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“They said they want to protect me, that someone is out there trying to hurt me, trying to use me as a tool against them. So maybe being here is the safest place for me. Sure, I can shoot... kind of. But I’m not in any shape to take on the Mafia or men who work for them. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe this is the best place for me.” Or... they could be lying. Maybe there isn’t anyone out to get me, and they just pulled that out of their asses as an excuse to justify snatching me out of my bed in the middle of the night and moving me into their house without me knowing.

“And did you know what they said to me?” I ask Luna, who just continues to purr away. “They said they wanted to knock me up, can you believe it? They want me to give them an heir for their messed-up empire. Well, sorry, but I’m not a fucking baby-making machine. When I have kids, I want it to be with a man I love. A man who respects me, worships me. Who knows? Maybe they could have been the ones if they went about all this differently.”

I say that as if I don’t think about them every damn second of the day. As if I’m not reliving every moment of that summer in my head on repeat, along with the night at the warehouse, when Maverick’s fingers were buried deep in my pussy, making me cum. Or what Shepherd did to me the other night, giving me the best orgasm I’ve ever experienced.

It leaves me wondering what Saint’s touch would feel like. He was a mix of his two brothers: quiet and observant but also playful and flirty. The one thing they all shared was the same intensity, that primal, burning hunger whenever each of them looked at me.

“Ugh,” I groan, rolling over onto my back. “I need so much therapy.” That’s another thing I’m wondering about. Would my therapist be concerned about where I am, why I’ve missed our sessions? Shit, what about my meds? I’m on them for anxiety. It’s only been two days, I should be fine, but any longer than that, and I’ll start to feel the effects of the withdrawals.

The funny thing was, even though I had every right to feel anxious, panicked, angry, scared, I didn’t feel any of those things. At least not anymore.

I felt confused for sure, unsure about what's going to come next, but overall, I feel okay.

That should be a red flag, something that causes me to worry about my mental state, but after finding out who these guys really are... I’m ashamed to say it, but I feel excited.

I don’t... I don’t want to leave. God, what is wrong with me!?

Part of me feels like I just got my men back, and the idea of being apart again fills me with that panic and unease I should be feeling towards other things.

“They want me, fine. But I’m not having their babies,” I argue with no one. “And I’m not making it easy for them. They’re going to have to work for it. Because if I give in too easily like I want to—and damn it, Luna, I really want to give in and accept my fate—I feel like I might lose myself in another toxic relationship. I can’t. I won’t, my pride won't let me.” I roll over again, watching her as she licks her paw and cleans her cute little face. “Last time I let my guard down and trusted someone with my body, they destroyed me,” I mumble.

What my ex did left scars on my soul. I’ll never forget what happened, never stop wanting him to pay for his sins. The one thing I’m more than glad for is that he didn’t break me. He might have made me feel ashamed for some of the things my body desires, but it didn’t stop me from feeling that way. It didn’t stop me from hoping one day someone would actually accept me for me. Not play me into a false sense of safety and abuse the power I trustingly gave to them.

Someone like Maverick, like Saint, or even Shepherd. They’ve shown me more than once that they didn’t see me as broken, as fucked in the head, or as crazy and vile.

It’s not like I was into insanely disgusting things. They were just a little unconventional.

A little dub con, a good chase, being tied up, choked, used... the list could go on. But none of that screams mentally ill, right?

At least that’s not what they see it as. But who are they to judge? They killed a man, and then finger fucked me in front of the dead body. Not sure if they’re the best ones to make that judgment. None of us are.

Other things they mentioned pop into my head, like the fact they’ve been watching me for so long. I should feel violated, like my privacy has been stripped away from me. But I don’t. I actually kind of like it. I fucking like the fact that they’ve been so infatuated with me that they’ve resorted to stalking me, installing cameras in my house, and even going as far as to get my therapist’s notes so they can understand me as best they can.

It’s wrong, so fucking wrong, but it’s also kind of sweet.

Yup. I’m so fucked in the head.

How far would they be willing to go when it comes to me? I wouldn’t be surprised if they put a tracker on me.

The idea makes me laugh, then I pause. My hand reaches up to my neck, finding the little bump under my skin. My brows furrow as my fingers trace it.

They wouldn’t... would they?

Of course they fucking would. Why on earth would you even be the least bit surprised, Cove? They’re unhinged and have no boundaries when it comes to you.

“Mother fucker,” I hiss, kind of pissed off, but also kind of turned on. We’ve established I’m not all there in the head, let’s move on.

I always thought it was just some kind of growth. It didn’t hurt, and I didn’t have the money to go get it checked out. I just kept an eye on it, making sure it didn’t grow. So, I didn’t think it was an issue.

What if it really is a damn tracker? Add that to the list of bizarre things I plan on asking them. Along with, was it really my washing machine really eating my underwear, or was it one of them stealing them?

Turning my head to the side, I see the sun starting to rise. There’s no point in trying to go back to sleep, I know it won’t be happening. Giving up, I push the blankets off me and roll out of bed, leaving Luna to curl up and go back to sleep. “Must be nice,” I mutter, glaring at her before heading into the bathroom.

Knowing it’s been at least two days since I showered, I don’t hesitate to grab one of the white, fluffy towels and place it on the counter.

I take a moment, looking around the room. I hate to admit it, but fucking hell, this bathroom is amazing.

Stripping out of my sleep clothes, I toss them in the hamper in the corner of the room and step into the shower. It takes me a moment to figure out how to use the darn thing, but holy hell, as soon as the hot water starts to rain down on me, I let out a shocked laugh followed by a groan as the warmth seeps into my bones.