All Chapters of Sharing My Best Friend’s Brother: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Nikolai Guilt twists in my gut as I stare at Alyssa's last text before shoving my phone back into the pocket of my cut draped over the chair. So far, so good. As long as King and Mason keep ghosting the group chat like they always do when we're knee-deep in club business, she won't have a reason to start sniffing around. Won't start piecing together what we're actually doing. And fuck, I hate it—lying by omission, dodging her questions. It's not the kind of secret that'll hurt her, just a surprise we don't want ruined, but keeping my mouth shut feels harder than I ever expected. She trusts us now. Fully. And that trust was a bitch to earn after everything she's been through. One wrong move, one slip-up, and she'll start thinking she can't. And if that ever happens? I don't know how the fuck I'll survive that. "Guys, she doesn't seem suspicious!" I call out as I walk back into the studio. King and Mason are still at it, moving across the floor in tight, deliberate steps

Ashley I walk—no, stumble—right past Gray like he's invisible, aiming for my front door with all the grace of a baby deer on roller skates. The world tilts sideways, and nausea licks up the back of my throat. C'mon, bitch. Just make it to the bed, I chant, clutching my keys like they're the last lifeline on earth. My palms are sweaty, my fingers useless, and the damn things keep slipping. Trying to shove one into the lock feels like solving a Rubik's cube with oven mitts on. I don't even hear him move—just feel it. The sudden heat at my back. Then his hand closes over mine. Smooth. Steady. He plucks the keys right out of my grip like I'm some reckless kid who can't be trusted with sharp objects. The metallic click of the lock echoes way too loud, way too easy. My stomach twists. Not just from the liquor—but from him. From the fact that he's here, in my space, still lodged in my fucking heart no matter how many times I tell myself he shouldn't be. Before I can decide whether to

AshleyWith the help of aspirin, a few mind-blowing orgasms, and a long nap in Gray's arms, I'm feeling somewhat human again by mid-afternoon.He's still out cold—stretched across my bed like he owns the lease, naked, shameless, completely unbothered—while I drag my hungover ass to the kitchen. I whip up pancakes, bacon, and eggs, letting the smell of grease and syrup do its thing and sober me up a little more.Don't get it twisted—I'm still pissed at Gray. But the way he showed up last night, making sure I didn't choke on my own vomit? The way he fucked me like it meant something instead of using my body to blow off steam?Yeah... that's progress.It's proof he's trying. Shows he's not out here running game on me, or jumping into some other bitch's bed just because we're not official.But none of that changes the fact that we still need to talk.Ground rules have to be set if Gray actually wants another shot with me.Any tattooed bad boy with a deep voice and an ass you could bounce

Grayson"Baby, I'll be back later, okay?" I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead."Mm-hm." Ashley burrows deeper into her pillow, her lips twitching faintly like even asleep she knows I'm still here. She looks at peace. Soft. Content. That glow that only comes after hours of tearing each other apart and piecing ourselves back together. We spent the day making up the only way we know how—skin on skin, nothing left but heat.It almost makes me stay. Almost.But War's call won't leave my head. The moment I saw the missed call at four a.m., I knew. Shit's moving, and it's worse than I thought.I just called him back. He's got a name. A thread to pull.So I sent a message out to my brothers: Church. One hour. No excuses.We can't sit on this. This is our window, our edge.And I'll be damned if we don't use it.The ride to the clubhouse is nothing but static—plans, angles, a dozen ways this can go wrong and the one way it has to end right. Catch the bastard. Shut it down before it sp

Mason"When are we gonna tell her?" Niko asks, his eyes locked on the laptop screen, blue light reflecting off his face.He's been digging into Senator Alder's finances for hours, his fingers flying over the keys like he can hack his way straight into the bastard's soul. Meanwhile, King and I have been combing through camera feeds—traffic lights, alleyway corners, gas stations—anything that might give us even a glimpse of what went down the night of the drop.So far? Nothing.Either the footage was scrubbed, or those sick fucks knew exactly how to stay hidden.Not that there were many cameras in that part of town anyway. It's the kind of place the city pretends doesn't exist—where drug deals go down dark alleyways, and the only witnesses are junkies or corpses no one bothers to claim.Even if more than one person saw it happen, they'd keep their mouths shut. In neighborhoods like that, silence isn't loyalty. It's survival.I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face, the weig