I don’t realize my lips have begun to curl until I blink, finding Monti’s staring at me.

“James—”

“Monti.” I turn to her.

She nods, and then shrugs, her eyes moving back to the boys. “K, fine, but like... don’t be stingy.”

She grins playfully and a low chuckle makes its way up my throat.

I grab for the handle, but Tanner flicks the locks.

He glares at my sister before focusing on me and reaches between the seat for his weapon, but I roll my eyes, shaking my head.

“Open the door, Tanner.”

When he hesitates, my sister kicks the seat. “Now, Tanner.”

With a low growl, he does as he’s told, and I push my door open.

My sister laughs when all three of the guys are suddenly standing shoulder to shoulder.

“Should we wait?” she asks, but I shake my head and step out.

No sooner does the door close, than they pull away, and I don’t make it a foot forward when I’m flanked.

“There she is.” Beretta smiles, but it’s short-lived and the air shifts. “What the hell?”

Ransom comes right up to me, a heavy frown over his forehead, his eyes glued to the clean slice along my cheekbone. He darts forward, one hand pulling on my lower back, to keep me still or move me closer, I don’t know, but he manages both.

His free hand grips my chin, tipping it sideways and his nostrils flare, his face painted with anger, but his touch is gentle, as the last man to touch it was.

But this is different, as are his words.

“Are you okay?” He grips me tighter, his voice strained and body stiff.

I swallow, and when my hand begins to shake, I ball it into a fist, but he either notices or senses it and covers my knuckles with his palm. I’m not sure if he realizes it, but his hold on my chin has softened and slipped back toward my hair.

He dips closer and my lungs decide they can finally open, my nerves come back to life, and I suddenly feel the sting of my skin, the pounding of my head.

“Jameson.” My name is a mix between a desperate growl and harsh whisper.

My eyes flutter closed, my body deciding it needs no permission from me to mold to his.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing,” I breathe.

Fisting my hair, his exhales warm my skin, and an ache forms between my ribs, my lips parting.

His gorgeous blue eyes are sharp, hooded and desperate for something—relief, connection... answers.

But I’m not sure to what questions.

Tension builds along his brow and he swallows. My muscles coil low in my stomach as his attention falls to my mouth, only to snap back up to mine. They’re lower, darker, and I’m witness to the desire raging behind his gaze.