1
CAM
Alexei once told me he’d been raised to believe birds were the souls of the dead visiting from the afterlife.
No.
Not Alexei.
I watched the crow hop across the picnic bench and remembered Teddy Jones murmuring about Slavic mythology, about a lost bridegroom, and marvelled that I’d been thick enough to believe that was his name.
You never believed it.
Not really.
But I’d believed inhim. In the rebirth he’d gifted my heart, even if I’d lacked the clarity—the fucking vision—to understand what it was yet.
And I understood now, because he’d stayed.
So had the birds. But this crow flew away, and I tilted my face to the sky.
Dawn.
It had taken me thirty-five years to realise I enjoyed it backwards. That’s to say, watching the sunrise after a long night was one of my favourite things to do, alone or with company. Though this morning, as I sat on the compound roof, enjoying a solitary smoke, I had the oddest sensation of both.
They’re leaving.
In the murky light of the early morning, I tracked Saint as he crossed the yard with a bag slung over his shoulder—one that had to be Locke’s. Saint didn’t own any bags. Or enough clothes to fill one. I hadn’t checked the cab of the HGV he was about to call home for the next week and a half, but I knew if I did, I’d find a toothbrush, a handful ofmyfucking underwear, and not a single other thing he gave a shiny shit about.
He needs more clothes. What if it gets fucking cold?
It was already cold. The December breeze was fucking Baltic, and I blew on my hands, missing the heat of the coffee mug I’d already drained. Missing the warmth of Saint’s unpredictable embrace and?—
“There you are.” Arms slimmer than Saint’s wound around me from behind, the scent of spicy, expensive cologne filling my senses as Alexei slotted against me and dropped his chin on my head. “Are you already moping, my love?”
My love. I craned my neck to find his gunmetal gaze. “You said it in English.”
“Said what?”
I repeated the phrase he usually spoke in his native language. The one I’d had to ask Folk to translate for me.
Alexei smiled and it was a hundred times better than any sunrise. “Maybe you have fucked the Russian out of me.”
If only. The fucking part, at least. I’d been up with the rigs all night, supervising the loading and checking the mechanics—jobs that most often belonged to Decoy and Nash. But Decoy was about to head out on the road too, for even longer than Saint, and these days, my sister needed my VP more than I did. If that meant I missed out on a night in bed with my men, somehow I’d survive it. “MaybeSaintfucked it out of you.”
Alexei smirked, giving nothing away. And I let it pass, loving how they loved each other when I wasn’t around. Imagining it had kept me going all night, though I couldn’t lie, I’d love it if one of them—both of them—ever came round to the idea of sucking my dick too.
“Are you thinking about it?” Alexei rubbed his cheek against mine. “You should not.”
Busted. “You have no idea what I’m thinking about.”
“Do not ever believe that.”
“Great advice.” I leaned into Alexei, instinct telling me I could smell Saint on his skin. That Iwantedto, because knowing they’d spent the night together made me whole. “Could’ve done with it a year ago.”
“It has been longer than that.”
It had. But we’d been in survival mode so long that time had lost all meaning. Weeks. Months. Years. The blink of an eye or a slow crawl through wet sand. Either way, that we were still here was all that fucking mattered.