Page 14 of Kylan (The Wylde Street Boys #3)

SIX MONTHS LATER

“We did it!” Fitch cried, holding his laptop. “Look! Come take a look! We fucking did it.”

Benji and I both went to him, leaned in, and looked at the screen.

One hundred thousand followers.

When we’d taken our Only Fans public, we’d set goals. Realistic goals, normal goals, and stupid crazy goals. We’d laughed and wrote down dream income, dream follower numbers, dream rankings, all written down on a whiteboard in our small and dingy apartment.

We’d blown all the realistic goals out of the water in the first month.

It was absurd how fast it happened.

We’d exceeded every goal we’d set for ourselves. And the outlandish goals we’d written down as an impossible joke? We smashed those too.

It was more money than I could have ever dreamed possible. And we hadn’t just renewed our lease. We’d bought the damn apartment. Well, the three of us had paid a decent deposit and were paying it off.

It helped to have the Leon Ellington and Marek Akhurst do the contract negotiations and working out our legal property contract between me, Fitch and Benji. We set up a company, The Wylde Street Boys, sorted everything out properly and legally. Four lawyer daddies made a very strong team, and our little apartment had become our studio and our head office. We had it painted, a still tiny but brand-new kitchen installed, new bathroom fixtures.

And it was ours.

Well, the mortgage was ours, but we had a smart repayment plan, and we were making amazing money to even have it paid off early. It all seemed so surreal.

We’d really focused on our business after Benji’s first day in court. The media had gone crazy, and he’d needed the distraction and something else to focus his energy on.

He’d suggested a marketing strategy, working out plans and spreadsheets on percentages, income, and expenditure allocations. Fitch worked on social media accounts for our page, and I concentrated on editing and producing our content.

We made a damn good team.

I still had plans for studying. That hadn’t changed. I was taking some introduction courses to help prepare me for university in the new year.

I was excited to start. I would be almost a good eight years older than most of my classmates, but I didn’t care. None of them had walked in my shoes. None of them had been homeless and found themselves renting out their bodies to afford food.

And none of them had two daddies who were at the top of the field we’d be studying. Two daddies who helped me, tutored me, encouraged me.

Two daddies who believed in me.

They were so fucking proud of me. They’d never questioned my desire to do the Only Fans content. Once I’d told them about my need for my own success and my own financial stability, they’d given nothing but full support.

They also loved my videos.

They’d even watched me film a few of them.

The video of me finishing on a vibrating dildo before an anon daddy appeared on-screen to undo his jeans, grab my hips, and pump a quick load deep into my arse was my most popular and rewatched content.

Leon was still smug about that.

Fitch still talked about it.

And Benji... Benji was doing okay. His father’s trial had been hard on him, but he was proud of himself for seeing it through. We were all so fucking proud of him.

Bruno Barbieri had been sentenced to three concurrent life sentences for murder, conspiracy to murder, amongst other charges as well.

He would never see the outside world again. He’d also had to be confined to solitary because two other inmates had already tried to kill him.

Nothing he didn’t deserve, in my eyes.

But Benji’s brother’s case for fraud and tax evasion was about to begin. It was an open and closed case according to Dominic and Nolan, but still... I wouldn’t stop worrying until that piece of shit was behind bars too.

And probably not even then.

They weren’t just my friends and business partners. They were my brothers.

So I knew when something was up with one of them. “Benj, what’s the matter?” I asked. “You’re distracted and you keep checking your watch. Do you need to be somewhere? We can finish up here if you need to go.”

His eyes met mine and he let out a nervous laugh. “I, uh... I asked Nolan to call Leon and Marek, and Dominic was?—”

Someone knocked on the door, and Benji laughed nervously before running to open it. Sure enough Leon, Marek, Dominic, and Nolan walked in.

Fitch stood up. “What’s going on? Is this a surprise orgy, because as hot as that would be, no one fucks me but Dominic.” He shrugged. “I will totally watch you guys though.”

