Page 39 of Breaker

Hooking a finger under my chin, he tilts my head back to look at him, sending my stupid heart fluttering. “Do you want our Baby Girl home?”

My breath hitches. Home. Ours. Tears spring to my eyes. I bite my lip and nod.

Reaper’s thumb skates over my bottom lip before his hand drops. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs in fifteen.” He points to a stack of black and gray clothing sitting on the vanity. “Don’t be late or you’ll pay the consequences.”

That threat does weird things to the greedy place between my thighs. When he shuts the door, I rush to the stack of clothes and get dressed, barely paying attention to the fact I now have leggings, a sports bra, and a hoodie.

OurBaby Girl.

Yes. Ours. I want our Cora back.

Home.

***

It’s too cold to be outside, but these men don’t seem to mind. The thick black leggings left for me do nothing to cut the cold blowing in from the north, nor does the grey hoodie, even when I bury my hands in the front pocket.

I pull the front door closed, making sure to latch it. My boots thud almost as loud as my heart as I descend the stairs and stop in the drive where Reaper and Striker stand, both holding duffel bags and grins. At least, Striker has a grin, I’m sure Reaper smirks but he’s wearing his stupid mask so I can’t tell.

That grin curls into a mischievous smirk. “Nice hoodie,” Striker says gesturing to me.

My gaze drops to the large block lettering on the front of my shirt spelling out the word TEAMPLAYER. I was in such a hurry to get dressed and lace my boots, I barely paid attention to my clothing. I look up to the men before me, catching Striker nudging Reaper in the side. Reaper rocks back on his heels, dropping his chin like he’s hiding a smirk.

Not like he has to. I can’t see his fucking face anyways.

“Real mature,” I say.

Striker’s grin widens, making my belly flip. He’s so beautiful. Gorgeous golden eyes and tanned flesh that begs to be licked. All white teeth and full lips. Lips I wish were on mine,my body, between my legs. I let out a huff of annoyance at how quickly my mind deteriorates around these men.

Men. Except two… one is missing.

“Where’s Viper?” I ask.

Reaper shrugs in this wholly arrogant, completely uncaring way that makes me want to scream. With the way he acted upstairs, I had thought we’d moved past this. Past the uncaring demeanor. That we’d moved into something new the other night and instead of this push and pull we constantly do, we were going to embrace this. But it’s as if every time he gives me fragment of his gentleness, he has to cut me with his sharpness, reminding me that while he says I’m his, he’s not mine.

The thought slices through me, making my shoulders droop. My emotions feel shy, unsafe, leaving me unable to find solid ground long enough to sort through it all. Cora’s safety sits front and center, but it’s all jumbled with this unquiet feeling coiling up in me. What I need is reassurance not just that we’re getting Cora back, but that when I let them claim me, claim us, I didn’t make a mistake.

That they do want me. They aren’t lying. But none of them are giving me that. And any time I’m alone with them, things tend to get out of hand, myself most of all. Cora seemed to redirect some of their attentions and made me feel…

Less focused on.

My eyes snap to them, all my attention returning to Reaper and Striker just a few feet away. This is the first time I’ve realized I’m alone with them.

Really, truly alone.

And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to manage them.

You managed them all just fine a few days ago.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, already feeling a headache blooming.

“I think she’s still mad at us,” Striker says.

“Do you blame me?” I ask, stuffing my hand back in the pocket of my hoodie. “You sent my best-friend back to marry Zane-fucking-Devin.”

Reaper slowly angles his head toward Striker.

“Breaker told her,” Striker says.

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