She might be a pain in the ass and an Amazon, but neither of those things should be a death sentence. And as much as the thought of her and Shiloh together makes me feel twisted up and fucked in the head, that isn’t a death sentence, either.

Damn my brother for backing me into a corner. I can’t in good conscience sit back and let Abel take care of things in that particular Abel way.

Which means I have to do as he said and get my house in order.

That starts now.

I glance at the door. Or, rather, it starts in the morning.

I don’t sleep. Of course I don’t. My brain is too busy running a montage of devastating and infuriating images behind my eyes. Shiloh and Monroe. In bed, making each other orgasm until they’re too exhausted to continue.

As a result, I’m already frazzled as fuck when I dress and head down to Monroe’s room, far too early to be polite. It doesn’t matter. I can’t find anything worse than what I walked in on last night.

Worse…or better?

I take a deep breath and knock on the door. The barest pause and then Shiloh’s voice emerges. “Come in.”

I don’t actually expect to find them still fucking, but it’s jarring to find both women sitting on the bed. Shiloh is wearing her customary jeans and plain top. Monroe has changed into jeans and another oversized top that should dwarf her figure but somehow manages to show it off instead.

I glance at the couch, taking in the blankets and pillow there. They…didn’t sleep together? I don’t know if that’s a relief or not. I don’t what to think at all anymore.

I push the thought away. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

I blink at Shiloh. “Are you going to be pissed at me forever?” The thought hollows out my stomach. I hope to the gods I haven’t ruined things between us permanently. Surely there’s a way to figure this out and reclaim our friendship. As much as I want to prioritize that, she really won’t forgive me if my negligence gets Monroe killed.

“I don’t know. Are you going to be a raging dickhead forever?”

Monroe laughs and leans against Shiloh. There’s a faint flush to her cheeks, and her eyes are heavy-lidded with remembered pleasure. The sight sends a bolt of lust through me, but I muscle it back. “I’m sorry,” I grit out. “How many times do I have to say it before it sticks?”

Shiloh looks at me for a long moment. “Until you actually mean it—which you don’t right now. But let’s move on.”