying. Finn knew. Delilah had mentioned it while her tongue was apparently halfwa
His hand moves quickly to my shorts, unzipping them and pushing his hand inside through my pants until he finds my heat. He draws moisture from there to my clit and begins circling. I'm panting and moaning now, my body moving to the rhythm of his touch. "Our bet?" I manage to gasp out. "Have you forgotten so soon? We made a bet. Wedding doesn't happen, you become mine." I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of lust that's clouding my thoughts. "Those were not the terms. You said you'd chase me." "Same difference.” “I have to go talk to him. To Hunter. He can't stop the wedding." "I think you've done enough talking today, Kitten," he says, his fingers no longer torturing my clit but pushing inside me. I can feel my body responding, my hips pressing back against him, seeking more of his touch. "You came here to call me a terrible person for wanting to destroy my friend's wedding, a wedding with a woman who doesn't deserve him. But you're insisting the wedding must happen,
I stare at him. Knox is sitting at the edge of the bed, his dick hard and glistening, his eyes fixed on me. I know what he wants me to do. I know what I want too—my body still aches with the emptiness he left in me, a slow, smoldering burn where his fingers and length had been. “Can we talk about this afterwards?” I ask, trying to bargain the only way my faltering senses allow. He smiles. “No.” Then he bends and starts peeling his shoes off, letting each fall with a dull thud against the hardwood floor. His socks follow. His fingers go to his pants next, sliding them down, taking his boxers with them, never once standing. For the first time, I catch a glimpse of his thighs. Muscular, with veins mapping their way down to his calves. Once the pants and boxers are on the floor, he pinches the condom, takes it off, ties it, and tosses it to the floor beside the heap of clothes. I don't once look away. My eyes are stuck to the thick length between his legs, the way it twitches. The v
I climb up after him, swing a leg over his face, and plant my knees on either side of his head. Then I go down a little. “When I say sit, you fucking smother me. Do you understand?” “Yes,” I whisper. I start to lower myself again, hesitating just enough that my center brushes his nose. “You’re not listening,” he growls. Then he grips my hips and pulls me all the way down. The first swipe of his tongue makes my thighs tremble. I grind against him without thinking, moaning as his mouth devours me. He doesn’t lick. He feasts. Tongue flat and firm, then pointed and teasing. My hips start moving on their own, rubbing me deeper into his face. He groans into me, and I nearly collapse. Lifting me up a little, he says, “Put my dick in your mouth, Sloane.” I lean forward, reach between us, and take him back in my mouth. And just like that, I’m riding his tongue while sucking him, pleasure coursing through me in every direction. He starts fucking me with his tongue, deep and slow, the
I stare into her eyes. “A taste of what?” “Me.” “What part exactly?” She cocks an eyebrow. “Is there a part you don’t like?” “Not exactly.” She draws again from the cigar, eyes watering as she braves the burn. Then she leans forward, blowing smoke into my face. “Is that a yes or a no?” she says. “Do you want a taste of me or not?” I grab her waist and pull her flush against me. “Shoot me if I ever say no, Bunny.” “I would if I knew where you kept your gun.” “Pardon me. I assumed you saw it in the car when you stole my keys.” She chuckles low. “I don’t believe that’s the only one you have.” “Ha.” She leans sideways and crushes the butt of the cigar on the ashtray, letting it fall. She then takes my hand and presses it between her legs, guiding it beneath the hem of the shirt. Then she lifts her hips slightly and lets me in, pushing three of my fingers inside her. And she moans—soft at first. Her head tilts back, exposing the long line of her neck, glasses sliding further
*** ~~KNOX~~ *** I fell right into that trap, let myself be at rest, let myself become too happy. And now the dreams are back. It’s the price of comfort. The consequence of peace. I’d gone over a year without them. Twelve solid months of silence in my sleep, of not waking up drenched in sweat or shivering with the taste of blood in my mouth or phantom screams still ringing in my ears. I thought I’d finally outgrown it. That maybe I’d found the answer. Hate. It had worked. Hatred for Finn. For our father. For the bastards overseas. For the pimps and predators who loitered in my club pretending to be businessmen. Hatred kept the noise quiet. Kept the chaos buried. As long as I kept burning, I didn’t feel the cold. But then came this woman. This girl who wore her damn glasses to bed like a librarian who got lost and wandered into my life, asking to be destroyed. She didn’t even know how enchanting she looked—curled up in my bed, clothed in one of my T-shirts, hair mussed and lips
Knox walks over without a word, climbs into the bed, and pulls me into him. One arm drapes over my waist, the other reaches out and turns off the bedside lamp.Darkness fills the room.I can feel the thump of his heart beneath my cheek.I slide my hand down, fingers trailing the hem of his shirt and then slipping beneath it. His skin is hot, tight over muscle. I keep going, dipping under the waistband of his pants. The elastic snaps as my wrist slips past it.I find what I’m looking for with no effort.Hard already. Just from being close.The part of him that’s ruined me more times than I can count. The part that makes me forget my name when it’s inside me.It twitches in response to my touch, like it’s greeting me. Like it remembers me too.My fingers graze the piercing, and even in the dark, I can feel his breath hitch. Just a small break in the rhythm, a crack in the calm.God, I love that.“Did it hurt when you got pierced?”“Somewhat.”“Why’d you get it?”“Because I like pain. An