Benji laughed and slid his hand into Nolan’s. “No, this is not an orgy, Fitch. You fucking perv.”

Dominic went to him and gave him a rough hug and kiss on the forehead. “Behave, brat.”

“Do you know what’s going on?” Fitch asked everyone.

I sure as hell didn’t, and Leon and Marek both shook their heads as they came to stand next to me. “No, Dominic didn’t say what it was. ”

Fitch gasped and pulled away from Dominic. “ You know what this is?”

Dominic put his finger to his lips. “Shh.”

We turned to Benji and Nolan, who were smiling, nervous. “So,” Benji said. “I’d planned to change my name, back when we’d first discussed ditching my surname, and I’d joked about changing my name from Benito Barbieri to Benji O’Brien.” He let out a laugh. “Taking Nolan’s surname.”

“So, we thought we’d do it officially,” Nolan added. “Today. At the private function room at Club 180. Which is basically next door, so if you’d like to join us. There’s a celebrant waiting.” He checked his watch. “Uh, now.”

I was stunned.

I turned to Fitch... who was mad? “Marriage licenses take thirty days, Benji,” he said. “Are you telling me you’ve been planning this for thirty days and didn’t tell me? Not once? Not even a little hint?”

Benji made an awkward smile. “Uh, surprise?”

Fitch growled, then turned on Dominic. “And you knew!”

He raised both hands. “I knew half an hour ago when Nolan asked me to get Leon and Marek.”

Fitch pouted at Dominic and then at Benji.

“Would it make you feel better if you were my best man?” Benji asked. He looked at me then. “Both of you. Please?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“But I’m the bestest best man,” Fitch declared. Then he levelled a glare at Dominic. “And I’d just like to point out, for no particular reason at all, no siree, no reason at all, that I will be the only one without a ring on my finger.” He raised one eyebrow. “And cock rings don’t count, just so you know.” He held up his left hand. “Ring. Finger.”

Dominic sighed.

Leon and Marek both chuckled, and Nolan covered his laugh with a cough. But Benji and I laughed. “Come on, brat,” I said, turning Fitch toward the door and, with my arm around his shoulder, led him out.

We were ushered inside 180 to the private function room where a man in a blue suit with bright orange glasses and a huge smile was waiting. Benji and Nolan had a brief and lovely ceremony. No fanfare, no pizzazz, just a whole lot of love.

There was champagne for the grown-ups and mocktails for us boys, fancy food, and light jazz music.

And one very happy, very in-love Benji O’Brien.

I thumbed the ring on my finger absentmindedly. “You look so happy,” I said to Benj. “I’m so happy for you, Benj. You deserve this.”

He nodded, a little teary. “Don’t regret your no-contract rule?” he asked, nodding to the table where he’d signed his marriage certificate.

I couldn’t marry Leon and Marek. We all knew that. But I wore their ring on my finger, a symbol of their unconditional love. It was all I needed. “Nah, I’m good without it. ”

Benji’s smile became a grin. “You really are.” Then he sighed. “We did okay, didn’t we? Us three?”

“Oh, baby, we did better than okay. Look at us.” I gestured to Fitch, who was talking to Marek and Dominic, making Marek laugh. But Dominic was looking at him with hearts in his eyes. “How long do you think until Fitch has that man’s ring on his finger?”

“By tonight,” Benji answered. “He’ll pout and sulk, and that’ll be that.”

I chuckled and sipped my drink. “I’m proud of us,” I said quietly.

Benji’s eyes met mine. “Me too.”

Fitch appeared beside us. “What are we talking about?”

“Us,” I replied. “The three musketeers . . . three blind mice . . . three?—”

“Three little come bunnies,” Fitch added.

Benji laughed. “Don’t ever change, Fitch.”

I held my mocktail up and we clinked our glasses. “To the Wylde Street Boys.”

“To us,” Benji said.

“To mostly me,” Fitch said. Then he sighed dramatically. “Fine. To us, because we’re awesome. Whatever.”

The end