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You sat alone at the bar, a nearly empty glass in front of you. Your posture was straight, chin lifted. You wore the carefully unbothered air of someone trained to look perfectly at ease in a room full of dangerous men. Your eyes moved constantly, tracking everyone in the room. First, you’d scan the mirror, then the door before taking a glance at the man sitting three stools down nursing his beer.

Interesting.

Elijah sat two stools down from you and signaled the bartender. He ordered a bourbon neat, and then gestured toward you. “Pour the lady another glass of whatever she’s having.”

The bartender nodded and poured. Elijah watched as the fresh glass was set before you. Your eyes dropped to it, then lifted to him, considering.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” he introduced himself without offering a hand.

You held his gaze as the corner of your lips twitched up. “I know.”

He had not been expecting that. “Do you?”

You merely hummed in agreement before giving your first name and lifting the glass. “Thank you.”

The two of you fell into conversation. Or rather, Elijah asked questions and you gave carefully considered answers. He asked about your drink. And you smiled as you stated it was something kept on hand just for you. A gesture to the bartender had a glass sliding in Elijah’s direction. When he sipped the amber liquid, he was surprised to find a well-aged scotch. His brow lifted as he shot you look over the top of his glass.

Your laughter was low and rich. “A taste I acquired from my father.”

Then he mentioned the bar and it’s…charm.

Another laugh. “Also acquired from my father.”

You were fascinating. Nothing like he anticipated, constantly throwing him off with your careful answers and casual comments. He leaned toward you as you spoke, his full attention on the curve of your mouth as you smiled. On the way your fingers curled around your glass, your chin propped in your free hand.

You didn’t offer personal details, and he didn’t ask for them. He had time to discover everything about you. He always had time.

Then came the interruption. Two men in ill fitting suits with a swagger that said they were used to being the biggest threat in any room. Used to being obeyed. The taller one placed a hand on your shoulder and leaned in too close, his voice dropping to something meant to be threatening.

“I think we need to have a conversation, sweetheart.”

Your jaw tightened as you went still. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise your voice. You just looked extraordinarily irritated as you said, “If I were you, I’d remove that hand.”

The man didn’t and the room went quiet around you save for the sliding of chairs.

Elijah set down his glass, stood and stepped between you and the man in a single fluid motion. His hand closed around the man’s wrist and twisted. The crack of bone was audible. Then Elijah shoved, hard, sending the man stumbling back into his companion. Both of them hit a table that splintered under their combined weight. Men moved forward to usher the two out of the bar.

Elijah straightened his jacket and adjusted his cuffs before turning back to you. Your gaze trailed the two men as they were thrown out, then you looked back at him. Your expression shifted into something he couldn’t quite read. Not gratitude. Not exactly.

“Thank you,” you said as you stood. You gave him a soft smile and a nod. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Mikaelson.”

You collected your coat from the back of your chair and he was quick to take it from you to help you into it. One last enigmatic smile and you walked to the door without looking back.

He remained at the bar and finished off his scotch. When he went to pay, the bartender waved him off. “Taken care of.”

Elijah frowned but didn’t argue. As he stepped into the night air, he found himself thinking of you. Something about you made him want to discover everything he possibly could.

The envelope arrived three days later, delivered by a man in a dark suit with a gun at his side. Heavy cream paper with a wax seal carrying an emblem he very much recognized as belonging to one of the city’s oldest crime syndicates. How…interesting.

Inside, a handwritten invitation on matching stationery. Dinner. Eight o’clock. An address. No explanation given. No RSVP requested.

Elijah held the card between his fingers as he pursed his lips. His mind immediately went to the incident at the bar, the only thing beyond the norm that had happened recently. The question was why did they wish to discuss it with him. Could the men have been working for the family? If so, what had you done to get their attention?

He dressed appropriately. Dark suit, white shirt, matching tie. The house was exactly as he’d anticipated. Dark stone exterior weathered by the years. An iron gate flanked by two men in suits that fit far better than the ones on the men at the bar had. They watched him approach, saying nothing but stepping aside when he gave his name.

The foyer was all polished marble and a curving staircase. The woman that had answered the door directed him to the dining room. Elijah followed the corridor, noting the artwork as he went. He was certain more than one piece had been acquired through non-legal means.

He stopped just inside the doorway of the dining room. It wasn’t the man at the head of the table that caught his attention. He was familiar enough with the head of the family. He was eating methodically, not acknowledging Elijah as he entered the room.

No, it was the figure seated to his right that held all of Elijah’s attention. You.

You were dressed for dinner in a way the bar hadn’t prepared him for. More elegant, refined. Classic. You looked up as he entered. The only change in your expression the slight curling of your lips.

His gaze moved between the two of you and the table set for three. This was not what he’d been anticipating. “Apologies, but what exactly have I been summoned for?”

The man sat down his fork and gestured to the open seat. He didn’t speak until Elijah had taken it. “My daughter tells me you came to her rescue.”

Elijah’s eyes darted to you. Daughter. Well, you continued to be full of surprises. “I did,” he answered, putting his attention back on your father.

He folded his hands on the table. “I would like to hire you to protect her. At least until this…disagreement is settled.”

Elijah tapped one finger against the table. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Surely you have your own men for that task. I am not in need of employment. Besides, this isn’t the sort of thing you normally look outside of the family for, is it?”

Your father held his gaze without blinking. His eyes assessing, calculating. “I know who you are, Mr. Mikaelson.” A pause. “I know what you are.”

Elijah went still, allowing the silence to stretch. “That’s dangerous information to possess.”

“I find most valuable things are.” He lifted his wine glass, took a sip and set it down. “So, you can understand why I think there is no one better to protect my daughter. We have enemies. Some of them are…unconventional. As are you.”

Elijah shifted his attention to you.

You met his gaze with that same small smile curving your lips. The one that said you knew exactly how this was all going to play out before he was even aware there was a game.

“I would be delighted to spend more time with you, Elijah,” you said and your smile grew wider. “Say yes.”

Elijah looked at your father and then back to you and that smile.

His own lips curved as he answered. “Yes.”

You lifted your glass in a small toast. Your father gestured to someone to serve their guest and returned to his own food.

The meal was excellent. The conversation, what little there was of it, was simple, surface level. Discussions of the weather and what you’d done that day. Through it all, Elijah watched you.

The meal ended and plans were made. Details discussed. To a point. When they finished, Elijah stood and thanked your father for the meal before turning to you. “Until tomorrow, then,” he said.

You smiled. “Until tomorrow.”

He left the same way he had entered. He stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the building. At the windows glowing warm with light, you somewhere behind them. He had spent hundreds of years in anonymity only to have it all unraveled by a woman in a bar who was so much more than she seemed.

As he walked away, he found he didn’t mind very much at all.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, running over and picking you up in a bear hug to spin you around. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“Just barely,” you said as you pushed at his shoulders. “Let me go, you oaf.”

“Nope. I’m taking you back to ours. We’re having a party tonight and you’re coming.”

Before you could respond another voice interrupted.

“Put her down.”

Craig immediately complied and stepped back putting his hands up. He gave a crooked grin that said he knew something everyone else didn’t. “No problem. Make sure she comes to the party though.”

You watched him run off then turned to greet your favorite Cody. You used a hand to shelter your eyes from the sun. “Hello, Andrew.”

He nodded once in response. “You’re back.” His fingers twitched at his sides.

“Yeah. A few days ago.” You bit the inside of your lip to keep from saying something stupid. You’d had a crush on Andrew Cody since you were sixteen years old. And, while he tolerated you better than most, you were under no delusions that he felt the same.

“How long?”

“I’m back for good. School’s done.”

The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “Good. See you later.”

Your gaze trailed him as he passed you to rejoin his brothers and sighed. You’d hoped that distance would have tamped your attraction for the man.

It had not.

The Cody house was loud and messy and exactly what you’d been expecting. Bottles and empty cups littered every surface. Music flooded the air from the speakers causing all the conversation around you to be louder to compensate. You wrinkled your nose as a tendril of smoke from a joint drifted your direction.

You leaned against the house, beer sweating in your hand as you watched Pope. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He never did at these things. He stood with his back to the fence at the far side of the yard, beer hanging from two fingers as his eyes took in everything around him in slow methodical sweeps. You’d seen him do this a hundred times. Always the still point in the Cody chaos.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until Craig materialized at your side. “What are you doing?”

You didn’t bother glancing at him. “People watching.”

“Uh huh.” Craig leaned in, shoulder bumping yours. “You’re Pope watching. There’s a difference.”

“Fuck off.”

“He likes you.” He said it like he was handing you a winning lottery ticket and you should be eternally grateful. It was how he said most things to be honest. Always thinking he knew something the rest of the world was too stupid to see. He didn’t.

“Don’t be stupid, Craig. He does not. Why would he?”

“Just trust me.”

You turned then to blink at him in disbelief. “Why would I do that? You told Deran I had a dolphin tattoo on my ass and he spent a week trying to get a glimpse of it.”

He snorted. “That was funny.”

“Not for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have people to watch. Not Pope. People.”

Craig threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. Don’t listen to me. See if I care.” He hooked his arm around the shoulders of a passing brunette and led her into the crowd.

You made an effort to look anywhere but Pope after that.

Pope hated parties. Hated that Smurf let his brothers do whatever they wanted. He should have moved out when Baz did. A least then he’d have somewhere to escape to when they were doing this shit. He kept his eyes moving over the crowd, making sure no one fucked up his shit or overdosed in the pool. Fucking hell.

His eyes snagged on you every time they passed over you. You were wearing a tank top and shorts and looked like you belonged here. And you did, more that most of these people anyway. He should talk to you. He wanted to but you didn’t need him bugging you. You’d just gotten home, back in Oceanside where he could keep tabs on you. He didn’t want to scare you off.

Craig sidled up to him and nudged him with his elbow.

“Don’t,” Pope said, not looking at him.

“She likes you, too, you know.”

Pope’s gaze shot over to his brother before finding you in the crowd again. For a brief moment, hope swelled, then he remembered who he was talking to. “Leave it.”

Craig huffed out a breath. “Look, I’m not giving you shit. I’m being serious right now. You should ask her out. Right now. Get the both of you out of here.”

The image of the two of you sitting side by side at the beach flashed through his mind. He blinked it away. “She doesn’t like me, okay. Not like that. She couldn’t.”

Craig tilted his head back with a groan. “Can you just trust me for once? Please?”

Pope stared at him for a beat. “Why would I do that?”

His brother stared back then looked to you and back to Pope. “I hate you both.” Then he was gone, moving toward the cooler to get another beer.

The party kept moving. Music thumping, people shouting. Pope shifted his weight as his eyes drifted across the patio and found you already looking at him. He went utterly still as you held his gaze. Then, you looked away and it was as if it had never happened at all.

Pope drove past your apartment building twice before he pulled over. His hands gripped the wheel as he watched your door on the second floor. Your curtains were closed but that didn’t mean anything. Sometimes you did that to keep the heat out. He glanced at the flowers on the floorboard beside him. They were nothing fancy, but they were your favorite colors.

He’d noticed when you were at the house the day before that you were more quiet than usual. Contemplative. He missed your smile and wanted to bring it back. So flowers. You loved flowers. But would you want them from him?He swallowed, gaze moving back to your door. He’d just leave them on your doorstep. The whole point was to not make a thing of it.

Back in the truck, he drove the ten minutes to the Cody house, his brain stuck on you. Maybe he should have knocked, handed them to you directly. As he walked past the living room, he stopped cold.

You were on the couch.

Not in his head, but actually there, legs tucked under you with a glass of what looked like lemonade in your hand. You glanced up and your eyes widened a fraction when you spotted him.

He crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside you. He sat close enough to smell the clean scent that clung to your skin. You never doused yourself in perfumes or heavily scented lotions. It was another thing he loved about you.

“What are you doing here?” he said, voice rough as always.

Your fingers tapped against the side of the glass. “Smurf wanted me to come for dinner. Is that okay?”

He studied you. Your face was doing that thing it did when you were trying to read him, the furrow between your brows, mouth turned down slightly at the corners. He’d forgotten that about you. How you watched.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he finally said. “You can be here whenever you want.”

You gave him a small smile and a nod and something in him loosened, just a little.

At dinner, you sat across from Pope and watched the chaos around you.

Craig was talking about a wave he’d caught that morning, hands moving through the air. His voice buried Pope’s attempt to say something and the latter’s mouth snapped shut. He cut into his steak and said nothing.

Deran cut in to say something about a fight at the pier and a kid who had gotten his board stolen. “He just fucking took off like—”

Smurf turned to Craig. “Did you get the papers I asked you to pick up?”

Craig frowned. “Yeah, they’re in the other room. I told you that al—”

“Good. Deran, eat your vegetables before they get cold.”

The conversation moved around Pope, never including him. He ate methodically. Every few bites he’d look up, eyes scanning the table, taking inventory. Once, his gaze landed on you and held for a beat too long before dropping back to his plate.

You kept your face still even as you cataloged every slight.

You saw the way his jaw tightened when Craig talked over him. The way his fingers gripped the fork a little too hard when Smurf redirected the conversation for the third time. The way he chewed each bite thoroughly before swallowing. As if he was counting seconds in his head.

You saw all of it and said nothing. Because saying something would mean admitting you were paying attention and paying attention to Andrew Cody was a habit you’d promised yourself you’d break.

But you couldn’t just leave it. Couldn’t let him believe he was the least important person in the room.

The next day, you left an envelope on the windshield of Pope’s truck where it sat in the Cody driveway. Inside was a DVD of a National Geographic special about deep-sea predators and a note.

I see you. I always see you.

Deran found the envelope, bringing it in the house with him and tossing it at Pope where he sat on the couch. “Someone left that on your truck.” Just as quick as he’d appeared the boy was gone.

Pope’s brow furrowed as he opened the envelope and dumped the contents into his lap. The DVD case was warm in his hands as he turned it over to read the back. Then he saw the note.

His thumb traced the edge of the paper. He read it once. Then again. The corner of his mouth pulled up. Just barely. He folded the note and slipped it into his wallet.

Pope hadn’t seen you in three days, which was more than a little unusual. Since you’d returned to Oceanside, you’d been spending a lot of time with the Codys.

