Page 126 of Monstrous Serpent

He snickers. “Yup.”

“Don’t tell Atlas.” I look down at my best friend, still snoring away. “He’d love that shit. Probably would have a headbutting contest with your dog.”

He goes quiet, long enough that I wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Then his finger traces one of my scars again. “Why’d they tie you up?”

Thought he’d moved on. Guess not. “Don’t know.”

Except I do.

My father and uncle beat me unconscious. I woke up bloodied and tied to that tree while my brother stood off to the side, watching. All because Atlas and I talked about trying out for a Juniors team together. One where we’d have to billet.

We were fifteen. Hadn’t even tried out. But my father decided to teach me a lesson anyway: leaving wasn’t an option.

Cody lifts his head, resting his chin on my chest. “You can talk to me.”

“I’m fine.”

He nips me gently. “I care about you.”

I nod, swallowing hard, my eyes finding Atlas again.

If only we had never talked about Juniors.

“You have feelings for him.”

My gaze snaps back to Cody. “We’re best friends.”

He quirks a brow, a tiny smirk on his face. “He called out your name earlier. You know . . . when he came.”

My cock twitches, and Cody notices, his smirk growing wider.

Leaning my head back against the couch, I close my eyes and blow out a breath. “We’ve never fucked like that before.”

“You both seemed to enjoy it.”

I grunt.

“Just saying, maybe it’s something you should talk about. In case either of you want to be inside my ass together again.”

Little shit. Guess he isn’t that sore after all.

I pinch his side, he giggles, then settles against me, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.

He’s right, though. I should talk to Atlas. With the three of us being together, we need to figure out everyone’s boundaries, so we don’t cross them. I don’t want to hurt either of them. Especially Atlas.

Which also means I need to tell him about Garrett.

Chapter 31

Atlas

Fuck me. My only clean dress shirt is wrinkled. Not a little wrinkled. Wrinkled like I balled it up and shoved it in the dresser instead of hanging it up. Which is exactly what I did. I shake it out, but it does nothing. The collar is still folded in on itself, there's a crease running diagonally across the chest, and the left sleeve looks like it went through a fight with the dryer—and lost.

Hunter is going to kill me.

I hurry into the common area and toss my shirt at Hunter so perfectly that it hangs off his shoulder like a dishrag. He doesn’t even look up from ironing his suit pants. “No.”

“Come on. You're already ironing.”