Page 36 of Burned in Stone
“Bull-fucking-shit,” Ginger says loudly, laughter in her voice. “That man has been following you around like a puppy, and the moment there was even a whiff of danger coming your way he was into Stone’s office putting a claim on you. If that isn’t a man head over heels committed to getting you naked, I’ll eat my patch.” She cocks her head. “And I like my patch, Mercy.”
I laugh, despite myself, because the worst part is it’s true. Cash has been less a casual workplace flirt and more like some biker-adjacent emotional service animal. I can still feel the weight of his palm on my jaw, anchoring me when I wanted to fly apart. That’s not just chemistry, that’s… something else. I don’t know if it’s better or worse than the codependent disaster I escaped, but at least it’s real.
Kya leans in, her expression turning serious. “Let’s be real, the only reason you’re not already shacked up with him is because you refuse to accept you’re allowed to want something that wants you back.”
“That’s not true,” I protest. “It’s more that I left a really intense situation. And everything about Cash is?—”
“Also intense,” Ginger finishes for me.
“Very. And I didn’t want to drag him into my shit. He didn’t ask for any of this. None of you did.”
I take a breath.
“Yesterday I had a bag packed,” I admit. “Plan was to leave before Gabriel could get his claws into anyone I care about. Just go. Disappear.”
The words hang in the air. They all exchange glances, quiet.
“Cash found out. And he was pissed—but not like Gabriel would’ve been. No screaming. No guilt-tripping. He just… told me how much it would wreck him. And then he held me.”
I swallow.
That’s the part I don’t know how to process.
Because I’ve never been wanted like that before—not as decoration or convenience—but wanted in a way that demands nothing but exactly who I am in the moment I exist.
And that kind of wanting is terrifying.
“Cash scares me,” I say quietly. “Not because I think he’s dangerous. Because he looks at me like I’m… real. Like the way I am is exactly who he chooses. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
No one interrupts.
Even Ginger goes still.
And I realize they all know this terrain.
That particular brand of fear that shows up only when something good does.
There’s a quiet beat—just the hum of the coffee machine and kids babbling—then the kitchen doorbangsopen.
Nitro walks in, a scar-slashed monolith in a sleeveless Stoneheart cut, arms so packed with muscle he looks like he uses Harleys for bicep curls. He’s the only guy I’ve ever seen make Tank look scrawny. His beard is a riot of dark brown and auburn, and there’s a fresh purple shiner blossoming under one eye.
He scans the room, assesses the breakfast situation, and makes a beeline for the percolator. Ginger flicks her eyes at him but stays silent. When Nitro’s got his mug full, he finally looks at the table. Looks at me. Whatever calculus he’s running behind those eyes, it’s not subtle.
“Who’s the fresh meat?” he asks, words direct as a punch.
Ginger grins like she’s been waiting all morning for this. “Nitro, meet Mercy Rogers. Or Cash’s girl if you don’t want to get shanked before lunch.”
He doesn’t react except to drag a chair out and plant himself at the table, the wood creaking under his weight, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Back off, Nitro,” Ginger warns.
“What? I’m being friendly.” He leans against the counter, eyes still on me. “Just wondering if she needs someone to show her around. Give her the full tour. My room’s got the best view.”
“She’s been claimed,” Kya says flatly.
Nitro doesn’t budge. “Don’t see a patch on her.” He grins. “No patch means you’re free to explore your options, right sweetheart?”
The room goes quiet. Even the twins stop chattering.
