Page 23 of Dreadful

“Really?” Bell wiggles from side to side, defiance arching her brow.

He exhales sharply, his hands moving underneath her shirt. “Really,” he grunts.

I watch her face, the way her eyes cut between us, daring either of us to call the game. I should reach for her, take her by the hips, and drag her back to me. But something holds me back, and I’m content enough to see how it plays out.

For now.

Bell shakes her head, a laugh catching in her throat. “This is ridiculous.”

“The bed’s not big enough for all three of us,” Cruz murmurs without opening his eyes. “So either you’re here or my brother is out.”

“The motel bed was smaller,” she counters, shifting her weight on Cruz’s hips. “We made it work.”

“Only because you were half on top of me,” I say, grinning as the memory surfaces—her knee wedged between mine, the hum of the AC unit, the way she’d sighed and burrowed closer. “You stole all the covers and most of the mattress.”

She rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at her mouth. “I was not.”

Cruz hums low in his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns on her thighs. “I seem to remember you using Gage as a personal body pillow.”

“And whose fault was that? You were the one who⁠—”

Cruz sits up in one fluid motion, his hands curving under her perfect ass, and stands. He rounds the foot of the bed until he’s looming beside me, her bare legs wrapped around his waist.

“Move over, asshole,” Cruz orders, his voice low and rough with sleep.

I gin, taking in his tangled hair and the possessive set of his jaw. My gaze drops to where his fingertips press into her skin. “You need a hand, brother, hm?” I brace my core at sit up smoothly, reaching for her. “Here, let me help you.”

Cruz steps back, puller her tighter against his chest like he’s holding her hostage. His gaze narrows on me. “Nah, I don’t think so, man. Get to the other side of the bed. Or get the fuck out.”

Now that is the kind of delivery my little brother is known for.

“What’s going on exactly?” bell asks, dragging the question out slowly.

I lift my hands, palms out. “Easy, man.” The comforter hits the floor as I slide across the sheets to the far side of the mattress. “Or Bishop’s gonna be next in line to join the party.” I flip his pillow, press my face into the cool cotton.

He doesn’t put her down. Just climbs right back into bed with Bellamy still locked against his chest, then rolls so she’s sprawled on top of him—her legs tangled with his, her cheek pressed to his sternum. Exactly how she slept on me in that shitty motel room. My jaw tightens.

“Seriously?” The words come out low, grated.

Cruz just lifts an eyebrow, all challenge.

She pushes up on an elbow, hair falling into her face. “Maybe I should just go to Rafe’s⁠—”

“No.” Our voices snap together, one sharp sound.

“Okay,” she drawls.

Cruz’s thumb traces slow circles just above her knee. “We’re fine. Aren’t we, Gage?”

I roll toward her, the sheets whispering against my skin as I drape an arm over her waist. “All good, Bell. Just go back to sleep.”

My palm rests low on her stomach, the worn-thin cotton of Cruz’s shirt soft beneath my touch. I can feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the warmth of her skin seeping through the fabric. Cruz’s hand doesn’t move from her leg, his thumb still tracing those same idle circles above her knee.

A silent conversation in the dark, neither of us willing to start the argument we're both itching to have.

Not tonight, at least.

Quiet blankets the room. It threads through my lungs with every inhale, and something in my chest finally unclenches, a fist opening one finger at a time.