He found Craig in the kitchen, shirtless, eating cereal straight from the box, chasing it with a drink of the milk sitting on the counter beside him.

Pope’s lip curled. His brothers were disgusting. “Where is she?” he asked.

Craig looked up. “Who?”

Pope stared at him.

“Oh. Car trouble. Took it to that place on Brighton with the sign that looks like it’s falling over.”

Pope braced his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “And?”

Craig shrugged. “And they quoted her some bullshit number. Like, way high. She thinks they’re trying to scam her because she’s a girl and doesn’t know cars. So, she’s going to have it towed to get a second opinion. She’s waiting for her dad to pay her. Stingy bastard.”

“Which shop on Brighton?”

“You know, uh, Vic’s? Vinnies? Something with a V.”

Pope nodded once and poured himself a cup of coffee. He had a job for Smurf he needed to take care of. Some asshole that owed her money and took off to Ventura. The kind of thing that would take a couple of days if everything went right, longer if it didn’t. Regardless, he’d be taking a vehicle that couldn’t be traced to him.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said. “My truck will be here if you want to use it.”

Craig’s brows went up. “For real?” Craig had been driving an old beater for the last couple of months after he dumped his bike drinking and driving.

“If she needs a ride anywhere, to get groceries, to go to work, fucking anywhere, you take her. That’s the deal. Promise me or I keep the keys.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Promise me, Craig.”

“I promise, Jesus, I’ll drive her wherever she needs.”

Pope placed the keys in his hand but held onto them. “Do not wreck my truck.”

After another round of assurances from Craig, Pope finally relinquished the keys. He only hoped his brother didn’t give him a reason to regret it.

Two days later, you got a call.

“Ma’am, this is Vic’s Auto Repair. Your vehicle is ready for pickup.”

You frowned. “I didn’t authorize any work.”

“We understand that, but the repairs have been completed and the bill has been taken care of. If you could pick it up as soon as possible, we’d appreciate it.”

“Who paid for it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have that information. Vic did request you take your vehicle elsewhere from now on. Sorry.”

You hung up and stared at the wall for a full minute, running through the short list of people in your life who both knew about the car and had the money to spare. You sent off a message.

Twenty minutes later, Craig pulled up in Pope’s truck.

You opened the door and took in the sight before you. The floor mats were covered in fast food wrappers. There was mud smeared across the dashboard. The cab smelled like cheap perfume and cheaper weed.

“What did you do, Craig?”

He leaned across the passenger seat, one arm draped over the wheel. “What? Pope said I could use it while he’s out of town.”

“You know how he is about his stuff. This is disgusting.”

He shrugged. “It’s a truck. It’s meant to get dirty.”

“This isn’t dirt. This is you being a slob. Bring it back to my apartment after we get the car. I’ll clean it.” You shook your head as you used the hand hold to haul yourself into the passenger seat, curling your lip at the filth.

“What am I supposed to drive then?”

“Oh, you’re helping. This is a two person job and you’re person number two.”

He groaned but didn’t argue, which told you he felt at least a little guilty.

“So, what happened with the second opinion? I thought you were holding off,” he asked as he drove to the shop.

“I got a call this morning that the car was fixed and the bill had been paid.”

The silence stretched. Then Craig said, “Gee. I wonder who that could have possibly taken care of that for you.”

You huffed in annoyance. “Shut up.”

“I told Pope about your car. And then he left town and gave me his truck with the specific instruction that I drive you anywhere you need.” He glanced at you. The corner of his mouth doing that thing it did when he felt particularly proud of himself. “I told you he likes you.”

“Stop. It was probably my dad or something.”

“So ask him.”

“What?” you asked.

“Ask your dad if he fixed your car,” Craig prompted.

You shook your head but didn’t say anything else. The truth was, a very large part of you wanted it to be Pope that took car of your car. A part that held out hope that one day he’d see you the way you saw him. If it wasn’t him, you really didn’t want to know. Not yet anyway. Let you enjoy your delusions for a while.

After you picked up your car, Craig followed you to your apartment. You spent two hours cleaning Pope’s truck, taking care of what you could at your place before driving to a nearby carwash. Craig complained the entire time, but did the work. By the time you were done, the truck looked better than it had before Pope left it.

“Don’t tell him we cleaned it,” Craig said as he dropped you back at your apartment.

“Why not?”

“Because then he’ll know I trashed it and I’ll have to listen to him be weird about it for a week.”

You rolled your eyes but agreed before climbing out of the truck.

Pope got back the next afternoon. The guy had paid after Pope thoroughly explained the situation by sharing his knowledge of just how many bones were in the human hand. He took the car to the junkyard and got a ride back to the house. His truck was in almost the same spot he’d left it. When he got closer and saw it was clean.

Not just clean. Spotless. The windows gleamed. The tires had been scrubbed. There wasn’t a single wrapper or smudge in sight. He walked around it once, eyes narrowed then opened the door. The inside smelt like lemon. He stood there for a minute then shrugged. Craig must have finally grown a brain. Or felt guilty. Either way, it was a miracle Pope wasn’t going to question.

Inside, he showered and changed before checking his phone. There was a text from Craig about a bonfire at the beach that night. He had no interest in going unless you were going to be there. He started to text Craig to ask about you before deleting and switching to your contact instead.

You coming to the bonfire?

You responded almost immediately. No. Sick.

He stared at the screen, a million worst case scenarios running through his head. What’s wrong?

Just a cold. Stuffy. Miserable.

He exhaled in relief, thumb hesitating for a beat before he put his phone away.

Thirty minutes later he pulled up to your apartment with two bags. One held hot chicken soup. The other held orange juice, Kleenex and cold medicine. He climbed the stairs to your apartment and prepared to knock on the door when a yell from the apartment next door caught his attention.

He turned his head listening to the man shout, mean and ugly followed by a loud thud like something hitting a hard surface. Craig had mentioned that your neighbor was an asshole but Pope hadn’t imagined anything like this. Did you have to listen to this shit all the time? You were sick. You needed your rest.

Pope set the bags on your doormat and knocked quickly on the door before walking next door. The yelling got louder. He knocked hard, three times.

The door opened a crack. A man’s face appeared, eyes red and narrowed. “Who the fuck are—”

Pope put one hand on the man’s chest and walked him backward into the apartment. The door swung shut behind them.

You answered your door a couple of minutes later, wrapped in a blanket, nose red. You found two bags on your mat and looked both directions, finding no one. You bent down and picked them up, taking them into the kitchen and placing them on the counter.

You unloaded the bags and stared at everything for a moment, debating the safety of eating soup someone left on your doorstep. But it looked good and it was hot. And there were easier ways to kill you if someone wished, rather than death by cold remedy.

You could also count on one hand the number of people who knew you were sick and you trusted all of them. You tore open the cold medicine and swallowed two capsules with a glass of water. You refilled the glass with some of the juice and took it and the soup over to the table.

Three days later, your sinuses had cleared and your energy returned. You were itching to get out of the house and headed to a small bookstore you frequented. The place smelled the way all good bookstores do, fresh paper mixed with the slight must of old books. Sunlight poured through the windows and angled across the floor.

You roamed the shelves for awhile before finding yourself in the nature section. A dark blue book with gold lettering caught your eye and you pulled it from the shelf. A hardcover book on aquatic animals, filled with vivid photographs. The text was full of facts and anecdotes from the photographers. The kind of thing that would keep someone’s attention for hours.

You bought it without hesitating.

Pope walked out of his house that afternoon, keys in hand and stopped when he saw a book sitting on the hood of his truck. The embossed title shone gold in the sunlight.

He picked up the book and flipped through the pages. It was full of sharks, jellyfish and things that lived so deep they made their own light. And then he found the note.

On the front page in the same handwriting as the first note that came with the DVD.

For Andrew followed by a heart.

He closed the book and ran his hand over the cover before climbing in the truck and setting the book on the passenger seat. He drove to an isolated section of the beach and backed into a space. He sat on the tailgate of his truck with the book open in his lap and read until the sun went down and the words faded into the dark.

Another Saturday, another Cody party. You were graced with Baz’s presence this time but your favorite Cody was nowhere to be seen. Baz’s lips twitched as you looked around the party for the third time since he’d started talking to you. “He’s not here,” he said, leaning closer so you could hear him.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Who?”

He laughed outright at that. “Pope. He’s doing a job for Smurf. Won’t be back until tomorrow.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. “Am I that obvious?”

Baz’s hand found your shoulder. “You never had eyes for anyone else when he was around. Been that way since we were kids.” With that, he walked off leaving you to wallow in your embarrassment.

Eventually, Craig found you. “You good?”

You nodded and sipped at your beer. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. The asshole next door broke his lease and moved out in the middle of the night.”

He smiled slow and wide. “I wonder why. Who could have possibly scared him off?”

You sighed. “Stop. How would your brother even know that guy existed?”

He held up his hands. “I’m just saying. It’s a mystery. A real whodunit. Maybe the guy won the lottery. Maybe—”

“I said stop.”

He stopped but the smile stayed. Asshole.

You started cleaning as the party wound down. No one helped but you didn’t expect them too. You didn’t want Pope coming home to this mess. Baz had left hours ago. Craig had crashed on the couch, Deran laying nearby. You shook your head as you moved around them, Deran gave you a sleepy smile and then he was out as well.

You collected every bottle, every empty cup. You wiped down every surface with cleaner and a rag and swept the floors. Then you loaded the dishwasher and started it. Trash was tied up and sat beside the can in the garage. By the time you finished, the house looked like no one had ever been there at all.

Pope drove home early the following morning. The job had been simple. Pick up a package, deliver it, come home. He spent the last hour of the drive running through the cleanup in his head. The party would have been a disaster without him there to temper it. Trash would be everywhere. Filth tracked through the house. He’d clean up the trash first, then surfaces, then floors.

He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The house was dark and quiet when he let himself in. He braced himself for the worst and stopped.

The house was clean.

Not tidy. Clean. He walked through the rooms trying to make sense of it. He found his brothers on the couch sound asleep. Pope smacked Craig’s shoe to wake him up.

He grunted in surprise, eyes flying open, groaning when he found Pope standing above him. “What the fuck?”

“Did you clean up?”

Craig frowned and ran a hand down his face. “What?”

“The house. Did you clean it?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

Deran’s eyes were still closed when he said your name.

“What?” Pope asked.

“She cleaned all of it,” Deran added.

Pope focused on Craig again. “Why would she do that?”

Craig groaned again. “I don’t fucking know, Pope. Maybe she hates you and wanted to deny you the pleasure.” He paused then added, “It certainly wouldn’t be because she likes you because what the fuck do I know?”

Pope drove to your apartment without calling first. He didn’t text. Didn’t take the time to weigh the pros and cons. He’d spent too much time hesitating, second guessing.

He knocked on your door, shifting his weight as he waited for you to answer.

When you opened the door, his gaze raked over you, taking in the shorts and t-shirt you had on. He stepped forward, crossing the threshold before you could invite him in.

Your lips quirked. “Sure. Come on in.”

He stood in the middle of your living room, watching as you closed the door and turned to face him. His fingers twitched as his sides. “You cleaned up the party.”

“Yes,” you said with a tilt of your head.

“Why?”

“So you wouldn’t have to.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked down as you shuffled your feet.

He went quiet, eyes moving around the room. Searching for something, anything to tell him what to say next. He wanted to ask you why you cared so much, why you bothered, but he was afraid you’d take it wrong. That he’d say the wrong thing and push you away. His gaze snagged on the TV. The sound was low, but the images were unmistakable. Dark water. The slow, ghostly movement of something with too many teeth.

The National Geographic special. The one from the DVD.

“I know this,” he said, before he could think about it.

You smiled, your face lighting with the action. “You watched it? I knew you’d like it.”

He looked at you then, really looked, the way he’d been avoiding for weeks. “That was you?”

You looked surprised as if you hadn’t realized what you’d said. What you’d admitted to. “Yeah.”

“But that means this is from you, too.” He pulled out his wallet and removed the note, unfolding it to show you the words within.

“You kept that?” Your voice was quiet.

He swallowed hard and nodded in answer. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Come on, Andy. I’ve been gone for years. You probably have a bunch of girls that want you. What do you need me for?”

His answer was immediate, tone firm and certain. “I don’t want them. I want you. Why else would I do all that stuff for you?”

Your brow furrowed. “What stuff?”

“The flowers. The car. The soup…the neighbor.” He hesitated before admitting to the last.

Your eyes widened and your mouth gaped just a little. “That was you? Why didn’t you say anything?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I thought it was obvious.”

You stepped forward. One step, then another, closing the distance between you until you were close enough for him to smell the faint trace of your detergent. You laid your hand against his face, palm cradling his cheek. Your thumb traced across his skin.

He went very still, afraid if he moved the wrong way he’d chase you off. His breathing was shallow and his eyes didn’t leave you.

You leaned in, forehead almost touching his and asked, “Is this okay?”

It was everything.

He answered by kissing you. Your mouth was warm and careful, his hand came up to curl around the back of your neck. You kissed him back and tension flowed from him as he sunk into you. For a long moment there was nothing but the two of you and the anglerfish glowing on the screen behind you.

You pulled back with a groan and Pope’s gaze flicked over your face. His hand was still on your neck. “What? What’s wrong?”

“This means I’m going to have to admit Craig was right. He’s going to be insufferable.”

When he found the other man, he was standing in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his hand and an agitated expression on his face. “What—”

Clint shook his head sharply and shot Tony a glare to shut him up.

Okay.

Tony moved to his side and stood beside him. Clint lifted his chin in a gesture that said over there without him uttering a word. Tony followed his gaze.

You were on the couch with Natasha, laughing at something she’d said, your head tipped back and one hand pressed to your chest. The sight of it had him smiling as your laughter normally did. But then his gaze traced the line of you as he realized what you were wearing.

A dress in your favorite color, fitted in all the right places. It was subtle but caught his attention all the same. You clearly had plans. His mind raced as he tried to remember if there was anything on the schedule.

Clint lifted his mug to hide his mouth “She has a date,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. What? Surely, he hadn’t heard that correctly. There was no way you had a date. It wasn’t possible.

Not because you couldn’t get one. No, they knew better than anyone how stunning you were. How sweet. But you were theirs.

