I Ran Home With My Baby to My Brother's Biker Friends, and the Three Who Tormented Me Said I Was Theirs to Guard novel · Chapter 19 of 24

Chapter 19: All Three

I asked them on the Friday night, the night before the yard, in the old president's office with the door shut and the lamp on.

I asked them one at a time, aloud, standing in the middle of the rug.

I had thought about it for six days.

I had thought about it in the shower at my mother's house, and on the road, and in the cold at the grave.

I did not want to be given to them.

I wanted to take all three, with my own mouth, in a room where nobody could say they had decided for me.

Zuri was asleep in the locked nursery at the back of the hall.

Dutch sat on the couch outside its door with the monitor on his knee and a thermos, and he had looked at me when I walked past and then looked at the wall.

"Take your time," he had said.

I had not told him what for.

He had known.

Now they stood in a row in front of the old rolltop.

Dirk in his thermal and his vest, with his hands at his sides.

Nik in his shirt sleeves, with his sleeves pushed up and his jaw working.

Mason by the window, with the lake behind him black and glittering, and his split lip healed to a thin pink line.

"Nik," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"You told fifty men I was yours, and I said no."

"I remember."

"Ask me," I said.

He took one step.

He stood in front of me and took a breath that shook.

"Zo," Nik said.

"Will you let me touch you tonight?"

"Yes," I said.

"Will you let me put my mouth on you?"

"Yes," I said.

"Say please."

He laughed, a broken sound.

"Please," Nik said.

"Please, Zo."

"Dirk," I said.

He had not moved.

"You've never touched me unasked," I said.

"I'm asking."

"For what?" Dirk said.

"For all of it.

"For your hands, and your mouth, and whatever you've been holding back for nine years.

"Come here."

He crossed the room.

He stopped an inch from me.

Then he took my face in both hands, and I felt the tremor in them, and he kissed me.

It was not the yard and it was not the bench.

It was something slower, and heavier, and entirely certain.

When he lifted his head his eyes were wet.

"Mason," I said, over his shoulder.

"Come here."

Mason came.

He stood behind me.

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