Page 13 of Bunker Down, Baby

Maple

I’ve got a plate full of pancakes stacked like a carb-based peace treaty, two perfectly browned sausage links, and a mug of black coffee in his favorite scratched-up steel mug, because I’m thoughtful. Orange juice too, fresh-squeezed, not that bottled garbage. If I’m going to spoil him, I’m going to do it right.

Dean and Evan are still in the kitchen, half-dressed and busy pretending like steak at 6 a.m. is a normal thing. Dean offered to walk down the hall with me to ‘keep Brock in line,’ he said with that filthy grin that still makes my knees a little wobbly, but that’ll never work. Brock’s not the kind of man you can intimidate. He’s the kind of man who stares down grizzlies and probably wins.

No, Brock’s going to take a little work. A little finesse. A few days of proper meals and sincere threats and some light bondage. He’ll come around.

Eventually.

Right now, he’s shouting. Real ragey. Filthy words too, and not the good kind of filthy, the kind that sounds like he means it, like if he weren’t chained to my reinforced bedframe he might actually try to kill me.

The cuff rattles again, loud enough to echo through the bunker. I smile, heart doing a little excited flutter, because he’s awake. He’s strong. And he’s just going to look so cute once the yelling stops.

“Time to meet my future husband,” I hum, and head down the hall with my breakfast offering like a lamb to the slaughter, except I’m the wolf, and the lamb’s already locked down.

The screaming gets louder the second I open the door.

“Mother fucking Christ. What the fuck is this?!” he yells.

Music to my ears. Truly. A real banger of a wake-up track.

I step inside, humming a little, balancing the tray on one hand.

He’s sitting up in the bed, shirtless, chest heaving, arm straining against the cuff that’s locked to the reinforced post of the headboard. Hair a mess, eyes wild, face flushed from yelling. He looks like a gorgeous, furious animal caught in a trap, and honestly, I might be a little damp just looking at him.

“You’re real pretty when you’re angry,” I say sweetly, setting the tray down on the little nightstand I brought in just for him.

“Who the fuck are you?! Where the hell am I?!” he shouts.

I sigh. “Wow. No good morning? No thanks for the homemade pancakes and your favorite sausage links? If we’re gonna play it this way, I’m Maple Grace Monroe. And you’re safe now. I gave you a little something to sleep. It made the transport less traumatizing for all of us.”

He jerks hard against the cuff and the bedframe actually groans. I love that for me. “You’re insane. You drugged me. You fucking…what is this, some kind of sick hostage bullshit? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Mmm,” I say, picking up a fork and cutting into one of the pancakes. “Okay, first off? That’s very rude. I cooked for you. I brought you all your things. I didn’t even forget your gross homemade beard oil.”

He stares at me like I’ve just crawled out of the walls. “You have my… what the hell is this place?!”

“Bunker,” I say cheerfully, chewing the bite I stole. “Fully reinforced, air filtered, stocked for years. We’re off-grid. Totally safe. And you’ve got bunkmates, so don’t panic.”

His jaw clenches. “Bunkmates?”

“Dean and Evan,” I say, walking a slow little circle around the bed to admire him from all angles. “Dean’s a mechanic. Strong like you. Evan’s a doctor, ER, gonna be vital when or if one of us gets sick or hurt. Both are amazing with their hands and, my god, in bed? Don’t even get me started. You’re gonna love them once you stop yelling and threatening to kill me.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he growls.

I click my tongue. “Okay, see, this is exactly what I mean. That attitude? That tone? It’s why you don’t have a girlfriend already, Brock. I’ve watched you deal with people. It’s like this. Not very nice.”

His eyes narrow. “You’ve watched me?”

“Quite a bit,” I say, biting another piece of pancake. “Through binoculars, mostly. Sometimes a spotting scope. You’re very handsome when you split wood, by the way. Real nice shoulders.”

He makes a strangled sound and yanks at the cuff again. “I should have let the flu take me,” he mutters.

I gasp, hand to chest. “Don’t say that. We’re building something beautiful here. Community. Safety. Domestic bliss.”

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” he says.

I smile wide, syrup on my lip. “I’m eating another one of your pancakes for that.”

He groans like it physically hurts him. It’s so cute.

“Are you going to eat?” I ask, nudging the plate a little closer on the tray. “Coffee’s black, just how you like it. I didn’t add sugar, even though you strike me as someone who could use a little sweetening.”