Okay, so maybe they hadn’t asked you to be theirs, or even mentioned they liked you that way, but still. It was understood. At least he had thought it was. Apparently, you’d missed the memo.

Clint set his mug on the counter in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest. His jaw tightened, a muscle working beneath the stubble. They watched you talk to Natasha, your hands moving as you spoke. Something about the way you looked in that moment had Tony feeling rather hollow.

You turned and caught sight of them standing behind the kitchen island and your face lit with a smile. “Hey, I didn’t realize you two were here.”

They straightened at the same time, Tony crossing his arms to unconsciously mirror Clint’s posture. They stepped around the island, moving into the living room to close the distance between you. Tony got there first.

“You look incredible,” he stated then wanted to smack himself for his lack of originality. Really, incredible? He couldn’t do better than that?

“You really do,” Clint said as he held your gaze. The words were weighted, as if to say far more than they actually did.

Natasha’s gaze moved between the three of you slowly. One eyebrow lifted then settled back into place.

“Thanks,” you said, a shy smile curving your lips. “I should…I have to finish getting ready.”

“Have fun,” Natasha said, her voice teasing.

You nodded, gave her the flash of a smile and then you were gone, the sound of your footsteps fading down the hall toward the elevator.

The moment the doors slid shut, Natasha turned to face them, the corner of her lips kicking up into a smirk as she stood. “Sterling. Eight o’clock reservation.”

Tony looked at Clint. Clint looked at Tony.

A full second of silence stretched between them then they both moved at once.

You’d been to Sterling once before. Everything was dark wood, cream linens and dim lighting. The food was good, but it really wasn’t your sort of place. Too formal, too quiet. Just too much, truth be told. Tony and Clint had brought you here for your birthday and you’d left halfway through the meal to get a greasy burger at a diner a few blocks away.

You sighed at the thought of the two men. You’d rather be anywhere with them than here right now. And that was precisely the problem. You were hopelessly in love with two men who were in love with each other. They loved you too, you knew they did. Just not the way you needed them to.

After you’d caught yourself daydreaming about what ifs one too many times, you decided you needed to do something about it. So, you’d joined a dating app for the ‘rich and famous’. You couldn’t exactly join Tinder when you were an Avenger. Well, you could, but that would be kind of stupid. Much better to join a service that carefully vetted its members.

You were the first to arrive at the restaurant, five minutes early. The host showed you to the table and a server appeared moments later. You ordered a glass of wine to sip while you waited. After deciding what you wanted, you set the menu aside and surveyed the room around you.

Quiet conversation hummed through the air, the clink of cutlery against fine china. Couples filled the tables, with an occasional group sprinkled throughout. God, you really hated this place. But Josh had informed you where you would be dining and you hadn’t argued.

You blinked at that thought. What the fuck was wrong with you? Stupid question. You knew the answer. Tony Stark and Clint Barton, certified menaces.

The minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. Fifteen.

You glanced at your phone. Nothing.

Ten more minutes passed and your server informed you that you’d need to leave if you didn’t order soon. Embarrassment flooded through you as you nodded. “Give me just a moment, please.”

His smile was tight. “Of course, ma’am.”

You pulled out your phone again and pulled up the app to message Josh. Instead, you found yourself blocked.

What. The. Fuck? He couldn’t even send you a message to cancel? Asshole.

You glanced at the still half full glass of wine you’d been nursing for the past half hour, wishing you’d ordered something stronger. You signaled for the server and placed your order. Your date may have bailed but you were starving and weren’t really in the mood to go anywhere else.

“She’ll be at our table and on our ticket,” a voice interrupted as you finished.

You turned in surprise to find Clint smiling at you. Your gaze flicked over the length of him. It was rare to see him in a suit, but he wore them so well.

“Is that alright with you?” the server asked and you nodded absently in answer.

Clint reached past you to grab your wine glass and held out a hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Tony’s waiting.”

Your hand slipped into his without thought and you allowed him to lead you to a table tucked in the corner. Tony stood to greet you, kissing your cheek and pulling out your chair. Once you were settled, you looked between the two of them. “What are you doing here?”

“Having dinner,” Tony answered automatically.

You shot him a narrowed eyed gaze, shifting it to Clint and back again. “No. I want to know the real reason you’re here.”

Clint pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Nat told us where your date was. Well, where it was supposed to be.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Barton.”

He sighed and looked at Tony who straightened in his seat and cleared his throat. “We should have said something months ago.”

Clint’s fingers traced an absent pattern on the tablecloth. When he spoke his words were slow, measured. Careful. “We were worried about making things strange, or losing you entirely if we got it wrong.”

Your eyes moved between the two men trying to decipher what they were saying. Tony turned the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl. You reached over and snatched it from his hand, downing half of it in one swallow. He blinked in surprise, then his lips curled up in a smile as he laughed.

“I love you.” The words were light, full of mirth. Nothing he hadn’t said to you before in relaxed moments. His laughter faded and his gaze studied your face. “I am in love with you. So is Clint.”

Everything seemed to pause for just one moment. “I…what?” you finally managed to stutter out.

Clint nodded once in confirmation as Tony continued. “We’d rather risk this conversation, risk you walking away and wanting nothing to do with us than watch you sit alone at a table waiting for someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

The silence that followed had weight as they waited for your response. Your hand tightened around Tony’s glass as you searched for any sign that this was some cruel joke.

“I’ve been trying to get over you,” you finally admitted, your words so quiet, both men leaned forward to catch them. “Both of you. For months. You had each other. I assumed there was no room for me.”

They went completely still, their gazes running over you as you’d just done to them. It had the corner of your lips curling up in a smile.

Tony reached out and plucked his glass from your hand and set it on the table. Then he laced his fingers with yours and pulled your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it.

“There’s always been room for you,” Clint said. “Just took us a while to let you know.”

The server appeared with your food, setting your plate in front of you. The interruption gave you a moment to collect yourself, to process what was happening. When he left, you looked at the food, suddenly not hungry. You finally looked up to meet Tony’s gaze. “What happens now?”

He glanced at Clint before turning back to you. “That’s up to you. We’ve laid our cards on the table.”

“There’s no pressure here. If you need time to think, we understand. And if the answer is no, we still want to be your friends. You’re too important for us to lose you,” Clint added.

Time. The thing you’d already wasted months of apparently.

“I don’t need time. I’ve wanted this for so long I thought I was going insane.” Your voice was steadier than you’d anticipated.

Tony’s smile was immediate, lighting up his entire face. Clint’s expression softened and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

Tony lifted a brow as he looked at your plate. “So, should we blow this place and go somewhere less stuffy? More greasy diner perhaps?”

You laughed. “God, yes. I hate this place.”

Clint grinned. “Noted. No more fancy restaurants for dates.”

“Dates.” The word felt right on your tongue. Perfect even.

Maybe being stood up wasn’t such a disaster after all.

“Hey, Sweetheart, it's Sam,” your friend’s familiar voice answered and a tendril of cold fear crawled up his spine. Realistically Jack knew Sam wouldn’t be making light if something were seriously wrong, but if you were fine, he wouldn’t be calling at all. “Your girl got cracked in the head with a bottle during a bar fight. She's bleeding like hell and probably needs stitches.”

Jack gripped the edge of the counter. “How much blood are we talking?”

Lena’s head snapped up, a question in her eyes. He shook his head once to let her know he didn’t know anything yet.

“She’s soaked through the towel but I’m afraid to replace it. Bottle broke so I’m sure there’s glass. I’m putting her in the car right now.”

“Bring her in through the ambulance bay. We’ll keep an eye out.” His voice had shifted into something flat and practical. His doctor voice. The only one he could trust wouldn’t crack. “Drive safe.”

He hung up without waiting for a response so Sam could focus on the road.

“What’s going on, Jack?” Lena asked.

He huffed out a sigh. “I need a room. Girlfriend took a bottle to the head in a barfight.”

“Is she okay?” she asked even as she clicked through the computer. “Three’s open.”

“It seems like it but until I see her…” he trailed off and Lena reached out to pat his hand.

“Understandable. You take care of her and we’ll take care of everything else. Okay?”

“Thank you, Lena.” He stepped away from the counter. His thumb hovered over Robby’s contact for half a second before he pressed it.

He answered on the second ring. “Jack? Everything okay?” His voice was rough like he’d been sleeping, or trying to.

“Sam called. There was fight at the bar. She took a bottle to the head. He’s bringing her in, said it’s bleeding pretty—“

“I’ll be right there.”

The line went dead. Jack stared at the screen for a beat then slid the phone back into his pocket. Of course, Robby would come immediately. He didn’t know why he thought the man would do any differently. He’d been falling apart without you for weeks, begging for a scrap of attention. Of course, he was going to come when you needed him.

Jack grabbed a wheelchair and headed outside to wait for you. The air was cool against his skin and he took a deep breath to center himself. He counted seconds in his head as his mind kept supplying images he didn’t need. The crack of glass against your skull. Blood soaking through one of the white bar towels Sam used. He’d seen enough head injuries to know what they looked like in graphic detail, to understand how dramatically they bled.

But this was different. This was you. Your blood. You most likely trying to convince everyone you were fine when you most assuredly were not. Anger spiked through him hot and sudden. Not at you but at the asshole who’d thrown the bottle, at whoever started the fight that put you at risk. At the whole fucking night that had ended with you bleeding in Sam’s car on your way to the one place Jack didn’t want to see you.

He straightened as Sam’s car approached. The hazards flipped on once he’d parked and Jack was reaching for the door handle before the engine even switched off. You turned to him with a scowl and greeted him with a resigned, “Hey.”

He lifted one brow. “Hey yourself.”

His gaze ran over you doing a quick assessment. The towel was dark with blood, staining the hand holding it. Blood had run down the side of your face coloring the neck of your shirt. You wouldn’t be happy about that.

“Don’t,” you said, interrupting his perusal. “Don’t start. I’m fine.”

“You are bleeding through a bar towel. That is far from fine,” Jack replied, voice even. “Get in the chair.”

You muttered under your breath, all kinds of unpleasant things he was certain, but you did as he said. He glanced at Sam before he took you inside. “You’ll have to move the car if you’re staying.”

Sam looked at you for guidance. You waved a hand through the air in dismissal. “Go. You’ve still got a mess to clean up at the bar. Jack will take care of me.”

He hesitated for a moment then nodded once. “Okay. Call me if you need anything. Text me proof of life tomorrow.”

You huffed a laugh at that. “Get out of here.”

“See you, beautiful,” Sam said with a wave as he got in the car, but Jack was already wheeling you into the ED.

Shen was moving between rooms when he caught sight of you and came to a stop. “Woah, what happened to you?”

“I’m allergic to assholes,” you deadpanned.

He snorted and smiled. “Aren’t we all?” He shifted his attention to Jack. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in Three if you need me.”

“You got it,” he answered and headed back to his original destination.

Jack sat the bed all the way up and helped you get settled before pushing the chair into the hall. Vivi was passing by and he gave it to her as he rattled off the list of supplies he needed. He shut the door and pulled the curtain across before snapping on a pair of gloves. He’d just gotten the lamp moved into position when the door opened and the curtain was flung aside.

Robby was breathing like he’d run the entire way, his eyes wide and fixed on the bloody towel still pressed to your head. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” He closed the door again and pulled the curtain back into place.

You shot Jack a sharp look that clearly said ‘really?’.

Jack reached for the towel. “Don’t give me that look. You can either let Robby go home with you to keep an eye on you or you’re staying in the ED until I get off. It’s a head injury. You need someone to keep an eye on you.” When you didn’t protest any further, he gently peeled the towel from your head.

You winced as the fabric pulled where it stuck to your skin. The laceration was above your left eyebrow near the hairline. It was two inches long and ragged. He clenched his teeth to keep his face neutral. The last thing you needed was to see him wince at the seeping blood. Fragments of glass glinted in the overhead light, tiny shards caught in your hair.

Robby pulled a stool from the corner of the room and dragged it to the opposite side of the bed. He sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together, not touching you but not taking his eyes off the wound. “If I’d stayed maybe I could have stopped this, protected you somehow. I should have been there.”

“Don’t,” your tone was sharp, but softened when you spoke the next words. “You did what I asked you to do. This isn’t your fault.”

He nodded but Jack could tell he wasn’t listening to you, not really. Jack would worry about him later, right now he needed to focus on you. “Did you lose consciousness?” he asked.

You winced when he shined the penlight in your eyes to check your pupils. “No.”

“Any nausea? Dizziness?”

“No.”

He continued to run through the neuro questions and you answered each one with poorly concealed annoyance. “Can we skip to the part where you stitch me up so I can go home?” you finally asked.

The corner of his lips kicked up, just slightly. “Neuro looks good. You’re a horrible patient, you know that?”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Look who’s talking.”

Vivi had come in with everything he needed to clean you up and took your vitals while he was doing the check. He dropped the bed as close as it would go to the floor and pulled another stool over so he could sit while he worked. He moved the tray closer to him. “I’m going to numb you up first, then we’ll clean it. We need to be sure all the glass is out.”

“Yeah, okay.” Your voice was rough.

Jack injected the lidocaine as gently as he could but you still cringed with each prick. You closed your eyes as you waited for it to take effect. Jack took his gloves off so he could hold your hand, thumb rubbing across your skin. Robby stayed in his original position, hands trapped between his knees so he wouldn’t reach out to you. Jack’s heart ached. He hated this distance between the two of you. He understood it completely, but he still hated it.

“Alright, sweetheart. How’s that feeling?” he asked after several minutes had passed.

“I think it’s ready.”

He nodded once and stood to grab a new set of gloves. He handed a set to Robby first. “I need you to hold the towel while I use the saline. And you can help me spot the glass.”

Robby only hesitated for a moment before nodding quickly. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Jack pressed on the skin around the wound. “Good?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you said with a little nod. Your gaze moved between the two of them as you bit your lip.

Jack paused, tweezers in hand and said your name. Your gaze flicked to him. “You won’t feel anything but some pressure. If it hurts you tell me and we stop immediately. Okay?”

You took a deep breath. “Got it.”

Robby came to stand beside Jack, his glasses on so he could get a better look. Jack used the tweezers to help him search and find tiny slivers of glass in your hair first, Robby occasionally directing him one way or another. Each piece landed in the basin with clink.

