Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
10
When I came back to the bedroom, my clothes weren’t scattered anymore. They were placed. My sweater folded neatly at the foot of the bed. My leggings beside it. And on top of them, a long black shirt I didn’t own. Soft. Worn. Heavy with warmth from someone much bigger than me.
The Skull leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “It’ll be warmer,” he said with a nod toward the shirt.
“You went through my stuff?” I asked. I tightened the blanket around my body.
The Stag’s voice drifted lazily from down the hall, and I looked over my shoulder to see him standing right on the other side of the door, a smirk on his face. “Modesty clocked out hours ago.”
Heat flushed my cheeks, but I said nothing as all three men watched me when I pulled on the leggings, my sweater, and then the oversized shirt. It hung almost to my knees and smelled like soap and smoke and something unmistakably male.
I shouldn’t have liked that. But I did.
By the time I got my bearings, all three men were already in the kitchen, coffee brewing.
The Black Mask stood at the counter with the quiet, economical movements of a man who didn’t waste energy. I watched him silently. Mug. Cream. Stir. His broad shoulders moved under his dark shirt, tattoos slipping in and out of view.
The Stag flipped bacon at the stove like he lived here and hadn’t broken in last night. The Skull sat at the table, shirtless, chair tipped back, staring out the window as if he were challenging the storm to be violent again.
It felt absurdly domestic. Domestic coated in dread. I felt like this was a scene from a horror movie, and I was waking up after the climax to find the masked killers calmly making breakfast.
“Sit,” The Black Mask said, gesturing to the chair across from The Skull.
I obeyed and sat. A mug was placed in front of me, and for a second, I was only focused on the scent of hot coffee inches from me. The steam curled up from the mug like a question I wasn’t ready to answer.
I wrapped both hands around it, letting the heat bite my palms, and tried to look anywhere except at the three men who now owned every inch of the cabin’s air.
The Skull dropped his chair forward with a deliberate thud. The sound cracked through the quiet like a warning shot. “You’re thinking too loud,” he said, voice still rough from sleep and the hours of groaning while he’d fucked me. His eyes—sharp and unfairly beautiful—narrowed on me. “Stop it.”
The Stag slid a plate across the table: bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast cut diagonally like someone’s mother had taught him manners once upon a time.
“Eat,” he said, trying to soften his tone. Not a suggestion.
I picked up the fork because it was easier than arguing. Because my stomach was hollow, my thighs still trembled when I shifted on the hard, wooden chair, and my pussy was sore as hell in the best way. The tenderness between my legs throbbed every time one of them looked at me like they were still starving.
The Black Mask stayed standing, hip against the counter, sipping his own coffee black. He hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words since I’d walked in, but I felt him cataloguing every move I made.
I swallowed a bite of eggs and nearly choked when The Skull reached over and brushed a crumb from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. He brought it to his tongue without breaking eye contact and licked it clean.
Jesus Christ.
“So,” I managed, setting the fork down before my hands shook too obviously. “What happens now? You guys make me breakfast, lunch, and dinner from now on? We play house until the roads clear?”
Silence. Thick, dangerous silence filled the cabin.
The Stag turned off the burner and leaned back against the stove, arms folded. The sleeves of his thermal were pushed up, ink flexing over muscle every time he breathed. “We’re not leaving, Gwen.”
Just like that. Flat. Final.
My pulse stuttered. “I don’t even know you. You broke in. You can’t just—”
“We already did,” The Black Mask cut in, frighteningly calm. “Storm’s dumped another two feet overnight. Generator’s got maybe thirty-six hours of fuel left if we’re careful. No one’s coming up here for days. Maybe a week.” He said it as if he were reading my future or, hell, the weather report.
I looked from one to the other waiting for the punchline, the wink, or just to wake the fuck up because this was the craziest dream I’d ever had.
The Skull leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You want the truth?”
I didn’t know if that was a trick question, so I kept my mouth shut.
“You want to know what the fuck is really going on?” The Black Mask said ominously.