He glares at me like he’s considering launching the entire plate at my head.

I smile anyway. “If I wanted to poison you, baby, I would’ve done it already. Probably right after hauling your growling ass into the car. And besides…” I pluck up a sausage link with my fingers, take a dainty bite, then hold the rest out to him. “I just ate some. Perfectly safe. A little spicy, actually. Like you.”

He turns his face away like I’m not the best part of his morning. So fucking rude. I’ll forgive it. He’s adjusting.

“I knew you’d be stubborn,” I say, taking a sip of his coffee just to prove a point. “You and Holden. You’re both all grrrr and scowly and ‘I work with my hands and don’t talk about my feelings.’ It’s honestly adorable. I’m wondering which of you is going to win the gold star for being the last to admit this is a literal dream come true.”

I eye his chest as I say it, broad, bare, and rising with every furious breath. The cuff around one thick wrist is holding, but barely. The muscle there flexes when he yanks at it again, the motion making my thighs clench.

God, he’s strong. Unreasonably hot. All scowls and scars and sleep-rough stubble. I want to lick his abs just to see if he growls.

Instead, I sigh. “You know, I made your pancakes fluffy on purpose. I don’t do that for everyone. I like you. I picked you. And now you’re being a whole lot of ungrateful for someone who got hand-delivered fresh coffee and breakfast in bed. Not to mention your favorite mug.”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps breathing like he’s mentally mapping out how many seconds it would take to strangle me if he were uncuffed.

“Right,” I say, popping the rest of the sausage in my mouth. “Well, I’ve got another grumpy man to feed. Holden’s probably brooding in his pillowcase fort by now.”

I stand, smoothing my dress down over my hips, and glance back at Brock. “Next time, I hope you’re feeling a little more sociable. Maybe we can take a walk, you can see the garden, meet the others… get used to your new home.”

I wink, then grin like this is the start of something beautiful. Because it is. He just doesn’t know it yet.

The moment I step into the kitchen, I’m hit with the smell of seared meat and hot coffee. Dean’s at the stove shirtless, of course, and Evan’s sitting at the island, all post-orgasm broody with a fork in his hand and a medical journal open like he’s not half-feral under that calm exterior.

Dean turns the second he sees me, that smile spreading slow like honey on hot toast. “How’d it go with our newest grump?”

I pluck a strip of bacon from the counter and munch it as I lean against the fridge. “Well, he told me he’s going to kill me. Multiple times. Didn’t even taste his pancakes. Called me a lunatic, which, okay, rude, but not inaccurate.”

Evan raises an eyebrow. “Worse than I was?”

“Oh, significantly.” I slide closer and boop his nose with the bacon before biting the end off. “At least you didn’t growl at me like a feral dog on day one. I mean, you looked like you wanted to, but you didn’t. That’s growth.”

Dean chuckles, flipping a steak with an obscene sizzle. “Want me to go in there? I could give him a little manners lesson. Or just show him what happens when someone’s mean to our girl.”

Our girl.

God, that does something to me. I feel my stomach flip, which is honestly unfair because I just ate sausage and coffee like a queen.

“He needs to cool off before anyone else goes in,” I say, moving beside Dean to peek at Holden’s steak. “One-on-one time is important. You all get to bond with me separately before we move into our happily-ever-after orgy phase.”

Dean leans down and kisses the side of my head. “Just say the word, and I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“You already do,” I tease, pressing my hip into his.

“You’re the gravity in here,” he murmurs.

I roll my eyes, but my chest goes a little gooey.

Evan, of all people, is the one who gets up and takes a small bowl from the counter. “Try this,” he says, holding out a bite of something creamy and golden on a spoon. “Custard. From the powdered mix you found in Holden’s stash. I added nutmeg.”

I eye him, suspiciously touched. “Are you seducing me with survival pantry hacks?”

“Is it working?” he asks.

I lean in and take the bite from his spoon, holding eye contact the whole time. It’s good. Creamy, sweet, and warm. I lick the spoon slowly and Evan’s jaw ticks.

“You’re gonna make me ruin another pair of pants,” Dean mutters, pulling the steak off the heat and placing it on a plate with absurd care.

“Then stop wearing pants,” I say, still watching Evan as I lick the corner of my mouth. “And you,” I add, tapping the spoon against Evan’s chest. “Are officially not the grumpiest anymore. You’ve been dethroned.”