The wound was next. Jack clenched his teeth in anticipation but thankfully found it mostly void of debris. “Alright, saline now.”

Robby rolled the towel and pressed it against your head just below the wound to soak up any saline and blood. His gaze flicked over to Jack as the blood was irrigated from the wound. “That’s deeper than I thought.”

Jack nodded once. “Yeah. We’re going to have to do a couple of layers of stitches here, honey, to make sure it heals right.”

“Fantastic.” Your obvious sarcasm had his lips twitching in amusement.

Once the wound was clean, Robby stepped back, tossing the towel in the appropriate bin. He stripped out of his gloves and took his previous seat. His hands twitched anxiously in his lap.

You watched him for a moment then held out your hand.

Robby froze completely. “I…are you sure?”

“I know it’s not going to hurt, but I’m still anxious about it. I just need a hand to hold. Don’t read too much into it,” you told him. When he still hesitated you added, “Or you can get one of the nurses to hold my hand if you’d rather not.”

“No,” he said too quickly, too loudly. “No. I’ll hold your hand. I’d love to hold your hand.”

Jack finished threading the needle and caught Robby’s eye, shaking his head once.

Robby cleared his throat. “Right. Shutting up now. Hand.” He took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. His eyes grew moist and it was easy for Jack to see how utterly thrilled his partner was to be allowed to touch you.

Jack started to close, doing the more delicate internal stitches before switching threads to do the external ones. His hands moved with the easy confidence of someone who had been doing this exact action for decades. “There,” he said finally, tying off the last suture and cutting the thread. He surveyed his work before covering it with a dressing. “Nicely done if I do say so myself. It should heal clean with minimal scarring.”

You extricated your hand from Robby’s and he slid his stool back slightly to put some space between you. He wasn’t pushing his luck. Good.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Anytime, baby. Let’s try to avoid anymore ED visits though, huh?” Jack stood and snapped off the gloves before throwing them in the bin. He moved over to the computer to pull up your chart. He scanned his badge then his fingers flew over the keyboard to enter your information.

“Since you don’t have insurance, I’ll put myself down as the responsible party,” he said, not looking away from the screen. His tone was casual, trying not to make a big deal out of it. You could tell he was waiting for you to argue. “It’s easier that way. Billing can be a hassle. Mike and I will take care of it.”

You said nothing, simply waiting for the inevitable.

A beat of silence stretched as Jack’s fingers paused over the keyboard. He scrolled, frowned, scrolled again.

“This says you have insurance,” he said slowly, turning his head to look at you. “And it’s current.”

“Sure do.”

Robby frowned and stood to look over Jack’s shoulder. “That must cost you a fortune.”

Your lips twitched, the ghost of a smile appearing then disappearing just as quickly. “My employer pays for it.”

Jack turned to fully face you this time, crossing his arms over his chest. “Honey, you pick up random unscheduled shifts at two part-time jobs. Who the hell is paying for your insurance? Sam?”

“I told you that I do work for my grandfather.” Your voice carried more than a thread of amusement. You hadn’t really intended to keep the information from them, you’d only been waiting for them to ask.

Jack and Robby looked at each other. The glance was brief but spoke volumes. You literally watched the realization occur to the both of them that they had missed something fundamental.

“We thought you were just helping him out. Paying his bills, things like that,” Jack said.

You studied them both for a moment. “Don’t you need to get back to work, Jack?”

He pulled the stool over and sat down, crossing his arms again. “Oh no. I’m not going anywhere until we have this conversation. Shen is on. He knows where I am. They’ll get me if they need something.”

Robby brought his stool over beside Jack before sitting and looking at you expectantly.

You sighed and finally gave into the smile you’d been fighting. “I managed the vast majority of the charitable arm of my grandfather’s company.” You said it simply, like it was nothing. Like you’d just announced that you prefer coffee over tea. Both men blinked at you. “Didn’t you wonder how I knew so much about earmarking donations at the gala?”

Robby’s skin flushed pink. “You’re smart about so many things I know nothing about. I just assumed that was another one of those things.”

You held his gaze for a moment before shifting on the bed to pull the small card wallet you used when you were working out of your back pocket. You pulled out one of the cards and tossed it on the foot of the bed. The black American Express card reflected the bright lights of the room. Both men stared at it. Robby’s mouth opened then closed. Then he said, “Is that a fucking black card?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “When I told you I didn’t need your money, I meant it.”

“You have a tattoo fund jar on your bookshelf.” Robby sounded so utterly confused.

You shrugged one shoulder. “That’s where the bookstore and bar money goes. That’s mine. The rest…that was different.”

“Your apartment is shit, honey,” Jack said. It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement of fact.

You laughed again. “It’s not that bad. And it’s mine. I moved in with Chelsea because it was convenient and she seemed okay. She left when I caught her fucking my boyfriend and I just never bothered to move. The building manager is chill, doesn’t hassle anyone. And the location was convenient.”

Robby leaned forward. “When we met you the elevator had been broken for weeks. The lights flickered. Your lock was messed up.”

“I didn’t mind taking the stairs and the lights didn’t bother me. The lock worked, it was just tricky. No one was getting in without knowing how to jiggle it the right way.” You took a deep breath. “Look, I learned to get by without. Not because I didn’t have the money but because every penny I spent was scrutinized by my parents. They had access to information about any funds that came out of the trust. It was a safety measure my grandmother insisted on when it was set up. My grandfather hadn’t anticipated them clinging to it so selfishly.”

You grabbed the card and put it away to give yourself a moment. “Until Pop passed, I didn’t have any money I really considered my own. He made my family sign off on all rights to my trust to receive their portion of the estate. They didn’t know he’d funneled almost all of his assets into the trust.” Your gaze flicked between the two of them. “I have a lot of money now. Like, so much. So, so much.”

The last part came out a little stunned. You were still trying to process your change in circumstances. The room was silent as both men stared at you in stunned disbelief. Finally, Jack stood up. “I feel like this a conversation we should discuss in more detail later.”

You nodded then winced at the movement, a spike of pain shooting through your head. Great. “Preferably when I’m not exhausted and don’t have a headache.”

Their eyes narrowed in unison and Robby stood to move to your side. “How bad?”

“It’s just a headache. A bottle shattered on my head. I think I’m entitled.”

“Fair,” Jack said with a little laugh. “I’ll get you something for it then you and Mike can get out of here.”

Robby drove through the city with both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road. The streets were quiet the way they only got in the early morning hours. You sat with your head leaning back against the headrest as you watched the scenery pass. Neither of you spoke.

When you arrived at the apartment, Robby parked and killed the engine. He sat for a moment, not looking at you as if giving you a chance to change your mind. You considered it, however briefly, but Jack would be furious. And you didn’t really want to be alone right now.

“Come on,” you said. He stayed a step behind you all the way to your apartment. Inside, you dropped your keys on the table by the door and headed straight for your bedroom and the attached bathroom.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, taking in the dried blood streaked across your skin. Robby appeared in the doorway, filling it with his broad shoulders, his expression landing somewhere between concern and affection.

You grabbed a washcloth. “I can’t shower but I need to get this blood off.”

“I know.” He stepped into the room that was too small for the both of you. He took the cloth from your hand. “Let me. Please.”

You didn’t argue. You lifted yourself to sit on the counter while Robby ran the water in the sink, waiting for it to warm up. Once it did, he put the stopper down and let water fill the basin to the halfway point. He dipped the washcloth then wrung it out. “Tip your head back,” he instructed.

You did as he asked and his other hand came to rest at the base of your skull, supporting your head with an unexpected gentleness. This was your Michael. The man you fell in love with and god you missed him. The cloth was warm against your skin as he carefully cleaned what he could, occasionally pausing to rinse out the rag. “You’re good at this,” you said.

“At what?”

“Taking care of people.”

He smiled at that. “Well, I’ve had a bit of practice.”

You studied his face for a moment. Taking in the gray in his beard, the tired lines around his eyes, the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. “I’ve missed you.” The words came out sounding far more broken than you’d intended.

His hand stilled as his eyes snapped to yours. “I’ve missed you too. Every second of every day. I missed you the moment you walked out the door. And I am so fucking sorry I am the reason for that.”

The distance between your mouths felt suddenly unbearably far. You closed it.

His lips were warm and careful against yours, hesitant in a way you weren’t used to from him. As if he pressed too hard, you’d disappear. You reached up and touched his face, your fingers tangling in his beard as you kissed him properly with intention and the full weight of everything you’d been carrying for weeks.

He dropped the rag to the floor as he made a low broken sound against your lips. His hand found the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your jaw with a tenderness that made your chest ache. When you broke apart, you were both breathing hard. Robby’s gaze flicked over you, full of hope and desperation.

“This doesn’t magically fix everything. You know that right?” you asked. You needed him to understand that. Just because you missed him, craved him, didn’t mean all was forgiven.

He nodded then pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. “I know. I’m not asking for that. I just…” He swallowed. “I’ve missed you so much that it physically hurts. I just want to be near you for however long you allow.”

You slid off the counter and he stepped back to give you the room. His hands slid to your hips as if afraid to let go. You took one of his hands and led him into the bedroom. He followed without a word, fingers intertwined with yours.

The bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled and tangled from your restless sleep. You sat on the edge of it and he sat beside you. His hands found your face, cupping your jaw, his thumbs tracing the lines of your cheekbones. “I’m going to take care of you,” he said, his voice rough with need. “In any way you’ll let me, for as long as you’ll let me.”

Every tired, aching, lonely part of you believed him. You’d missed him desperately, missed the weight of him beside you in the bed. You stripped off your shirt followed quickly by your bra and Robby surged forward pressing his lips to yours. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were air. His hands shook as the traced your skin. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt and you separated only long enough for him to peel it off and toss it aside.

He kissed you again, laying you back, his weight settling over you. And he was careful. God, he was so careful. His hand cradled the back of your head as he lowered you to the pillows.  His mouth was desperate against yours. His skin was warm under your palms as you traced the familiar landscape of him. His broad shoulders, the soft dusting of hair that covered his chest and tapered down to the waistband of his pants. His beard scraped your neck as he kissed his way down your throat and you arched into him, your fingers burying themselves in his hair.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I’ve always got you.”

He took his time. There was no urgency in him. No rush. Just the slow, deliberate attention of a man that was relearning every inch of you by touch and taste. His tongue traced the tattoos on your arms, on your chest, as if he’d forgotten they existed and needed to refamiliarize himself with them. His lips moved lower, dancing across your ribs, his mouth warm and wet.

“Robby,” you breathed.

His head snapped up as he looked at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Michael. Call me Michael, please.”

“Michael,” you repeated and his name in your mouth made him shudder.

He paused his exploration to remove the rest of your clothing and then his hands began their own journey across your skin. They mapped the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip. The inside of your thigh where your skin was the softest. Each touch deliberate, planned. His beard scratched the sensitive skin of your thighs as his tongue worshipped the tattoos there as well.

Through it all, his eyes never left your face. He watched you with an intensity that would have unnerved you in different circumstances. He tracked every shift of your expression, every hitch of your breath. He was reading you the way he always did, cataloging everything he learned about you.

When his fingers finally found the center of you, you were already wet. In fact, you were dripping. A sound tore from your lips that was half frustration and half relief. He worked you with the same steady care he’d been showing all night. His thumb circled your clit as his fingers curled inside of you in just the right spot. Your thighs trembled as you neared the edge. You grabbed his wrist, holding on and he leaned down to kiss you, his mouth swallowing the sweet sounds you couldn’t hold back.

“Look at me,” he said against your lips. You opened your eyes and met his dark gaze. “I need to see you. Please.”

You came with a shudder and his name on your lips. He watched it happen like it was something sacred, something he thought he’d never see again.

You pushed at his pants impatiently and he chuckled against your neck. He stood quickly and stripped. His cock was hard against his stomach and you reached forward to wrap your hand around him. You stroked once, twice and his hips jerked forward. His hand flashed forward to grab your wrist. “I need to be inside you.”

You nodded and he was above you again, his weight settling between your thighs, his forehead pressed to yours. His hand came to your face again and his thumb traced your bottom lip. You sucked in a jagged breath.

“I love you,” he said, voice rough, a little ragged around the edges. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”

You tilted your face up to kiss him and he pushed into you in one slow, careful stroke that had you both gasping. The feeling of him inside you, the fullness of it, was too much and not enough all at once. You wrapped your legs around his waist and held on as he began to move.

It was slow. Measured. Every thrust deliberate, every withdraw careful. His hips rocked against yours with a rhythm that built gradually to something steady and deep. Soft kisses littered the skin of your face until you were certain every inch had been touched. His lips lingered over your wound for a beat longer than anywhere else.

When you came it was with his hand between your legs, his fingers working in tight circles while his hips drove into you. The orgasm that rolled through you left you trembling. He followed moments later, his rhythm faltering as a groan tore from his throat. He buried himself deep and held there, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his entire body shuddering above you.

For a long time, neither of you moved. His weight above you was familiar and solid and you ran your hands over his back, feeling the muscles shift as his breathing slowed. Eventually, he eased out of you then headed to the bathroom, returning with a wet rag he used to clean you up.

He returned to the bed and pulled you against his chest, his arm heavy across your waist as he buried his face in your neck. “I love you so much,” he whispered against your skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And you believed him. But it didn’t change anything. Wouldn’t until you were certain he understood how deeply he hurt you. You wouldn’t survive another broken heart. Because when Michael Robinavitch broke your heart, he did a damn thorough job of it.

***

Morning light coming through the blinds woke you. You blinked your eyes open to find Robby already awake, propped on one elbow. His eyes were soft as he watched you and he smiled when he realized you were awake.

“We should start packing this weekend. Or I could even start today if you wanted,” he said. His tone made it clear that he felt the worst was behind him, that you could move forward, go back to the way things were. “Or next week. We don’t have to rush. We’ll have to decide what you’re keeping and what can go.”

You watched him as he continued talking, your brow furrowing. This was your fault. You should have known that despite what he said, he would think all was forgiven. You should have resisted the temptation of having him with you again. A cold knot settled in your chest somewhere near where your heart was supposed to be.