“You can’t possibly be serious,” I say. “You want to leave me on this bed all alone?”I expect him to laugh in that dark way of his, saying gotcha. But I see it in his eyes.He actually means it.There’s no teasing glint, no trace of smugness or mischief. Just this unreadable flatness—like he’s trying to keep something buried under control.I grip his hand. “You’re not going anywhere.”“Sloane, listen—”“No, you listen. I’ve obeyed you all evening while you bossed me around like some war general. Now it’s my turn.” I yank his hand, firmer this time. “Get on the fucking bed, Knox.”That gets me a smile from him. “Feisty,” he says. “That was stimulating. Do it again.”“I’m not playing.” I keep my hand locked around his, not budging. “Don’t turn this into a joke.”His smile lingers, but something changes behind it—something quieter, more fragile. Not weak, no. Knox doesn’t do weak. But… afraid?Is that what this is? Fear?I step toward him and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my
Just like that, the desire drains from Knox's face. “Hard?” he says. “He’s clearly not doing well with me leaving. And it's understandable. I’ve been the only constant in his life for years. He hardly goes home. He doesn’t have you. He doesn’t have friends. Just me. And Delilah, of course. Who knows what he’ll do next? He could get himself incarcerated or worse. He needs help, Knox. Not threats. Not more trauma.” His jaw flexes. “What are you saying exactly?” “I’m saying let me get him the help he needs. There's no rule that states I can't date one brother and help the other.” “Sloane—” “Come on. I won't be able to live with myself if he does something he can't come back from. He's crazy. I should have known he'd not take this well. He doesn’t cope well with abandonment. I just need to make sure he gets therapy.” “You mean get institutionalized?” “Please?” Knox sighs and looks away, muttering something I don’t catch. But when he turns back, I know it already. He’s not going
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** I walk into the room slowly, my feet soft on the linoleum. My eyes are fixed on Knox’s hand as it releases Finn’s casted arm. Neither of them answers my question. Not with words. But the silence is loud enough to fill the space between them. Finn’s perched on the very edge of the bed now, his body angled like he was trying to get away. His uninjured hand clutches the edge of the mattress. Knox is standing above him, jaw set, eyes unreadable, his hand just now slipping back into his pocket like nothing happened. But I know what I saw. Knox had been bent forward when I walked in, squeezing Finn's injured arm. At some point, one of them will have to spill what history lies between them. Because this—whatever it is—doesn't seem like it has anything to do with Finn taking Delilah from Knox, which had been my initial guess. You can feel it—that one of them hurt the other a long time ago, and they’ve both been carrying it ever since. But whatever it was, it wasn’
“Bunny,” I breathe, crossing the distance in a few long strides and pulling her straight to my chest. She melts into me. Just folds into my body like she belongs there. No hesitation. I kiss her forehead, bending slightly because she’s always smaller without her heels. “It’s not your fault,” I murmur. “Shit happens.” “I left him,” she whispers. “I knew how psychotic he can get when he feels abandoned. Yet I left.” “You had to. People meet, and they part ways.” She pulls back, eyes red-rimmed but clear. “I’m going to make sure he gets help.” I brush her bangs out of her face, fingers lingering on her temple. “Of course. He’ll get all the help he needs. I’ll see to that.” She nods. Her eyes search mine like she’s looking for something final in them. Some reassurance. “Should we call your parents?” she asks. “He broke an arm, right?” “Yes. And he’s concussed.” “Can he talk?” “Yeah.” “Can he move?” “Yes.” “He’ll survive. Just wait down the hall for me, alright? I gotta ch
I exhale. “Just our usual problems. You know how it is.” She's still skeptical but nods. “Alright. So who do I need to call? Your mom? Your dad?” I shake my head. “No. Don’t. My family’s far away. There’s no need to make them panic and hop on a plane. You’re my only friend here.” I meet her eyes. “You’re enough.” She hesitates. Her gaze drops to the floor, then back to me. “I’ll call Knox.” “No!” Too fast. “I have to let someone know,” she says. “Just relax, Finn. Lay back.” I watch her pull out her phone and walk toward the hallway. My stomach sinks. This isn’t going as planned. She’s supposed to sit here. Feed me jello. Fluff my pillow. Cry a little maybe. Re-forge the bond I’ve been trying to drag back together since the wedding fell apart. But instead, she’s dialing him. And just before she walks out of earshot, I hear her say: “Hey, babe. So, um, your brother got in an accident and—” I close my eyes. Shit. Knox is going to come. He’ll hear Sloane’s voice. Hear tha
*** ~~FINN~~ *** Delilah hasn’t stopped glaring at me. She’s sitting to my left in the only visitor chair in the room, arms crossed so tightly across her chest I’m half-convinced she’s trying to fold herself in half. Her legs are angled away from me, but her eyes—they haven’t moved. Not once. Not since the doctor gave her visitation clearance. “Could you stop with the looks, please?” I grumble, adjusting myself on the hospital bed. My arm is immobilized in a heavy-duty sling, wrapped and elevated with what feels like ten pounds of gauze and Velcro. “I’m already in pain as it stands. I don’t need you breathing down my neck.” Delilah only glares harder. “I could go to jail for what I did,” she says. “No, you won’t. I asked you to do it. It was my decision.” She looks away for the first time, fingers threading through her hair as she rubs her temple. Her voice comes quieter. Tighter. “Still doesn’t change the fact that I stupidly agreed to break your arm with a hammer and