The Valmont Brothers And Their Plus-sized Addition

"Lady, MOVE!"

The scream hit half a second before the tires did.

Something massive locked around my waist from behind and ripped me off the sidewalk. The taxi screamed past so close that the side mirror shredded my mascot bag. Foam padding exploded across the pavement like confetti.

My feet found the ground again.

My lungs did not find air.

"What is wrong with you?"

That voice. Low, rough, the kind that cut through crowd noise like it was built to.

I already knew before I turned.

Lucian Voss had both hands on my shoulders, gray eyes burning down at me with an anger that had nothing calm underneath it. His grip was not gentle.

Of course it is him. I had made it four blocks from the stadium before the universe decided today needed to get worse.

"I am fine," I said.

"You almost died."

"I said I am fine."

I was not fine. My knees were shaking and my back was screaming from four hours inside a foam animal costume in ninety degree Miami heat. The suit was in the bag. The bag was currently scattered across three lanes of Brickell Avenue. My shift tomorrow started at seven and I still needed to press the costume, iron the collar, and pray the left ear had not cracked again.

If that ear is broken I cannot pay to replace it. If I cannot replace it Rivera pulls my contract. If Rivera pulls my contract I lose my only way inside the organization.

And then I had nothing. Again.

Lucian's hands tightened on my shoulders. "You are not fine. You are shaking."

"Heat exhaustion," I said. "Let go."

He did not let go.

"We need to talk," he said.

"We really do not."

His jaw tightened. "The locker room, Malia."

There it was.

Three weeks ago. An empty corridor after the home opener. His hands and a decision I could not take back. I had told myself it was a one-time collapse in judgment. I had almost convinced myself it meant nothing.

Almost.

"There is nothing to talk about," I said.

"I disagree."

A low voice cut in from the left. "Am I interrupting something?"

Gavin Steele stepped out of the shadow of the parking structure with the same quiet intensity he brought to every face-off. Tall, tattooed from collar to wrist, watching the two of us with dark eyes that gave nothing away.

His hand found my hip before I could step back.

It landed like he had a right to put it there.

Because eleven days ago, I had let him think he did.

"She okay?" he asked. Still not to me. To Lucian.

"I am standing right here," I said.

"Then stand somewhere safer," Gavin said.

"Touching." Zane Cole appeared from the other side, shoulder leaning against the concrete pillar like he had been there the whole time waiting for his cue. That grin was already in place, the one that made him look like he found everything on earth faintly hilarious. "All three of us in one place. This is new."

"Walk away, Zane," Lucian said.

"Not a chance." His gaze moved from Lucian to me and something sharper moved behind the grin. "How are you doing, Malia?"

Five days ago. The wrong elevator, the right kind of terrible decision.

I was completely surrounded. Gavin's hand on my hip. Lucian's eyes drilling into the side of my face. Zane blocking the most logical exit route with nothing but his posture and that smile.

I need this job. The thought ran loud over all of it. I need the access. I need the story. I moved to Miami with four hundred dollars and a broken byline because Derek stole my column and my editor buried me on the same afternoon. This organization is the only scoop left that saves my career. These three men are standing between me and every plan I have.

My stomach lurched.

I pressed my hand flat against my mouth.

"Hey." Gavin's grip shifted. "You just went pale."

The nausea came in a wave that made the decision for me. I shoved past all three of them, dropped to my knees on the hot concrete, and lost the granola bar I had eaten eight hours ago.

Gavin caught my hair before it hit my face.

Lucian crouched beside me, two fingers pressing my wrist, checking my pulse like it was muscle memory.

Zane dropped to my eye level. The grin was completely gone.

"Malia." Lucian's voice had gone quiet. "Talk to me."

I sat back on my heels. Looked at all three of them looking at me.

There was no version of silence that saved me now.

"I'm pregnant," I said.

Nobody moved.

"Triplets."