You sat up carefully, far more aware of the dull throb in your head than you wanted to be. You swung your legs out of the bed before he could reach for you. You grabbed comfortable clothes and slipped them on. Robby fell silent behind you.

“I really appreciate you staying, but I have things I need to do today. I think you should go.” You managed to get the words out without your voice breaking. Barely.

Robby sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. “What things? I could help. I’m off today. I wanted to—” He stopped as he ran his gaze over your face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a lot to do. Work for the foundation.”

He was quiet as he stood and dressed, eyes never leaving you. “Do you want to get lunch? Breakfast? Coffee maybe?” The hope in his voice was so obvious it almost hurt to hear it.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” You picked up your phone and checked the time, though it didn’t really matter. As soon as he finished dressing, you steered him toward the door. His eyes stayed glued to you.

You opened the door and turned to face him, taking in everything you loved about him just in case it was the last time you saw him. He stepped past you slowly, leaning forward to kiss you but you turned your head so he got your cheek instead. “Can we talk about this? Please?”

You clenched your teeth and nudged him out the door. “Not now. I need you to go. Please.” Once he was clear, you shut the door. “Goodbye, Michael.”

The door closed with a soft click. You stood with your hand on the knob, your forehead pressed to the wood and listened to the silence on the other side.

It lasted for three breaths. Then came a quiet knock.

“Please.” His voice was muffled, broken. “Just let me in. We can talk. However long you need. I’ll do whatever you need. Just…please don’t do this.”

“I told you this didn’t fix everything, Michael. I told you, but you acted like it did anyway.” You weren’t certain he could even hear you with how soft your voice was.

When he spoke again, his voice was ragged and full of tears. “I love you. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

They’d been open to finding an Omega but as the years passed and they failed to find anyone compatible, they accepted it might be just the two of them. Truth be told, they were fine with that. They loved each other, they knew each other’s quirks and the demons that haunted them. They would be two grumpy old Alphas taking care of each other for the rest of their lives.

Then came a warm Tuesday spring morning and a car in the driveway of the house next door. The house had been empty for several months but no ‘for sale’ sign had ever appeared in the yard. A service had kept things cleaned up so Jack hadn’t given it much thought. His gaze fell on a woman with her arms so full of clothes he couldn’t see her face. Ordinarily he’d offer to help but he’d just finished hour fourteen of a twelve hour shift. His leg hurt and he needed to wash the stench of hospital off.

“Hey,” he called as he entered the house, shutting the door behind him.

“Kitchen,” Robby yelled back.

Jack popped his head in to greet his husband. “Looks like we have a new neighbor,” he said after he’d kissed him hello.

“Do we?” Robby turned to look out the kitchen window that faced the other house.

“Just one car but they were carrying clothes inside. I’ve got to clean up.”

Robby kissed him again. “Yeah, you go ahead. I’ll make you some food.”

Jack took his time in the shower decompressing and washing off the hospital along with the remnants of the suppressant gel he had to wear at work. Robby had food ready by the time he emerged and they sat at the table in the kitchen to eat.

They’d been eating and chatting for about five minutes when there was a knock at the door. Robby frowned but stood. “Stay put. I’ll be back.” He kissed the top of Jack’s head on the way by.

The longer Robby was gone the deeper the furrow in Jack’s brow became. How long did it take to grab a package?

“Hey, Jack,” Robby called from the door. “You should come meet the new neighbor.”

Jack sighed and dropped his bacon back on his plate. He wiped his hands then wheeled his chair into the front hall. Robby stood in the open doorframe, blocking Jack’s view of whoever was on the porch. “Hey,” he said.

Robby turned with a smile and stepped aside. “Meet the neighbor, honey.”

Jack’s gaze shifted from him to the woman standing outside. You turned with a smile of your own and introduced yourself. You were beautiful. He wheeled closer, ready to say something by way of greeting when a breeze blew past you and into the house. Jack was suddenly enveloped in the scent of honeysuckle and vanilla mixed with something that was all you. It smelled like home.

His eyes snapped from you to Robby who gave a small nod in confirmation.

Oh.

Oh shit.

You were their Omega.

You were on your way to the dining room where you were to have a “working lunch” as she’d put it. Apparently, it was vitally important you pick the table linens today. You hated this, every aspect of it. And to make matters worse, you hadn’t seen Titus all day. He’d left before dawn to take care of some business and had given no indication of when he’d return. Lucky bastard.

As you passed a cross hallway, a heavy familiar hand pulled you sideways. You found yourself with your back against the wall, Titus leaning into you with his hands braced on the wall above your head. He pressed his lips against yours and gave you a slow, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled back, he gave you a crooked smile. “Hello, sweetheart.”

Your fingers flexed feeling the broad expanse of the chest beneath your hands. “Hello, Titus. You’re going to make me late for lunch with your sister.”

He huffed in irritation before tracing the line of your neck with his lips. You tilted your head to give him better access. When he reached your ear, he paused. “Canceled.”

“And did your sister agree to that?” The words came out breathy and broken. Gods, what this man did to you.

“She didn’t have much of a choice.”

Realizing he was serious, you pushed against his chest. He allowed you to put a small amount of distance between you. “What did you do, Titus?”

“You and I are leaving tonight for the Mediterranean. We will have a very small, private ceremony, photos of which will be sent to the press. Then we will proceed to travel anywhere you wish for eight weeks.” His eyes studied your face, undoubtedly looking for any sort of disagreement.

“There is no way Ursula agreed to this.” She had been the one screaming about protocol and appearances. If it was up to you, you’d share nothing of your marriage with the rest of the world.

He straightened, looking immensely proud of himself. “That, dear wife, is the genius of my plan. Upon our return, we will host a reception here at the estate. I have informed Ursula that she is in charge of absolutely everything except your dress. That we are leaving every detail in her very capable hands.”

“Are you telling me that in one morning you have arranged for us to have a two month honeymoon and shoved all of these inane decisions off on your sister and she’s okay with it?” You couldn’t keep the hope from tinting your voice.

“I dare say she’s thrilled, actually.”

You lunged at him, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. “You are the best husband.”

He hummed against your lips as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Remember that. Now, we have much to do if we want to leave on time.”

Your fingers played with the fringe of hair at his neck. “I don’t know, Mr. Danforth. I’d say we have time for a little distraction.”

His smile turned smug. “Whatever my lady wishes.”

The Lawyer made a sound of agreement and stepped up to stand beside you. “Beautiful view.”

You hummed but said nothing else. Maybe if you didn’t engage him in conversation he’d leave. It was him you had been hiding from after all. You really should have known better after all these years.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

He scoffed and leaned against the wall so he was facing you. He said your name, then repeated it when you didn’t respond.

“What?” you snapped as you turned to him.

His brows raised and his head tilted as he took you in. You watched realization cross his features. “It’s me. You’re angry with me.” He sounded so surprised you almost laughed.

“No. I’m angry with myself,” you corrected and sighed as you turned back to the view.

“Why?” His voice was quiet this time and he slid just a bit closer to you.

“Does it matter?”

“Very much.”

 You weren’t intending to ever have this conversation with him but what the hell. You glanced at him briefly. “You are aware that I am a woman, yes?”

“I have noticed that once or twice.” Amusement dripped from his words.

“See, I wondered because you seem to look right through me most of the time.” Your tone wasn’t accusatory, just tired.

His hand landed on your shoulder and you twisted to dislodge it. “Don’t touch me. Please.”

He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“We’ve spent centuries dancing around each other, you and I. Traveling together at Le Bail’s bidding. We’ve shared meals, went months without seeing anyone but each other. We’ve shared rooms and even the bed on more than one occasion,” you listed.

Your gaze found his face to see his furrowed brow and worried eyes. You didn’t do this, you didn’t get emotional. You moved through life with stoic indifference.

“Yet whenever you yearn for companionship, for the touch of a woman, you never look at me.” You shrugged one shoulder like it didn’t matter though it very much did. “Most of the time I don’t mind, not really, because I know you’ll always come back to me after one night in their beds, maybe two.”

You turned sharply away from him as tears welled in your eyes. “Except that didn’t happen this time. You’ve been infatuated with this one for months. What was her name again? Gretel?”

“Greta.”

“Anyway, you wanted to know why I was mad at myself. I suppose it’s because somewhere along the way I was stupid enough to fall in love with you and hope that someday you’d choose me.” You swiped at the tears under your eyes and cleared your throat.

Your name was a broken whisper on his lips.

You shook your head. “It’s fine, Gaius. You owe me nothing. I’ll be over it in a decade or so.”

You turned to walk away and his hand on your arm stopped you. “Wait,” he pleaded.

“Why?” you asked without facing him.

“I didn’t know you were an option.”

You looked at him then, just a glance over your shoulder. “Then you weren’t paying attention.”

“The bride survived,” you said in lieu of your normal morning greeting.

He paused his motions for a beat before sliding forward to lay along the side of you, body half on top of you as you always preferred his weight on you. “The nobody bride outlasted the entire Le Domas family?” His voice still held its early morning rasp.

You made a sound of agreement as his fingers continued to trail along the line of your spine. “Indeed. I told you they were weak. It was time for a purge.”

His lips traced the curve of your shoulder, making you smile again. He was constantly touching you, kissing you, teasing you. “And if they had survived?”

“Then they would have proven themselves, but they didn’t, so here we are.”

“So, we hunt.” He rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

You immediately followed, curling into his side as you laid your head on his chest. “Your father will call for you soon. You know what he’ll want. There’s a way around it if you wish. The choice is yours.”

He kissed your head. “Thank you, love.” His fingers found yours, playing with your ring. “And is today the day you become Mrs. Danforth?” he asked as he did every morning.

“Perhaps,” you answered as you always did. You had yet to set a date for the wedding, simply telling Titus that you’d know when the time was right. He’d accepted the answer as much as he hated it. You knew if it were up to him, you would have been wed the day he asked.

It wasn’t long before Chester Danforth summoned his son. He dressed in the clothes you’d chosen the night before. His fingers gripped your chin as he kissed you slow and sweet. “And what will you be doing while we prepare for the hunt?” he asked when he pulled away.

“I will be accompanying Sol to collect the bride.”

His features sharpened with worry for just a moment. “Do be careful, princess. I rather prefer it when you aren’t bleeding.”

You rolled your eyes. “As if I don’t heal instantly, Titus. Really.”

“All the same.” After one more kiss to your lips he pulled away and you moved to prepare yourself for the day.

Titus found Ursula in the hall outside of their father’s rooms. He greeted her with a nod. Their relationship had shifted since he’d pledged himself to you. Ursula may not know exactly who or what you were, but she was smart enough to know not to cross you. Therefore, she won’t cross Titus, either. He wished he’d met you years ago. For so many reasons.

“What do you suppose father wants?” she asked as he reached for the door. He shrugged and she narrowed her eyes at him. “You already know.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up into a smirk. “Perhaps.”

Their father motioned them forward when they entered as he dismissed Pernilla. They stood to either side of the bed. He cleared his throat. “The bride lives. The ring is in play.” His eyes moved between them. “You know what you have to do.”

Titus hesitated, remembering your earlier words. “We don’t have to do this, father. There is another—”

Chester’s hand snapped out to slap Titus across the face for the first time in years. “Be a man,” his father hissed and Titus just…shut down.

Fine.

He’d do exactly as he was told then. After all, Father did so like when he was obedient. He pressed the pillow to his father’s face, holding it until he was certain the man had stopped breathing. Fucking prick.

“Titus.”

He didn’t respond, still shoving the pillow against his father’s face.

“Titus!” Ursula snapped.

His gaze darted to her. “It’s done. He’s gone.” He hummed and pulled the pillow away, setting it aside. “We can’t lose this seat, Titus.”

“Thank you for clarifying, Ursula. I really had no idea.”

With that, he swept past her and out of the room to begin issuing orders to prepare the resort.

You rode in the elevator with Sol and two hired guns. Not that you needed them. He stood beside you, hands clasped in front of him. “How have things been?”

You arched a brow as you glanced at him. “We literally talked yesterday. I saw you three days ago. What could have possibly happened?”

“With you? A great multitude of things.”

The elevator door slid open to show Wilkinson standing over the bride, knife raised in the air. You’d arrived just in time to watch him explode. You smiled. It was a shame really. Someone somewhere was sure to miss him. Maybe.

You and Sol tugged your gasmasks into place before he pulled the pin on a gas cannister and tossed it into the hall. “Must you look so pleased that Wilkinson violated the rules?” he asked, sounding bored.

“It was rather satisfying to watch him die. He grabbed my ass the first time we met.”

He turned to look at you, not having heard this particular tale. “And he lived this long? Your restraint is impressive.”

“Titus broke his wrist. It was very romantic.”

Sol huffed a laugh as the two of you removed your masks. “That’s practically courting. No wonder you picked him.”

The two of you walked forward, finding not only the bride but another woman as well. You nudged them both with the toe of your boot.

“And just who is she?” Sol asked.

“I guess we’ll find out. Bring them both,” you instructed the men behind you.

When the helicopter arrived at the resort, Titus and Ursula stood outside as they greeted the Rajan brothers. Your lips curved at the sight of your man.

Sol glanced out the window. “When are you going to put him out of his misery and actually marry him?”

You shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You know why I hesitate.”

He shrugged as if your concerns were unimportant. “He won’t refuse you. But if he does, if he’s going to disappoint you, wouldn’t you rather get it out of the way?”

You followed The Lawyer when he entered the room where Grace and her sister were awaiting their fate. Titus’ gaze trailed you as you made your way to a seat at the back of the room. He clenched his teeth and a muscle twitched in his jaw. He didn’t like being separated from you, particularly when you were in a room filled with so many people he didn’t trust. He’d grown used to being right by your side, to being a barrier between you and the rest of the world.

“Hello,” The Lawyer greeted the women tied up in front of him. “I am the sole attorney and representative of Le Bail Enterprises. Because you—”

Francesca El Caido stormed into the room, interrupting him. She leaned into Grace’s face. “I’m Francesca El Caido, bitch.”

“…okay,” Grace said with a small shake of her head, obviously at a loss.

Titus tuned out the rest of Francesca’s taunting as his eyes found you again to see you already smiling at him. He returned the gesture. Ursula nudged his side to draw his attention back to the proceedings. “What?” he snapped, voice low.

