Page 47 of Beautiful Scars: Unshakeable

Zane chuckles as he pulls on his shirt, but I catch the way his hands shake slightly. "Careful, sweet girl. Keep looking at us like that and you might not make it to that shower."

"Is that a promise?" Her voice is pure sin, and I have to take a deep breath to keep from climbing right back into that bed.

I groan, forcing myself to focus on buttoning my jeans. "Shower. Coffee. Food. In that exact order, or we're all going to pass out."

"You're no fun," she sighs dramatically, but there's laughter dancing in her voice and it sounds so fucking good. It's been a while since I've heard it.

"Trust me, Angel," I say, finally managing to get fully dressed despite her distracting presence. "We're going to have plenty of time for fun. All the time in the world."

She sits up then, letting the sheet pool around her waist, completely comfortable in her nakedness. The sight nearly undoes every bit of resolve I've managed to scrape together. Beside me, I hear Zane's sharp intake of breath.

"I'm counting on it," she says, eyes dancing between us with wicked promise.

I exchange a quick look with Zane—the first real, direct one since we woke up. In that brief moment, we share perfect understanding. Whatever awkwardness exists between us, whatever complications we need to figure out, it's worth it. For her, for this, it's all worth it.

"Shower," Zane reminds her firmly, though I can hear the strain in his voice. "Now."

"So bossy," she teases, finally sliding out of bed with deliberate slowness, putting on a show that has both of us unable to look away.

When the bathroom door finally closes behind her, I let out a long, shaky breath. "She's going to be the death of us."

"Absolutely," Zane agrees, and his voice sounds as wrecked as I feel. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

For once, we're in complete agreement.

Chapter Twenty-One

Zane

IfollowLevidownstairs,my hands still shaking slightly from everything that happened earlier. Everything that's still happening.

The silence between us feels loaded with the weight of what we've just shared. My mind keeps circling back to this morning—the way Sunny sighed when I touched her, the soft sounds she made, how her body responded to us with none of the fear and doubt she carries with her constantly since she's been back.

And she slept. More than just an hour or two and woke up smiling instead of screaming. We helped her have that. Both of us.

I grab three mugs from the cabinet, and set them on the counter.

Three mugs? When the hell did that become so automatic? When did I start thinking in terms of three instead of two? Instead of just me?

"This is weird as fuck," I finally manage, because someone has to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

Levi's shoulders drop like I've given him permission to breathe. "Yeah. I keep waiting for it to hit me—what we just did. What it means."

I pour coffee with hands that are still feeling Sunny's warm skin under my fingertips. "Has it? Hit you?"

"I don't know." He runs a hand through his hair, looking as lost as I feel. "I should be... Jealous? Guilty? Something."

"But you're not."

"Are you?"

I consider this as I hand him his coffee. Am I jealous? I watched him touch her, watched her respond to him, watched them together in the most intimate way possible. By all rights, I should want to put my fist through his face right now.

Instead, all I felt then and all I feel now is... complete. Like we're exactly where we're supposed to be.

"No," I admit. "And that's what's fucking with my head."

I've planned operations across three continents. I've stared down cartel bosses and walked away clean. Ialwayshave a plan. Ialwaysknow the next move. I never let my feelings dictate my actions. But this? There's no protocol for this. No tactical manual for falling in love with the same woman as the man you call your brother and making it work.

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