Page 69 of Bunker Down, Baby

Oh god. That tone.

Evan doesn’t even look up. “No.”

Dean grins. “Dinner party.”

Wade raises a brow. “I thought this was a dinner party.”

“No, no,” Dean says, spinning a knife between his fingers. “I mean we invite one of the hostages to dinner.”

“They’re not hostages,” I say immediately. “They’re family in transition.”

Evan snorts. “You literally sedated and abducted all of us.”

“Yes,” I say cheerfully, “But now we have a cow and emotional support sex, so you’re welcome.”

Wade coughs into his hand, grinning. “Not wrong.”

Dean slaps the counter like he’s cracked a code. “Exactly. So why not let one of the grump twins come sit at the big kid table? A nice little meet and greet. Controlled setting. Soft lighting. Knives out of reach.”

I pause. Actually consider it.

It would be nice to start warming them up to group life. And strip poker. But mostly group life.

“They’re both still chained to their beds,” I say. “Brock did say he was going to murder me with a garden trowel.”

“Dinner might help that,” Dean says. “Or at least distract him with carbs.”

Wade leans back against the fridge, arms crossed, lips twitching. “Let’s be real, who’s less likely to stab someone with a spoon?”

“Holden,” Evan says immediately.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Holden has silent ‘I’m calculating my escape route’ energy. But he’s not rage-vomiting threats.”

Dean points a tomato slice at me. “Brock’s loud, sure. But he’s fun. Like if we gave him a burger and a beer, he might just glower into the mashed potatoes and call us all freaks, but at least it’d be entertaining.”

“You want to invite the human feral cat to dinner because he’d add spice?” Evan asks.

“Yes,” Dean says. “That man brings spice.”

Wade’s laughing now, arms shaking with it. “What are we voting on? Who gets parole for mashed potatoes?”

“Basically,” I say. “It’s between Controlled Quiet Menace and Raging Bear in a Cage.”

“I don’t think either of them deserves mashed potatoes,” Evan mutters, reaching for the salt. “Also, if either of them comes to dinner, that cancels strip poker.”

Dean looks personally offended. “Why?”

Evan raises a brow. “Because I don’t want to flash my dick to someone who still has ‘murder’ in his eyes.”

Wade’s eyes sparkle. “What if we want him to?”

“Okay, that’s a little hot,” I admit.

Dean shrugs. “Let Brock come. If he tries to bite someone, I’ll hold him down. Wade can stroke his hair and whisper affirmations.”

“I will,” Wade says, completely serious.

Evan sighs. “We’re all going to die.”

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