Page 218 of Indulge
She slides her hand into mine as we head for the door, that tiny smile of hers back in place—the one that says we’ve survived another war.
“What about the games, Bella? Who won?” Reggie calls out.
She turns, her hair falling over one shoulder.
“You just leave that with me. I’m the winner, because I get to keep both of you. Forever.”
Reggie smiles. So do I. For the first time all night, the air isn’t suffocating us.
“What are you planning?” I ask quietly.
“I’m still in the middle of scheming,” she says with a wicked little grin. “I love you both, equal amounts, so I’m figuring out my master plan to present to my brother.”
“So neither of us marry you?” I ask, pretending to frown.
She shrugs, mischief lighting her eyes. “I’ve not had one formal proposal yet. Maybe I marry neither.”
I glance back at Reggie, whose expression hardens instantly. Yeah. Not happening.
“Or,” I say slowly, “you marry us both?”
She giggles. “Illegal, Rowan. That’s kinda the whole predicament we’re in here.”
“Most of what we do every day is illegal, precious.” I grin, brushing a thumb over her hand.
Reggie laughs from the bed, voice faint but steady. “Let’s just pause this at the moment, until I’m outta here.”
“Deal,” she whispers, squeezing my hand.
And as we walk out into the quiet night, her fingers still tangled with mine, I realize that for once, despite the madness, the blood, the bullets, everything feels exactly where it’s meant to be.
109
BELLA
The drive home is quiet. Rowan keeps one hand on the wheel, the other finding mine across the console. His thumb rubs slow circles over my skin, grounding me. I don’t let go. Not once.
By the time we reach his driveway, the adrenaline has drained from my body, leaving behind the shaking. The kind that starts in your chest and seeps through your bones.
He kills the engine and glances over at me. “You okay, precious?”
I nod, though I can’t feel my fingers. “Let’s just… get inside.”
He doesn’t push. Just leads me up the steps to the front door, his hand firm at my back, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
The second the door shuts behind us, I turn to him.
“Take your shirt off.”
If he thinks I’ve forgotten about his wound, he’s mistaken.
His brow lifts, that familiar cocky grin tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t think I’d hear that so soon, but?—”
“Rowan.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to.
He blinks, then sees it. The tremor in my hands, the tears I’m holding back. The grin fades. He obeys.
The fabric sticks to the dried blood as he pulls it over his head. The graze on his shoulder isn’t deep, but it’s ugly. Red against the pale of his skin.
