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“I’ll make cookies,” I offer.

Dean points at me. “She gets it.”

Chapter Nineteen

Brock

The radio crackles low in the corner.

I’ve got it tuned just right, volume turned down low enough that if you’re not listening for it, you won’t even notice. Static rolls under the woman’s voice, shaky, like she’s been reading the same warning for hours.

“…all travel restricted… emergency response systems overwhelmed… fatalities linked to aggressive behavior following vaccine reaction… stay in place, do not engage…”

I stare at the ceiling.

Not because I’m relaxed. But because I’ve already counted every screw, seam, and shadow in this room twice, and I’m trying not to snap the restraint just to feel something break.

My wrist aches where I’ve tested the cuff. Repeatedly.

It’s welded into the bed frame. Reinforced. This place wasn’t built on a whim.

I hate that I noticed that. Hate more that I respect it.

She planned this. Her. Maple.

Her voice is sugar-dipped steel, her smile two inches from unhinged, and the way she talks like she’s already won? It should piss me off more than it does.

And I guess it does. But not for the reasons I expected.

I don’t hate her for being crazy. I hate her for being right.

Footsteps pass my door. Low voices. Laughter.

I close my eyes and listen.

Dean’s voice is loud and cocky. That mechanic fucker sounds like he thinks this is fun.

Evan is quieter. Precise. He’s annoyingly calm. I can hear the eye rolls in his voice even when I can’t see them.

And Wade. That one’s dangerous in a different way. Easy-going voice, big heart, deadly hands. The kind of man who’ll hug you and break your neck if you hurt someone he loves.

And then there’s her.

Maple Grace Monroe.

She’s laughing like she didn’t kidnap all of us and chain us to beds like some kind of twisted survival romance starter pack.

They’re in the kitchen now, laughter and pots clattering. I swear I hear the words ‘strip poker’ and ‘cookies’ in the same sentence.

What the actual fuck.

Then the conversation shifts.

“Let Brock come. If he tries to bite someone, I’ll hold him down. Wade can stroke his hair and whisper affirmations,” Dean says.

Without a beat Wade says, “I will,” sounding like he’s serious.

Jesus Christ. He’ll draw back a nub if he tries.