“Pay attention,” she hissed.

“As I was saying,” The Lawyer continued as Francesca took a seat beside her father, “I am the sole attorney and representative for Le Bail Enterprises. Because you survived until dawn, Mrs. Le Domas, you have triggered a seldom used clause in our bylaws.”

As the other man continued to explain the rules of the game to the prey, Titus focused on the two women. They obviously didn’t get along but now was hardly the time for them to bickering. There were more important things at stake here. But then again, perhaps they’d distract each other enough for this to be over quickly. Maybe he’d even have time to take you dinner.

“Should anyone kill a member of another family, even by mistake, Mr. Le Bail will not be pleased and will destroy your entire bloodline,” The Lawyer said, voice even and calm as ever.

“If you’re the only representative of Le Bail Enterprises, who is she?” Francesca interrupted and Titus turned to find her pointing at you.

He lifted one brow, gaze finding yours full of amusement. The Lawyer glanced at the El Caido daughter and continued speaking as Ignatio snapped at her to be quiet.

Then she interrupted again. “She’s not from one of the families.”

The Lawyer sighed in obvious irritation and gave her his signature flat smile. “She is not.”

“And she’s not an official representative of Mr. Le Bail?” She leaned forward in her chair as she waited for an answer, shoving her father’s hand away as he tried to stop her.

 “Not exactly.”

Francesca bounced in her seat. “So, she’s fair game then. She can be hunted.”

Titus gripped the arms of his chair, fighting the urge to put the girl in her place. You didn’t need him to intercede on your behalf. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to do it anyway.

The Lawyer’s smile was the most genuine one Titus had seen all day. “Well…you can certainly try.”

“Idiota,” Ignatio snapped. He turned to you. “She didn’t mean anything by it. She’s impulsive that’s all. Young. Her heart was broken when she couldn’t marry Alex. You understand.”

You said nothing, only letting a smirk twist your lips as you looked at him. The Lawyer cleared his throat to bring the attention back to him. He held up the pen everyone would use to sign the book. “If we could continue.”

Once he’d signed the book, Titus found his place by your side as the others prepared for the hunt. You ran your hands over his vest, smoothing the fabric. As you kissed him, your hand cradled the side of his head and something slipped into his ear. He pulled back with a frown at the sensation. “What was that?” He reached for it and you grabbed his hand to pull it down.

“That was a compromise,” The Lawyer said. “You can hear and talk to one another. She will not aid you in the hunt, it’s merely for her peace of mind.”

Titus’ gaze narrowed as it darted from you to your friend and back.

“Approved by Mr. Le Bail. I assure you that you are in no danger of violating the rules,” The Lawyer said before walking away.

“A compromise?” Titus asked.

You made a sound of agreement. “As I am not allowed to accompany you on the hunt, I needed a way to keep tabs. To know you were safe.”

He kissed you one last time before his sister pulled him away to head to the field.

You had every faith in Titus to win the seat. He was more than capable. More than ready. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be injured. You started in the viewing room with the others, but between Francesca’s continuing glares and Kip’s multiple attempts to flirt with you, you soon left.

Sol followed you from the room and stopped you with a hand on your arm. “You cannot aid him,” he reminded you.

“He doesn’t need my help to find a blonde bitch, Sol. That crowd is driving me insane. I’m going to walk the grounds.”

When he hesitated to release you, you added, “I’ll behave. Satan’s honor.”

He nodded once and headed back into the room to babysit the others.

“Be careful,” Titus said, having heard your side of the conversation.

“Honey, I’m indestructible,” you said with a laugh. “You, however, are not. Do try not to die. Bringing someone back from the dead is a pain in the ass.”

Your lips curled into a smile at his stunned silence. You so did love making him speechless.

You listened to Titus hunt, his low rasp filling you in on what you couldn’t see. Grace and Faith were proving to be more resilient than they appeared. Le Bail would be pleased. Any chance his followers had to prove themselves was a win for him.

It took less time than you’d thought for the girls to make their first kill. Viraj cooked in an industrial washing machine was not on the list of ends you’d considered for him. Madhu passing position of head of the family off to his wife didn’t surprise you in the least, however.

Ignatio fell next along with Chen Xing and her son. Three in one shot. You were almost impressed. You were walking along the path in front of the resort when the crack of a shot sounded, followed closely by another. Pain flared through your back, sudden and sharp. Francesca yelled in happiness behind you. Fucking hell.

“Were those gunshots?” Titus asked in your ear.

You didn’t answer as you turned to face your assailant. “That was incredibly rude.”

Francesca screamed in frustration before shooting you again and again. Titus yelled your name in your ear, panic threading the word.

“You’re the reason I didn’t marry Alex. He was mine. And if he’d married me there would have been no game and he’d still be alive.” Makeup ran in black streaks down her face.

You held up a hand and Francesca’s weapon sailed through the air to you. Le Bail would undoubtedly excuse you if you retaliated for this slight but you respected the sanctity of his hunt. You aimed for the girl’s knee and pulled the trigger. She fell with a howl.

You turned and walked away, poking at one of the holes in your shirt with a frown. “I liked this shirt.”

Titus sighed in relief. “I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll buy you a dozen. Just please refrain from getting shot again. It’s bad for my blood pressure.”

Eventually, you gathered in front of the freezer after Grace locked herself inside. Titus dragged Faith front and center and shoved her face first against the glass of the door, pointing a gun at the back of her head. Your gaze traced over him, taking in the blood and bruises.

“Come out, Grace, or I’m going to spray your sister’s brains all over this window,” Titus said with a tilt of his head.

Grace tried to bargain, tried to make him believe she would never come out if he hurt Faith.

“One. Two,” Titus counted, cocking the gun.

“No, no,” Grace screamed. “Don’t kill her. I’ll come out.” There was a pause before she added, “If you marry me.”

Your brows lifted, not expecting that particular play.

“What?” Titus asked after a glance at you.

“That lady told me. She said if you marry me, you get the seat and I get to live. Faith and I live,” she explained.

Titus looked at Sol who nodded in confirmation. Grace was correct. “Huh,” Titus said before turning back to the window of the freezer with a little smirk.

You sucked in an anxious breath waiting to see what he’d do. What decision he would make. The entire world or you.

“Sorry,” Titus said with a mocking frown. “I’m already spoken for. How unfortunate for you.”

“Are you insane?” Ursula hissed. “This is the seat. If you don’t do this, father will have died for nothing. What the fuck are you thinking?”

You resisted the urge to say Chester had died for being a prick.

“I’ll marry you,” Felipe shouted out and everyone turned to look at him.

“You are thirteen,” Sol said.

“So?”

You kept your eyes on Titus as you said, “Prepare for the wedding.”

Titus’ head snapped around to face you. “Absolutely the fuck not. I am not marrying her.”

“Not her. Me,” you clarified.

His smile was a thing of beauty.

“Fantastic. Happy for you,” Ursula said. “What about the hunt?”

You glanced at Sol who shrugged before gesturing toward your fiancé. Closing the distance between you and the man in question, you pulled him into a kiss. One arm wrapped around you, the other keeping the weapon pointed at his prey. When you separated, he chased your lips and you laughed. “You should finish this, baby. It’s a snap,” you said with a wink.

His eyes studied you for a long moment before he lifted his free hand and snapped his fingers. Two seconds passed before Grace exploded in a shower of blood. Faith was stunned for one blessed moment, then the screaming began. Titus kept his gaze on you as he pulled the trigger to silence her.

Quiet filled the room until Felipe broke it. “I feel like that’s cheating.”

“Surprisingly, it’s not.” The Lawyer rocked on his feet, a warm smile curving his lips. “I’ve been waiting to perform this wedding for ages. How exciting.” He glanced between the two of you. “We should have a talk before we separate to prepare for the ceremony.”

Titus gave a nod as he slid an arm around your waist, keeping you at his side as you followed Sol to Titus’ study. Your soon-to-be groom poured everyone a drink before taking the seat beside you. Sol sat in the chair behind the desk.

“What is this about?” Titus asked.

“There is a…stipulation that you must agree to before the two of you marry,” Sol answered.

You bit the inside of your lip. Titus glanced at you before putting his attention back on the other man.

“You must relinquishp your position in the Danforth family. You may keep the name, of course, but your sister will take over all ranks and responsibilities in the Danforth interests.”

He blinked once. Twice. “That’s all?”

“You don’t mind?” you asked, voice far more hesitant than you liked.

His gaze snapped to yours. “Did you think I would?”

“I dare say that’s why she waited so long to set the date,” The Lawyer offered with a smirk as he stood. “As that’s settled, I’ll make certain everything is in order for the ceremony. Don’t dawdle.”

Your eyes trailed him as he left. He was such a dick sometimes.

“You honestly thought I’d refuse? That I would lose you over my position in the family?” Titus’ raspy voice pulled your attention back to him.

For a long time you had. Titus was proud of his family, of the work he did. You had feared if faced with the choice, it wouldn’t be you. “Well, not once you gave up the world for me,” you said honestly. “Your family seems inconsequential compared to that.”

He grasped your hand in his and lifted it to his lips. “I would choose you over and over again in every lifetime.”

Titus and you went your separate ways shortly after that conversation, you insisting he not see you until you arrived at the ceremony. He shifted his weight, hands clasped in front of him as he awaited your arrival.

Finally, the door to the dark chapel opened revealing you in all your glory. His gaze ran over you from head to toe. You wore black lace in exactly your style. You’d foregone a veil and a delicate onyx and ruby tiara rested on your head. You were stunning. Devastating.

And, most importantly, his.

You stood across from him in front of the altar, your eyes staying locked on each other as you ignored what was going on around you.

The Lawyer dressed in his ceremonial garb began the service. “Shem ham pharash. Nomine satani Lucifer excelsis. In the name of our great and eternal benefactor, come forth and bestow your blessing upon these, upon your chosen. In the names of Satan, Lucifer, Baliel, Leviathan, come forth and bear witness. Hail Satan.”

“Hail Satan,” the room echoed.

The Lawyer raised his hands, an actual smile on his face. “Welcome, everyone. I'm pleased so many of you could make it. Not only do we have our coronation this fine morning, we also have a wedding. Our cup runneth over.”

Your lips twitched, obviously finding the formality amusing.

Sol turned to you. “Your hand please.” You rested your hand in his and he ran the blood pen across your palm. You didn’t flinch. “Your vows being made by intent. By the power of Satan, I now confer the possession of each other upon you. Do you, princess, take Titus Chester Danforth as your chosen mate in this world and the next, unto the fires of hell?”

Titus’ head snapped up at the use of princess, as if it was a title that could be used in place of your name. It was also the term of endearment used most frequently by Titus. One suggested by your best friend who had called it fitting.

“I do,” you answered and signed the book.

The Lawyer smiled and turned to Titus, slicing his hand as he had yours. “And do you, Titus Chester Danforth, accept her claim, taking her to be yours in return in flesh and spirit, in this world and the next, unto the fires of hell?”

“I do.” Of course he did.

He took the pen in hand to sign the book and froze, nib hovering over parchment. There, beneath your signature, laid your name. Your full name. A name that proclaimed you a Le Bail. He blinked to center himself and huffed out a breath. Fucking hell.

He stretched his neck then scrawled his signature next to yours.

The Lawyer’s smile grew impossibly wider. “Welcome to the family, Mr. Danforth.” His voice was low so only the two of you could hear him. “You are now hers for as long as she’ll have you.”

Titus glanced at you and back to the other man. “And if that’s forever?”

“Then welcome to eternity, Mr. Danforth.”

Titus turned to you with wide eyes as The Lawyer finished the formalities. Titus had considered the fact that you wouldn’t age as he grew elderly and infirm. It had never occurred to him that marrying you would grant him your immortality so his lifespan could match yours.

“What he hath forged in hell, let no mortal tear asunder. We ask this in thy name, O Lord. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Titus ignored the smirk on The Lawyer’s face.

He stepped forward, hands cradling your face as his eyes traced over every feature. “I love you, wife,” he whispered against your lips.

“And I love you, husband.”

He pressed his lips to yours, sighing into you as his tongue traced your lips. You opened your mouth, allowing him entrance and he all but melted into you. He could spend forever just like this. Hands on your skin, lips on yours, as you breathed each other in.

The Lawyer cleared his throat, smiling when the two of you turned to face him. “We do have one matter of business left to see to.” He lifted what was once Chester Danforth’s ring, the mark of the head of the High Council. “Titus Danforth is hereby granted the high seat of the Council of Le Bail.”

Titus slid the ring on and lifted his hand into the air. “Hail Satan.”

Those gathered repeated the words. He held a hand out toward you. You intertwined your fingers with his and he lifted both of your hands this time. “Hail Satan.”

Again, the room echoed. He knew most of those gathered were resentful, furious it wasn’t them who won the ring, who would rule the world. They were fools to think they stood a chance against him when he had you at his back. They didn’t have to like him or even respect him. They needed simply to obey. To follow.

As much as Titus had dreamed of wearing the ring, desired it, yearned for it, it paled in comparison to the pure elation that flooded him at the thought that he would be by your side for an eternity. Forever with you ironically sounded a lot like heaven to him.

“Hey, hey. No, no, no.” The familiar voice came from the left and you turned just in time to see Clint Barton fall to his knees at your side. “I need help here. Now,” he said into his comms.

You huffed a laugh then groaned at the stab of pain that accompanied it. “It’s fine, Clint.”

“This is not fine. This is the furthest thing from fine.” He applied pressure to the wound that seemed to be bleeding the worst, pulling another groan of pain from you.

“Ow, you bastard, that hurts.”

“Good. Pain means you’re still alive.”

You watched him for a minute, eyes tracing his face, taking in his panicked expression. “Clint.”

He made a questioning sound but didn’t look at you.

“Clint,” you repeated.

This time his eyes met yours.

“Just let me go. It’s okay. It will be better. Everything will be better.”

His brows snapped together and you watched grief swallow his features followed quickly by sharp, hot anger. “Stop it. Just shut up. You’re not dying. Not today.”

And that was all you heard as the world went black.

