Page 206 of Blackwood

Cade walked in halfway through that one. Didn’t even blink. Just loosened his tie, sat down in that big leather chair of his, and started stroking himself while he watched us like we were art. Then he joined in. Took his time going down on me while Lex whispered filth into my ear and held my wrists above my head.

I think I blacked out at one point. In the best way.

Lex even read us poetry after. I’m not kidding. Completely naked. His voice all low and raspy. But it didn’t last long, he got distracted by my breasts and Cade’s dick and made us both come before he even hit the second stanza.

They keep asking me to move in. Cade with his soft eyes and slow hands. Lex with his dirty promises and unrelenting need. And God, I want to. I want them.

But something still holds me back…

Don’t get me wrong, I love them. So much it aches. So much it terrifies me. But something’s still off. The weight of everything I’ve learned—the Barinovs, the Russos, Zeke, theIzzyof it all—it’s sitting in my chest like lead. And every time I try to exhale, it’s still there. Heavy, sharp, and fucking suffocating.

Irina keeps asking me to meet her for coffee.“Just a quick talk,”she says. She looks at me like I’m Izzy and it freaks me out. I don’t like it. I’m not ready to unpack all of that. Not with her. Not yet. So, I keep dodging and keep making excuses.

Lex doesn’t push but I can feel the disappointment every time I turn her down. He wants me to have with Irina what I have with Savannah, some kind of maternal connection.

But it’s different. I’ve known the Whitmores since I was fourteen. There’s history there. Real love. The kind that grew over late-night kitchen raids and family lake trips, long before any of us realized how much we’d come to matter to each other.

And then there’s Roman. He’s here, somewhere out in the crowd. We’ve been texting a little since he saved my life. Since he knelt in the street like some mafia vigilante dad and painted the sidewalk with a stranger’s skull. He wants to be part of my life now. Says he doesn’t want to waste another second.

Cade told me to invite him to Regionals. Said it’d be low pressure. Not a dinner or a sit-down where we’d have to talk the whole time. Just a seat in the crowd. He could watch, cheer, and then leave.

And Luca? Luca’s been quiet all week. Not a single message. Which freaks me the hell out. I’ve been on edge—paranoid, checking corners, and flinching at shadows. Always waiting for the next move.

Which is so not me. I feel like I’m going soft after meeting the guys. Like the badass who shot Carlos in the dick is slowly slipping away.

Dr. Monroe calls it progress. Says my nervous system is finally coming down from the survival mode I’ve been stuck in for years. That I’m starting toprocess the trauma.Whatever the hell that means.

All I know is, I don’t like feeling exposed and vulnerable. Vulnerable gets you killed.

So maybe I shouldn’t have, but I called Uncle Jack the next day. Told him what happened, minus the skull-splattering part. I just said things got tense and I was safe now. Told him not to tell my dad, just to say I called and everything was okay.

He agreed.

Then, of course, he went and called Lex and Cade. Apparently, they’re best buddies now. Bonded over football, bourbon, and their shared obsession with keeping me alive. They made a whole safety plan for The Trifecta and everything.

Jack couldn’t make it today. It’s the anniversary of Aunt Claire’s death this weekend and Daddy decided to fly him to Arkansas for a fishing trip.

So to be safe, Jack sent a few of his buddies from the NYPD to be stationed all over this place. Plain-clothes officers. Canines. Probably snipers on the roof if I had to guess.

And I know it’s probably for the best, but it’s also a reminder that I’m not safe.

Not really.

Not even here.

Not even now.

“Bella,” Rico says, pulling me away from my thoughts.

He crouches down in front of me, voice gentle now. “You good, baby?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m just… breathing.”

He gives me a knowing smile. Then leans in, pulling the strap of my costume onto my shoulder, fixing it with the kind of care most people reserve for religious artifacts.

“Breathe all you need,” he whispers. “Then go out there and burn the fucking floor down.”

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