Page 96 of Knuckles & Knives
“Chaos,” I say, looking at Axel with a smile that makes his eyes light up despite his injuries. “Beautiful, unpredictable, absolutely devastating chaos.”
“Now you’re speaking my language,” Axel grins.
“Dom, I need you to coordinate our defensive positions, but not according to standard tactical doctrine. Create something Cross won’t anticipate—unconventional, unexpected.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Marcus, I need you to feed false intelligence into Cross’s information networks. Make him think we’re weaker than we are, more predictable than we’ve become.”
“Already working on it.”
“Kieran, I need you to reach out to your contacts—not Sterling Syndicate, but the neutral parties who might be willing to provide support against Cross.”
“Done.”
“And, Axel,” I turn to the man who nearly died gathering the intelligence that revealed our true enemy, “I need you to teach all of us how to be ghosts. How to move unseen, how to strike from shadows, how to disappear when conventional tactics would demand we stand and fight.”
“That,” he says with satisfaction, “is going to be fun.”
The planning session continues for hours, but there’s something different about it—an energy, a synergy that goes beyond professional coordination. We’re not just allies working toward a common goal anymore. We’re family, bound by loveand trust and the kind of loyalty that transcends rational self-interest.
By the time we break for food, I can see it in the way they move around each other—the casual intimacy of shared space, the unconscious coordination that comes from absolute trust, the protective awareness that keeps each of them subtly positioned to defend the others.
“You know what I realized today?” Dom says as we gather around the kitchen table, sharing takeout containers and planning documents.
“What?” I ask.
“Cross made a fundamental miscalculation. He assumed that bringing us together would make you weaker, more vulnerable through emotional attachment.”
“And?”
“He was wrong.” Dom’s dark eyes sweep over each of us in turn. “You’re not weaker because you love us. You’re exponentially more dangerous because now you have something worth protecting that’s also capable of protecting you in return.”
“We all are,” Kieran adds quietly. “Stronger together than we ever were apart.”
“Even me?” Axel asks with his trademark wild grin, gesturing to his healing injuries.
“Especially you,” I tell him firmly. “You’re the one who discovered Cross’s deception, who risked everything to give us the intelligence we need to fight back.”
“We’re not the same people we were when this started,” Marcus observes with analytical precision. “Cross is preparing to face opponents who no longer exist.”
“There’s something else,” I say, setting down my chopsticks and looking around the table at these four men who’ve restructured their lives around loving me. “I love you,” I tell them simply. “All of you. Not as assets or allies or convenientpartners, but as the family I chose, the men who chose me in return. And whatever happens when we face Cross, I want you to know that loving you—being loved by you—has been worth every risk, every sacrifice, every moment of danger.”
Dom stands first, his powerful frame moving with surprising gentleness as he cups my face. “We know,” he says, “and we love you back. All of us.”
One by one, the others rise from their seats, surrounding me in a protective circle of heat and want.
What follows isn’t a scramble of lust. It’s a blessing, a worshipful, reverent unraveling of everything we’ve been holding back.
Kieran’s fingers slide under the hem of my shirt, lifting slowly, deliberately. Marcus unclasps my bra with the kind of surgical precision that makes me laugh until his mouth replaces it and pulls a moan from deep inside my chest. Axel kisses me like he’s dying and I’m his only salvation, his hands everywhere at once—rough, wild, perfect.
Dom is last to touch, kneeling before me like a dark knight, pulling my pants down and kissing the inside of my thigh with such aching care it sends a pulse of heat straight between my legs.
They lay me back on the bed, their bodies flanking me, anchoring me. My legs are spread wide, lips kissed raw, chest flushed with heat and gratitude and need.
Kieran’s fingers are the first to sink inside me, two of them curling and finding that place that makes my back arch. “So wet,” he murmurs, like it’s a discovery. “So ready.”
“Of course she is,” Axel growls from above me, kissing his way down my ribs. “She’s ours.”