You woke slow in a room that was too white with much less pain than you expected. Your hands traced the nearly unblemished skin of your stomach. They must have put you in the cradle. Damn. You huffed out a breath in annoyance. Well, just wasn’t your time, you guessed.

“Do you want to die?”

Your eyes darted to where Clint stood silhouetted against the window, back turned toward you. He stood so silent, you hadn’t even realized he was in the room. You clenched your teeth before sucking in a breath.

“I’m not going to kill myself but I’m not opposed to dying.”

He kept his gaze out the window, shoulders tense, hands clasped behind his back. “What exactly does that mean? You taking stupid risks in the field until it sticks?”

“I wouldn’t put anyone else at risk,” you said, needing him to understand.

That got him to turn, spinning to face you. He had that same grief stricken, angry look on his face. “That’s not what I asked.”

You met his gaze for a long moment before looking away with a hard swallow. “My fucked up head isn’t your problem, Barton.”

“The hell it isn’t,” he snapped, loud and angry, drawing your gaze back to him. He paused, taking a deep breath. “The hell it isn’t,” he repeated at a normal volume. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Everything about you is my problem. Don’t you understand that yet?”

When you just continued to stare at him without saying anything, he headed for the door. “I’ll tell Bruce you’re up.”

You walked in, kitten heels clicking on the floor, drawing immediate attention. “Food’s in the car,” you announced and left them to it. You didn’t notice a new set of eyes trailing you as you made your way to Brett’s office.

You knocked on his open door and he looked up, a smile covering his face as he took you in. He slid off his glasses and put them on the desk. “Hey, baby. What are you doing here? I thought you had that client meeting today.”

He pushed back his chair and opened his arms for you. You moved over to get a hug and then leaned against the desk in front of him, standing between his legs. His hands found your hips as he looked up at you.

“It’s not for a couple of hours yet. Brought dinner.”

His hands tightened briefly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You huffed and ran your fingers through the curls on top of his head. “I know. But I did it anyway.”

“You have time to eat before you go? The crew always likes it when you stick around.”

You nodded and hummed in agreement. His smile grew impossibly wider as he stood and linked his fingers with yours. “Well, come along then, Mrs. Richards.”

As the two of you headed toward the kitchen, snippets of conversation drifted toward you. Brett pulled you to a stop when he heard his name.

“I have to say I’m surprised. Richards doesn’t seem the type.”

Brett leaned down to speak in your ear. “Kennedy. New recruit.”

The was a beat of silence then you heard Rhodes speak, “The type for what?” You’d always liked Rhodes.

“You know, that.”

Brett’s brow furrowed and you mirrored the gesture. What the hell was this kid on about?

“Afraid we don’t know. You want to clarify?” That was Jenny. She sounded irritated to say the least.

There was a low laugh. “Dating a groupie, a fire hoe.”

Oh.

“A what?” Rhodes’ voice was low, sharp. If the kid knew what was good for him, he’d shut up.

He didn’t. “Women that chase firefighters. Fire hoes. Get it?”

Brett released your hand and strode forward leaving you to trail behind him. The room was silent, everyone glaring at the new guy who seemed to still be waiting for the laughter he expected. Idiot.

“You want to repeat that?” Your husband’s raspy voice cut through the air and Kennedy spun to face him, looking like his soul just left his body.

“Chief! It was just a joke. Didn’t mean anything by it. Just trying to lighten things up.”

Brett crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at the man in front of him. “That woman, as you put it, is my wife.” He took a step forward. “She is intelligent, beautiful and takes care of this firehouse like family. Most importantly, she’s mine. Everyone here respects her. Do I make myself clear?”

Kennedy wouldn’t meet your husband’s eyes. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

The kid glanced at him briefly before settling his gaze on you. “Sorry, Mrs. Richards.”

You nodded but said nothing. The likelihood he would have apologized if Brett hadn’t overheard was slim to none. You’d never cared for insincere apologies.

“We’ll keep him busy, chief. Don’t worry,” Rhodes said, dropping a hand onto the younger man’s shoulder to steer him away.

“I thought we were getting ready to eat,” Kennedy protested.

Rhodes scoffed. “You think you can insult her and then eat her food? There’s bologna in the fridge.”

The scowl was still firmly on Brett’s face as he pulled out a chair for you. You placed your hand on the side of his face and pressed a kiss to his lips. “He’s an idiot. Your crew will teach him better manners. Don’t let it ruin your day, handsome.”

 He hummed beneath your lips, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you into him and deepen the kiss. Only when the firefighters gathered at the table started to whistle and cheer did he pull away. A wide smile covered his face as he laughed. He guided you into your chair before taking the seat beside you and pulling you close enough that your thigh was pressed against his.

The normal easy-going banter rose up around the table as the meal was served and food passed around. Brett’s hand found yours under the table, tangling your fingers together. You let yourself sink into the feeling of belonging, of being part of the crew even if you’d never ran into a burning building.

A small part of you felt sorry for Kennedy and what the coming weeks would undoubtedly look like for him. The rest of you decided it was a lesson better learned here and now than at the expense of someone that didn’t have the support you did. Some other woman who thought her partner had her back only to find out she was horribly wrong.

Steve was different. You trusted him. That didn’t make the conversation any easier. In fact, it made it harder in some ways. And now that the two of you were dating, it only gave you more to lose should he react badly.

You needed to tell him, you knew you did, but it seemed like every time you tried, something would interfere. As it turned out, your secret would be revealed to him on a sunny afternoon much like any other. The two of you were in pursuit of one Howard Neelan Jr., wanted for questioning in the death of his mother. Steve was in front of you, not that you were surprised. Your man was faster than he looked.

He followed the suspect down an alley and you lost sight of them for moment. And that’s all it took. By the time you rounded the corner, Neelan was holding your boyfriend at gunpoint. His hand trembled, gaze darting between you and Steve. “Stop. Just stay right there.”

You held up your hands in an attempt to appear harmless. “Did we know he had a gun?” you asked.

Steve shot you a glare from the corner of his eye. “No, we did not.”

“Shut up. Stop talking,” Neelan ordered.

“Listen,” you tried, taking the smallest of steps forward. “We can talk about this. There’s no reason to—”

The sharp retort of the gun firing interrupted you and you threw a hand up without thought, without caring which of you the weapon was aimed at. The bullet spun through the air, slowing dramatically as it hit the wave of your magic until it came to a complete stop, hovering in the air less than a foot from Steve’s face.

His mouth had dropped open in disbelief, but you didn’t pay it any mind. No, your attention was solely on the asshole in front of you who looked far more terrified than he had a moment ago. He fired another round, then another and another. Each bullet countered by your magic.

You were furious now. He wanted to kill Steve, would have if you weren’t what you were. Another wave of your hand and the gun flew away to bounce off the wall. Another and the man collapsed like a marionette that had its strings clipped. “Fuck that guy,” you said as you turned to face your speechless boyfriend.

His gaze moved from you to the man crumpled on the ground and back again. Then he reached up and plucked the bullet from the air in front of him. “I…I mean…what?”

Your lips twitched in amusement even as you braced yourself for his reaction. This was a lot, you were aware. It was why you hadn’t told him yet. What if he broke up with you, fired you? What if he told everyone what you were?

“I can explain,” you finally said.

He blinked once. Twice. “Actually, I’m not sure you can.” He closed his eyes and took a breath before looking back to you. “What the fuck just happened?”

“I’m a witch. Surprise.” It sounded more like a question than a statement.

“A…honey, what the hell?”

He looked so utterly lost that you couldn’t keep your lips from curling into a smile. You extended your hand and let magic curl from it, floating into the air as you closed the distance between you. “I can do magic. Is that okay?”

“You just kept me from getting shot so yeah, it’s okay.” He gave you that crooked smile and tension flowed from you. “We’re going to discuss this in detail later. But for now, we need to take care of this.”

“You cuff him and I’ll wake him up,” you said.

He made a sound of agreement. “And then what do we do when he tells everyone you stopped bullets in midair?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Oh, he won’t remember any of that. As far as he’s concerned, he fired the gun and then you were taking him into custody.”

Taking you at your word, he moved past you as he pulled out his cuffs. “You do this sort of thing often?”

“Magic or saving your ass?” you asked, snapping your fingers to wake up the perp once the cuffs were secured.

Steve hauled him to his feet, ignoring his confused questions. “Funny,” he said as he led the way out of the alley.

“I mean, I feel like I save your ass quite a bit. Frequently, even.”

He glanced over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Not that frequently, sweetheart.”

“Where the hell have the two of you been?” Danny asked as he intercepted you near Steve’s truck.

“What does it look like? We were chasing down Junior here.”

Danny’s gaze moved between the three of you before he sighed. “Yeah, whatever.”

“You can take care of him, can’t you?” you asked, voice sweet and smile wide. “Steve and I need to have a little talk on the way back to the office.”

Andrew froze, his eyes darting over to Deran who merely nodded.

“You knew she was heading up there and you just let her?” Pope’s voice was all gravel by this point, fists clenching at his sides.

“Let her?” Adrian said with a laugh as he gestured at Craig. “He helped her.”

Pope took a step toward his idiot brother.

Craig held up his hands. “Listen, she was doing it anyway. I just helped out.”

“Doing what?”

When Craig didn’t answer, Pope shifted his attention to Deran again. “She built a ladder into the side of the house.”

“She couldn’t find yours. Said it would be easier anyway,” Craig said with a shrug.

“I hid it.”

Craig blinked slow as he processed his brother’s words. “Why?”

“Probably to keep her off the roof, genius,” Deran said.

Craig blinked again. “Oh.”

Pope ignored them all, his long strides carrying him through the house and up the stairs until he reached your bedroom. The door to the small balcony was open, curtains blowing in the breeze. He stretched his neck and took a deep breath forcing himself to calm. He was Andrew for you. Never Pope.

And he wasn’t mad. Not at you. He was worried. Terrified actually that you’d slide right off the edge of the roof one day and he wouldn’t be there to catch you.

After one more calming breath, Andrew climbed up the ladder you’d screwed into the side of the house. It seemed sturdy but he’d examine it later to make certain. As soon as his head cleared the eave and he could see you, something in him just eased. Even when you were putting yourself in stupidly dangerous situations, your mere presence was enough to calm him. Slightly.

“We talked about this,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

Your head snapped over and he watched your whole face light up at the sight of him.

“Andrew! You’re home.” You patted the patch of roof beside you.

“Thought you weren’t going to come up here anymore.” Even as he said the words, he took his spot next to you. It was where he belonged. Where he always belonged. But he’d prefer it if you were on the ground. He could be next to you on the ground, too.

“I told you I’ve been doing this for years,” you said, leaning into his side and resting your head on his shoulder. You’d been escaping chaos and seeking peace on rooftops since you were a kid.

He kissed the top of your head. “It’s not safe.”

“But it’s so peaceful up here and look at the view.”

Andrew shook his head. You were already next to the beach. Why you needed to see more water he didn’t know. “It would be quieter if you quit letting my brothers come over.”

You nudged his side. “They don’t mean any harm. They like it here. Besides, I told them if they make a mess, they can’t come over any more.”

He huffed. “They can be clean and still be loud.”

Your laugh was quiet but Andrew loved to hear it just the same.

“I don’t like you coming up here.” It was the same discussion the two of you had been having since the first time he’d found you perched on the roof.

“Andrew—”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “I’ll put a railing along the edge. In case you fall. If I’m home you tell me and I’ll come up with you.”

You tilted your head to look up at him. “Won’t that look weird? Having a railing on the roof?”

“Who gives a shit?” He didn’t care what it looked like to anyone else. He just wanted you safe.

After another moment, you looked out at the view again, hands wrapping around his arm. “Okay, Andy, but don’t make it too tall. You’ll ruin the view.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “Can’t have that.” He pulled out his phone and called Deran. “Leave,” was all he said when his brother answered, then he hung up.

You laughed again, the sound brighter, louder this time.

Andrew’s lips twitched up into a smile. “We should go inside. It’s time to eat.”

“Five more minutes.”

“Five more minutes,” he agreed immediately. “Then we go inside. And no coming out here without me until I get it fixed up.”

“K. Love you.” Your words were slow and tired.

“Love you,” he echoed. He’d give you your five minutes then you were going inside. The last thing his nerves needed was you falling asleep out here.

It was no secret he didn’t like your boss. He thought you let yourself be taken advantage of. Unlike John Truman Carter III, however, you didn’t have a family fortune to fall back on. You weren’t going to risk your job arguing about every little thing you were asked to do. So, when your boss called to tell you Jenkins had fallen ill and he needed you to go to the conference out of state, you’d agreed.

“I assure you that my boss does not give a shit about our relationship, John. And he certainly isn’t attempting to sabotage it.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You glanced at the time. You needed to leave or you were going to be late to the airport. With a sigh, you headed for the door. John called your name just as you reached it. You turned to face him, annoyance and hurt fighting for dominance.

He stepped close, giving you a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I’m just going to miss you. And I can’t believe you’re leaving me to face the gala alone.”

You shook your head, softening at his apology. Your back was against the door and his arms came up to box you in, hands resting against the door on either side of your head. He smiled and leaned forward to kiss you. You reciprocated immediately. Finally, you pushed him back and laughed. “I need to go.”

His nose traced the line of yours. “Come on. Just one more.” The words were a breath against your lips. And you could do nothing else except give in.

You managed to convince your boss to let you duck out of the last few hours of the conference and caught an earlier flight home. You’d have to meet John at the gala but you’d spare him from spending most of it alone.

You’d stopped by the apartment only long enough to change and drop of your luggage before you headed to the venue. When you arrived your eyes scanned the room, looking for any sign of your boyfriend. The ring on your finger caught the light. Fiancé, you mentally corrected. You were still getting used to the change.

Gamma found you first, her smile bright and welcoming. “I thought you couldn’t make it?”

“Moved some things around. Have you seen John?”

She waved a hand through the air in dismissal, mouth pursing in annoyance. “I’m sure he’s hiding around here somewhere. You know how he is. Tell him to find me when you locate him, please.”

You agreed even as you were already moving away, your target the dark corners of the room along with the hallways and balcony outside of it. John was always good at finding a hiding spot.

