Macy stood at the kitchen window later that afternoon, sipping coffee and watching the quiet street. Her body still hummed from the morning. Every movement reminded her of Kane, Jax, and Silas — how they had filled her, stretched her, made her come until her voice cracked. She wore one of Kane’s oversized black shirts and nothing else. The fabric smelled like him: dark, masculine, slightly spicy.
The three men had been busy. Jax checked the security cameras they’d installed overnight. Silas patrolled the backyard and garage. Kane stayed closest, never more than a few steps away, his green eyes scanning everything like he expected trouble any second.
They had explained more over breakfast. Her uncle had enemies — old business partners who thought the inheritance should have gone to them.
