Page 220 of What We Bury

“Beautiful. See? Productive. We’re being productive!” I raise my glass. “To professionalism.”

“Fuck!”Eli roars over the speaker.“Yeah, squirt on me, you dirty girl.”

So much for professionalism.

Holden puts his glass down. “I’m going to ask something, and I want honest answers.”

“Shoot.”

“Is anyone else hard right now?”

Silence.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Holden says, and finishes his whiskey.

Micah’s laugh is quiet and slightly strangled. Knox refills Holden’s glass without comment.

The sounds from Sage and Eli change. Everything crescendos—a sharp cry, a deeper groan, then silence. Heavy, ringing silence that settles over the club like the aftermath of an explosion.

I stare at my whiskey. Holden stares at his. Micah closes his eyes.

Knox uncrosses his arms.

We wait.

“That was hot, guys,” I whisper.

To which Holden hisses—I have a feeling he’s trying not to come in his pants.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. I’m starting to wonder if they’ve fallen asleep in there—or killed each other, which with Eli honestly could go either way—when the private room door opens.

Sage comes out first. Her hair is wrecked, her shirt is inside out, and she’s walking a little gingerly. It’s the gait of a woman who has been thoroughly and comprehensively ruined. There’s a mark on her neck the size of a small country and her cheeks are flushed.

She sees us at the bar and stops. Her face cycles through about eight emotions before landing on something between mortified and deeply, unreasonably pleased with herself.

Yes, Queen!

Eli follows. He looks . . . different. Not relaxed—Eli will never look relaxed, the man was born tense—but the coiled-spring energy that’s been radiating off him for weeks has loosened. His shirt is buttoned wrong. His hair is standing up on one side. He has scratches on his forearms that he’s making no effort to hide.

Guess he decided to untie kitten so she could release her claws. Nice!

His jaw tightens as his gaze travels over the four of us, all sitting at the bar with our whiskey glasses and shit-eating grins. And maybe a hard-on or two.

“Not a fucking word,” he barks.

I stand up and start a slow clap.

Holden joins. Then Micah. Knox doesn’t clap, but he nods once.

“The family is complete!” I announce, arms spread wide. “Ladies and gentlemen, Eli Ward has left the building—and bybuilding, I mean his own emotional prison. Welcome to the polycule, boss. We’ve been saving your seat.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I will kill every person in this room.”

“You love us.”

“I absolutely do not.”

Sage crosses to the bar and stands next to Knox, who scoops her up in his arms bridal style—obviously trying to keep the pressure off her spanked ass. She leans into his chest, and when he presses a kiss on the top of her head, the smile on her face is the kind that could end wars or start them.