He snorts. “I’ll send Brock a thank you card.”

Dean places the finished plate in my hands. “You sure you want to go in alone?”

“Positive,” I say. “You all get a special private meeting with me. This is the part where he rages and resists, and I show him that I can outlast his temper. That I brought him steak. That I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean kisses me again, this time slower. “Come back after. I’ll make you something sweet.”

“Already got something sweet,” I wink, turning toward the hallway with Holden’s breakfast. “Two of them.”

Holden is awake.

And quiet. Too quiet.

He’s sitting up against the headboard, the cuff keeping one wrist locked in place, but you’d think he put himself there on purpose the way he’s reclining like a man in total control of the situation. Not a single muscle tense. Just watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s halfway solved and not sure if I’m the reward or the warning label.

God, he really looks better in person than through binoculars.

Lean, sun-browned, scruffed-up and barefoot. That dangerous kind of wiry strength, like he could outrun a mountain lion or wrestle a wild boar and not even break a sweat. His hair is dark and a little messy from sleep, but those eyes? Blue-gray and sharp enough to slice me open.

And I’d let them.

I walk in with the tray and set it down on the little bedside table. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just tracks me with those eyes like he’s deciding how best to kill me, or understand me.

Honestly, I don’t know which is more terrifying.

I grab a knife, cut the steak into perfect little bites, and set the knife far, far away from the tray. I slide it closer to him. “There. All ready for you. Dean made it. He’s incredible in the kitchen. Between him and me, we won’t need to add a cook to the roster. Not unless one of you surprises me with a hidden culinary passion.”

Still nothing. Just that silence. Like I’m the one performing in a zoo and he’s trying to decide if I’m a monkey or a tiger.

I sigh and grab a bite of the steak with my fingers. It’s still warm. Tender. Medium rare. I moan a little just to make a point and lick the juice off my thumb before dropping into the chair beside his bed.

“Fine, I’ll talk. Since you’re clearly the strong silent type.” I cross my legs, feeling the heat of his stare drag up my thighs. “There are four of you. So far. Dean’s a mechanic. Hands like magic, mouth even better. Evan’s a doctor, was ER before the world went to shit. Grumpy, but he’s coming around. Then there’s Brock. Strong, scary, loud. He woke up an hour ago and screamed at me for five solid minutes. I still made him pancakes.”

Holden’s brow lifts the tiniest bit. It’s the most expression I’ve gotten from him so far. Progress.

“There’s one more I’m bringing in. A farmer named Wade. He’s good with land, good with animals, and we’ll need both soon. But you…” I point my fork at him, “You’re the most useful of all. You know how to survive when the systems collapse. How to trap, hunt, fight, fix. You’re like… a wilderness Swiss Army knife. With cheekbones that could kill a man.”

His mouth twitches. Barely. But I see it. I do. And I want to throw a party for it.

I keep going.

“I brought all your supplies. Every single thing I could carry. Dean and I packed it up ourselves. It took hours. You’ve got everything here. And better. This bunker? Climate controlled. Solar powered. Water filtration. Security cams. No nosy neighbors. And best of all…” I smile wide, “Me.”

Holden tilts his head a fraction. “Smart plan,” he says, voice deep and dry like whiskey with gravel in it. “Risky, though.”

My stomach does a flip so hard I almost fall out of the chair. “Oh my god, you talk.”

He lifts his cuffed wrist slightly, testing it without urgency. “And you drugged me.”

“Only a little,” I say brightly. “You would have fought us and I needed you safe.”

“You really think this’ll work?” he asks.

“I know it will,” I say. “You just haven’t had your coffee yet. Or your post-apocalyptic sexual awakening. But you will. You’re exactly what we need.”

His gaze drops, slowly, to my mouth. Then lower. Not subtle. Not apologetic.

My thighs clench. I shift in the chair and grin. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Holden’s quiet again, but this time it feels deliberate. Like he’s collecting data, deciding whether I’m delusional or prophetic. He’ll come around. I’ll give him time. Just not too much.

I rise, smooth my shirt, and wink. “Eat your steak, Holden. I have another grumpy man to win over next. But next time I come in here, I hope you’re a little nicer. I’d love to take you for a walk. Show you the perimeter. Let you meet the others. Maybe let you get a little sunlight on those collarbones. You know. Something fun.”

He doesn’t respond.

I take that as a yes.