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I belong to three men.
My gaze drifts across the lounge to Monty and Kody behind the bar, where they put on a show for the packed crowd in the distillery.
Kody’s venue has become the destination spot in Alaska. Patrons book months in advance just to get in the door.
The owner’s sexy, irresistible allure has a lot to do with that. The energy in the room thrums with excitement and desire.
Kody, with his dark, untamed aura, and Monty, the embodiment of billionaire porn, are the main event.
Bottles fly through the air, glasses slide across the bar, and the crowd cheers.
They compete with each other, tossing drinks back and forth, trying to outdo the other. It isn’t just fun brotherly rivalry. It’s proof that laughter can follow tragedy.
Life twisted them into violent, scarred warriors, but what they did in the hills doesn’t define them. It made them stronger, closer.
The connection between the four Strakh men fills my soul.
Kody grunts as Monty flings a bottle toward him, catching it easily and spinning it behind his back before pouring the contents into a glass.
A smile tugs at the corner of Monty’s lips as he slams a drink down in front of a customer with a flourish.
The crowd roars.
Leo shifts, feathering his fingers along my thighs beneath the hem of my dress, sending an electric thrill through me. The table hides our laps, providing some privacy in the packed room. But anyone looking can see the heat in his bedroom eyes.
“Monty’s in rare form tonight.” He brushes his warm lips along my neck, his hand slipping higher, fingers teasing the crease between my thighs.
“He’s trying to impress you guys.”
Monty’s love for Leo, Kody, and Wolf is unflinching. It’s a love that controls and smothers. A love born from fear.
Fear of losing us.
“He doesn’t need to try so hard.” Leo makes a hungry, rumbling sound as he nuzzles the spot beneath my ear. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Wolf’s laughter rings out from across the room, drawing my attention to where he sits at the bar, surrounded by women who are all but draped over him.
A black, distressed leather jacket hugs his broad shoulders, the fabric abused and brought back to life like the man himself. Silver chains and metal accents adorn the leather, and the high collar is turned up, framing his face in shadows.
Underneath, a black lace shirt molds to his lean, muscled frame. Black jeans, ripped at the knees and thighs, reveal glimpses of skin and tuck into a pair of heavy combat boots.
As he leans against the bar with smoky makeup smudging his eyes, he looks like a fallen angel who’s taken a wrong turn and ended up in a world of leather and shadows. Mysterious. Untouchable. Irresistibly beautiful.
And the women eat that up.
Like his father, he’s the picture of confidence, his black hair falling in shaggy waves around his face, his ice-blue eyes glittering with mischief as he flirts shamelessly. He’s come so far in such a short time, adapting to society with a speed that amazes me.
But beneath that cocky smirk is a deeply damaged man, haunted by demons he refuses to talk about. He goes to Dr. Thurber twice a week. We all do. Wolf says he opens up during his sessions. He just doesn’t open up to us.
We don’t need to know all the details of his captivity with Rhett, but some insight would help us through his panic attacks. He has PTSD, and the episodes are frequent. I have them, too, but not like his. He completely shuts down like he did when Denver stabbed Kody’s hand the night I dumped bones on the kitchen table.
That memory torments me every time Wolf has a breakdown.
The good news is he’s playing his saxophone again. Hearing his soulful melody drifting across the island comforts me on a visceral level.
I caress Leo’s hard denim-clad thigh, noting the tension there.
He’s still uneasy in large crowds. They all are. Doesn’t stop us from taking full advantage of our freedom. Now that we’re safe, we go out several times a week. Dinner and dancing. Motorcycle rides through the mountains. Yachting at sunset. Concerts and sightseeing in Anchorage.