The balcony ran the length of two walls of the main room. It was your last hope as you hadn’t found John anywhere else. As you neared the corner, your steps halted as you heard someone talking. A moment had you realizing it was just the man you were looking for. Your grin at finding him faded as you caught the gist of the conversation.

“What if someone comes?” said a feminine voice that was very much not the man you loved.

John gave that little chuckle he used when he thought he was being impossible to resist. “No one is going to find us out here, baby. Promise.” There was a pause and then a sound that could only be a kiss. “Come on. Just one more. This is more fun than being stuck in there, isn’t it?”

A giggle. Oh, she giggled, wasn’t that sweet?

Your vision blurred and you swallowed hard, trying to stop the tears from flowing. You eased forward slow and quiet, needing to see the end of your world with your own eyes. And there they were.

She was a pretty little thing. Blonde and petite with bright red lips, her gaze stuck on your fiancé. John had her boxed in, an arm on either side of her head, that annoying crooked smile on his face, lipstick smeared across it.

Well, that answered that, you supposed.

“Gamma’s looking for you,” you said, voice steady despite the tears that overflowed to run down your face.

John jumped back, putting space between him and the other woman. Your name broke as he said it, his eyes running over you. “I thought…you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Yeah, well, neither is she. Not here with you anyway.”

“John, what’s going on?” she asked.

Your gaze snapped to her. “Don’t mind me, I’m just the ex.”

John’s face fell and you turned to walk away, ignoring him as he called after you. You hadn’t made it very far before his hand grasped your arm. “Please, just wait.”

“Don’t touch me.” You didn’t look at him as you spoke, but he released his hold immediately.

“Listen, I know that looked bad but it’s not what you think,” he tried.

You turned then, gaze flicking over him. You pulled off the ring and held it out.

He shook his head, refusing to take it. “Let’s just talk about this, okay?”

You grabbed one of his hands, placing the ring in the palm and curling his fingers around it. Then you reached up and wiped your thumb along his lips. He closed his eyes at the sensation.

When you pulled back, his eyes fluttered open. You showed him the stripe of color on your thumb. “Red’s never really been your color, John. Goodbye.”

Not directly, no. That wasn’t how Smurf operated. It was always hints and suggestions and what ifs. But he read the subtext easily enough. So, he’d come home and asked you what the plan was. He knew you had one at the ready. You always did.

That’s when you told him about the money stashed at a bank in the Caribbean and a little hut on the beach. About the money buried in the sand beneath it. Every penny he’d given you, you’d stashed away in anticipation. You’d used trips with your dad as a cover until he died six months ago. But you still had all of his connections.

Papers under fake names. Private airplanes. A little boat owned by a man named Horse that Andrew decided not to think about too long for his own sanity. He’d completed one last job with his family, took his cut and the two of you disappeared before Smurf could summon you for a family dinner.

Every step went just as you’d planned and as the miles between you and Smurf grew, Andrew became less tense. By the time you arrived at your new home nestled in the trees along a beautiful stretch of beach, he’d stopped anticipating an attack around every corner.

That had been months ago now and for the first time in his entire life, Andrew felt like he could just breathe. Like he didn’t have to prove his worth, to earn his place. Every night you went to sleep in his arms and he woke you every morning with his lips on yours. This life with you was a peace he didn’t think he’d ever feel.

“Andy?”

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts and he squeezed your hand as he looked over at you. The two of you were walking along the waterline as the sun set. “Yeah?”

The smile you gave him chased away any lingering thoughts of Smurf and his brothers. “You with me?” you asked.

He lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “Always.”

And there was no where else he ever wanted to be.

It only took another moment for him to realize that it wasn’t his mother at all. It was you. He slowed to a stop, gaze running over you. He’d seen you for the first time in years at a gala Gamma had insisted he attend several months ago. Then you’d disappeared before he had the chance to speak to you.

The two of you had grown up together, your parents part of the same snobby circle that you both hated. You’d also been one of his few friends that was allowed around Bobby after he got sick. Your father was a physician and toward the end spent almost as much time at the Carter’s home as he did your own. Most of the time he brought you with him to keep John company.

Then Bobby was gone and his mother blamed your father for no other reason than he was there and John was forbidden from speaking to the girl that had become his closest friend. By the time he’d turned old enough to seek you out, you’d left the state for school.

Shaking off the nostalgia, he closed the distance between you, calling your name once he was close enough. You turned in surprise, eyes wide, a smile crossing your features when you realized it was him. “John Carter. Look at you.” You immediately moved forward to embrace him.

He hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arms around you and letting himself sink into your hold. God, he’d missed you.

When you separated, you stared at him a moment before scratching lightly at his beard. You laughed. “I bet Gamma hates that.”

He ran a hand over it self consciously. “She does actually.”

Your sweet smile had him running his gaze over you, trying to memorize everything about you. “Well, I like it.”

The flowers in his hand suddenly felt like they weighed a ton. “I, uh…I need a minute but I’d like to catch up if you have the time.”

“Lunch?”

John smiled and nodded in answer, his gaze trailing you as you stepped away. He shoved down the nervous anticipation that was building in his belly. His eyes moved back to Bobby’s headstone, seeing a bouquet of tea roses that you’d obviously left. After laying his own flowers beside them, he rested his hand on the stone, just taking a moment to remember. Part of him thought maybe he should feel bad for focusing on you when he was here to pay his respects. But another part knew that he thought about his brother every day. That today was just another day in that cycle of grief that seemed never ending.

Except today had brought you back into his life and he intended to keep you there this time. When he turned, he found you leaning against the base of the angel statue while it towered over you. He spared it barely a glance before he held a hand out in your direction. A smile crossed his face when you didn’t hesitate to lace your fingers with his.

“You haven’t even met him.”

“Don’t need to. What’s Robby doing with him?” Jack’s brow was pinched as he glared at the stranger.

“You can’t kill him with your mind.”

“I can fucking try.”

The corner of your lips kicked up in a smirk. “Should I be concerned about the level of jealousy you’re exhibiting because Robby is talking to another man?”

His attention snapped to you. “I’m not jealous. I’m just worried.”

“Uh huh,” you resumed your walk into the building.

Jack fell into step beside you. “I’m not.”

“Okay, baby. You don’t have to convince me. I believe you.” You absolutely did not believe him.

Robby wasn’t just Jack’s friend. He was his brother, his favorite person other than you, his closest confidante. As such, Jack was protective, perhaps a bit possessive. He did not like that Robby had a friend he hadn’t met yet.

“What is he doing here?” Jack said low, so his voice wouldn’t carry.

“Him and Mike are going for a ride since he’s off the next three days,” you explained, though you were fairly certain Jack had already been informed of this multiple times.

“That’s him? That’s the motorcycle guy?”

You sighed. “Who did you think he was?”

Duke glanced over then did a double take when he spotted you. A wide warm smile covered his face. “Well, if it isn’t the Mrs.,” he said loudly and Robby looked over his shoulder to see the two of you.

He checked his watch. “You’re early.”

“Thought we’d let you get on the road,” you answered.

Jack was being unusually quiet beside you. When you glanced over you were surprised to find him glaring at you now. You just shook your head and turned back to the other two men. “Let’s get handoff done so you can get out of here.”

Robby smiled wide and clapped his hands together. “Absolutely. I’ll be right back, Duke.”

“I’ll be right here.”

You glanced at Jack. “You go do handoff. I want to talk to Duke for a minute.”

Jack’s gaze narrowed as he laced your fingers together. “Nope. You have to be there too. Those are the rules.”

You blinked. “Since when do you care about the rules?”

“Since now.” He looked past you to Duke. “Sorry. Duty calls. Nice to meet you.”

As he pulled you through the door, you waved at Duke. “I’ll text you.”

 Duke just laughed and waved back. “See you later, sweetheart.”

Jack continued to lead you through the department, past Robby where he stood at the hub. “With me, Robinavitch.”

Robby’s brows arched as he met your eye. You simply shrugged in response. When you reached a relatively quiet part of the department, he finally released you. He crossed his arms and scowled at the both of you.

“What?” you finally asked.

“Why is it exactly that Robby’s friend referred to you as ‘the Mrs.’?”

Your smile started small as you fought the twitching of your lips but it quickly grew. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

Robby’s smile mirrored your own as he nodded his head. “You are. It’s sweet.”

Jack’s face remained blank.

“I went with Robby to Duke’s garage about a month ago. It was fun. He called me Mrs. Robby. It was a joke because me and Mike kept finishing each other’s sentences,” you explained.

Jack’s form eased. “Mrs. Robby? Not…”

“Not what?”

“I thought he was calling you his Mrs.,” Jack explained.

Robby ran a hand over his beard, amusement written all over his face. “So, you don’t care that he called her Mrs. Robby at all?”

Jack shrugged. “Don’t be stupid. Why would I? I thought you wanted to leave. Why are you wasting my time talking about this?”

Once Robby was safely on his way, his location turned on for you and only you, Jack turned to you. “You went with Robby to Duke’s garage?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“How did you get there?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Robby’s bike. He got me my own helmet and everything.”

You went to check in with triage, ignoring Jack’s heavy stare.

Robby had been back at work for two days when his motorcycle was hit by one of the ambulances. You and Jack arrived as he was trying to get it upright. Jack bit the inside of his lip to hide his smug expression. He tried to grab you as you rushed forward to help, hand just missing your arm.

“What happened?” you asked.

Jack tuned out the explanation as his gaze moved past the two of you to make eye contact with the ambulance driver and his partner loitering just inside the entrance. He nodded once in acknowledgement.

He tuned back into your conversation when he heard you ask, “Is it bad?”

Robby traced his bottom lip with his tongue as he looked things over. “I don’t think so. Just scratched her up a bit.” To prove the point, he straddled the bike and started it up. There wasn’t even a hesitation in the engine.

Damn fucking incompetent ambulance drivers. He left you two to talk and went inside to talk to the idiots he’d hired.

“We did what you wanted, Abbot. When do we get the rest of our money?” one of them asked before Jack could say anything.

His brow furrowed. “You’re not getting anything. I don’t pay for shoddy work. There’s nothing wrong with the fuckass motorcycle. What was the point of you even hitting it if you weren’t going to damage it?”

So, the two of you sat and he explained in great detail. Mr. Le Bail and The Lawyer were both prohibited from interfering directly with the families as long as they adhered to their contracts. They were unable to ensure their choice took the high seat. It was how it had been for hundreds of years.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t push. Direct. Influence.

A satanic ritual here, a discrete murder there and within the year you were engaged to Alex Le Domas instead of the man you loved. And Titus was furious. Worse, he was hurt. You could only hope he’d forgive you in the end once he realized what you’d done for him.

The wedding came and went, your side of the aisle empty as you’d sent no invitations. There was no one you needed to witness this event. You smiled, laughed and charmed your way through the reception.

And then came the game. Maybe you would have felt worse about what was to come if they had warned you in any measure. But they hadn’t. They’d let you walk in blind, not realizing you already knew everything. And why wouldn’t they? It would only make it easier for them if you were unprepared.

You let them have their pomp and circumstance. The pre-game ritual that was unnecessarily drawn out. Finally, you drew the card you’d already prepared for. “Oh, hide and seek is my favorite. How much of a head start do I get?”

You headed to the room where you’d stashed a bag earlier. Once you’d put on more appropriate footwear, and armed yourself, you began to systematically destroy the Le Domas family. It was far easier than it should have been. Of course, you had been trained by Titus in anticipation of you becoming his bride.

They got in more hits than you cared for, but you made it to dawn. Pushing open the curtains as Alex pleaded for his life. “It wasn’t personal Alex. You were simply a means to an end. Goodbye.”

You cringed when he exploded covering you in blood. Gross but effective. Le Bail appeared in the chair at the head of the table with a smile and a nod. You moved through the house making sure the fire would catch offering the perfect cover for the disappearance of the Le Domas family.

You left the house, wondering how long it would take someone to respond to the fire. Your steps stuttered as you descended the steps to find The Lawyer and Titus waiting for you at the bottom.

Titus’ expression was blank, hands clasped in front of him and eyes hidden behind dark glasses. You felt his gaze move over you, even if you didn’t see it. “You survived.”

“Of course.”

“Are you injured?”

You shifted your attention to The Lawyer who appeared to be endlessly entertained by the circumstances. “Why is he here?”

When he simply smiled your attention snapped back to Titus. “Why are you here?”

“To escort you to the estate. And to make sure the cover story is in place.” He took a step closer. “The question I have is how The Lawyer knew how this would end when he summoned me in the middle of the night.”

You looked between the two men, settling on The Lawyer. He smirked and gave you a small nod before retreating to the car. “You may reveal to Mr. Danforth whatever you wish, as long as he plays along.”

So, you told him everything. From The Lawyer showing up at your door to the plan to marry Alex and survive the game to the ring being in play. Even with the sunglasses, you could see the changing emotions on Titus’ face and you knew he believed you. How could it be anything but the truth after all?

“You didn’t love him?”

You snorted. “Absolutely not.”

He hummed and took a step forward. “And me? Do you love me?”

“Never stopped.”

Another step. “Did you fuck him?”

Your nose curled in distaste. “Satan, no. Convinced him I wanted to wait until we were married. Made it easy to convince him to agree to a quick wedding.”

The corner of his lips curled up as he closed the remaining distance between you, his hands finding your face to hold it as he looked at you. You reached up and took off his sunglasses, wanting to see the hazel eyes you’d missed so much.

“There’s only one problem with your plan, sweetheart.” He leaned in, face inches from yours. “In order to claim the seat, I have to kill you.” The words were hissed in anger and annoyance.

“Really, Titus. Do you think so little of me?” His features softened as he realized there was another step, another secret he didn’t know. He couldn’t bear to lose you, not again. “When’s the last time you read the rules?”

He pursed his lips. “Never. To be fair, I never expected a bride to survive.”

“According to the fine print, should I marry into one of the families before time expires, my spouse would hold the high seat.”

His gaze was frantic as he looked for any sign you were lying. You simply smiled, enjoying the feeling of his touch on your skin. You’d missed it. “So, by the time all this is over, I’ll hold the seat and you’ll be mine?”

“I’ve always been yours, Titus. I just had to take a little detour to make sure you had everything you desired.”

He kissed you then, deep and slow as the fire burned the Le Domas legacy to ash behind you.