Page 26 of Dark Seduction

“Fuck this,” I mutter, slamming my beer bottle down on the counter and jumping to my feet.

“Thank fuck,” Burnt mutters from behind me, and I can hear his footsteps hot on my heels.

“What is going on?” Karma asks, clearly confused by our sudden departure, but I don’t have time to explain. Not that I would tell him anyway.

All I know is that I need to get on my motorcycle and get to Mack’s apartment. Her pussy is already wet, and when our baby sends us a pic like that, we know she needs what only the two of us can offer.

MACK

Morning comes far too quickly.The rising sun beaming through the threadbare curtains that had come with the apartment like a spotlight on my face. I groan at the intrusion. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I stretch out my arms, finding no one next to me. “V? Burnt?” I mumble as I open my eyes. No one’s here. The bed is cold to the touch, making me realize when they left. Why did they leave, though? That is the more pressing question. I thought after last night that we were all on the same page. Clearly not as they were gone before the sunrise. Sighing, I roll to my back, staring at the ceiling, the previous night’s events replaying in my head like a broken record. Did I make a grave mistake by agreeing to a throuple?

Regret courses through me. Was I not clear enough? Should I have explained the rules more clearly? This relationship dynamic isn’t as simple as my last one. It is one thing to be intimate with two men, but to maintain a relationship with them is a whole other ball game.

How am I supposed to balance their different needs and wants? What would happen if one of them got jealous? With my last relationship, I only had to worry about my ex. Not two men with two distinctly unique personalities. Not two men who are associated with one of the biggest motorcycle clubs in the country.

I sigh deeply and glance at the space that was once occupied by them both again. Is this what I can expect to find every day? To go to bed with the two of them and wake up alone?

I have limited knowledge about motorcycle clubs outside of what I’d seen on television, or picking up from some of my clients. Would the club be a secondary problem for us? Who knows how Judge will take the news once we’re in a good place to tell him, but what about the rest of them? If this works, would they accept us as we are? Would they accept our relationship?

I’m so stuck in my racing thoughts that I barely register the quiet noise coming from the other side of the house. Slipping from bed, I pad down the hallway. It fills with the acrid smell of smoke. I edge closer to the kitchen, my heart thumping at what I might find. Shielded by the doorframe, a wave of relief ran through me as I saw Burnt and V bent over the small stovetop. A sigh of relief washes through me. They didn’t leave, though I’m unsure what they’re attempting to do at my stove. Steam billows off a pan filled with an extra dark golden omelet, though it doesn’t smell like food. V stands shirtless, his back tense, muscles flexing as he stirs a metal spoon in the pan. His boxers are slung low on his narrow, muscular hips. Burnt’s redressed in the clothes he showed up at the club in last night. His club vest hangs over the back of one of the island stools.

I settle into the doorframe and watch them work. They’re so engrossed with what they’re doing, they don’t notice my presence behind them. “Are eggs supposed to smell like that?” V whispers to Burnt.

“How would I fucking know?” Burnt fires back, exasperation clear in his voice. “More butter?”

V shakes his head and replies, "Butter will not fix that, asshole. Where’s the exhaust fan?"

V stares at the over the range microwave before finding the fan button on the front of it. It whirls to life as he presses it. “Could you be any louder?” he hisses at the rack it’s making. “How’s it going?”

“Do you think Mack likes her eggs overcooked and pulverized?”

V peers down into the pan and shakes his head. “Do you think they deliver out here? I don’t think that’s edible.”

“Nope. Already looked.”

“What the hell do we do then?”

“Toss it and try again. There’s seven more eggs in the carton.” Burnt grabs the pan by the handle, and heads towards the trash can behind him. That’s when he notices me. “Hi,” he shutters. “Good morning,” I smile back at him.

“We’re making you breakfast.” He peers down at the pan and shrugs. “Well, I’m trying to make breakfast.”

“Want some help?” I take a step towards him and the stove, and he puts a hand out to stop me.

“Nope, we got this.” Judging by the charred remains steaming in the trash can, I’m not sure he does, but who am I to stop him from trying again?

Burnt takes up his post at the stove, quickly salvaging what was left of the eggs while V sets out plates for everyone on the small, rustic kitchen island. One of them is a paper plate. I arch a brow at the odd man out in the place settings. “Where’s the blue one?”

V’s body tightens like a drawn bowstring at the question. His eyes dart towards the floor, and his shoulders hunch inwards. “About that…”

“He dropped it,” Burnt answers over his shoulder before V can respond. “It’s in the trash can with my eggs.”

The words hung in the air between them, and V’s face fell. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus, prospect,” V mutters under his breath.

But Burnt’s eyes only met mine and danced with amusement as he raised his eyebrows in a questioning gesture.

“Did you drop it?” I ask V gently while I smile back at him. After a pause, V nods his head, resigned to confessing his mistake: “I did.”

Burnt swears as hot grease from the frying pan spat across the kitchen counter. “Karma for ratting me out, ass hat,” V grins.

---