“I thought you were past this. The confusion over being with all of us, I mean.”
“I thought so too,” she mumbled with a sniff. She was until the prospect of making this work with a baby popped into her head.
“Oh hell, are you crying?” he demanded, sounding utterly aghast at the idea. He didn’t turn her chin though so she couldn’t look at him, see his horror at her tears.
“I did that with my dad in the house,” she confessed on a low whisper. “I-I mustn’t have any shame.”
Silence fell. “Whose house is this, Sascha?”
She frowned. “Everyone’s.”
He shook his head—she knew, because his chin, stubble and all, scraped against her temple. The prickling sensation made her eyelashes flutter. “Too vague.” When she didn’t answer, he murmured, “Say the word.”
She knew where he was going with this, but murmured nonetheless, “Yours.”
“And why isn’t it ours?”
Sascha thought about that then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You’re richer than us, Sascha. You make my wealth look like a puddle of piss in the park in comparison to what you’ll get when your inheritance comes through...”
“Great imagery there, Kurt,” she retorted with a huff.
He just snorted. “You know exactly where I’m going with this.”
“So what? Maybe I do.” She shrugged. “I can’t change the way I feel.”
“Would you feel the same if you owned the house? I’m certain we’re all quite willing to be your boy toys.”
She snorted, and then couldn’t withhold her giggle. “You’re all older than me,” she retorted, peering up at him with squinty eyes.
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Still, I’ve always wanted to be a toy.”
“Can you imagine Devon as my sex slave?”
“His cock would be willing but his brain would get bored.”
She laughed. “That sounds about right.”
Kurt’s eyes crinkled at the sides, making tiny lines appear. He pressed his lips to her temple. “Why are you concerned about something that isn’t important anymore?”
“Because if I didn’t have that inheritance, I’d still feel this way,” she replied, unease unfurling through her. “I-I don’t want the money, Kurt. Jacobie said something when I met him, and Sean explained that if I don’t take the money, it will revert to the government. So, I understand I have to accept the inheritance, but...” She jerked her chin up. “It’s blood money. I don’t want it.”
He shrugged. “Then don’t use it. Or, use it for good.” A sigh escaped him and after, he squeezed her again. “You don’t understand, Sascha. You don’t know what we feel for you if you think that money is important.”
“That’s not true. I know you care for me,” she argued.
Kurt snorted. “Care? That’s too paltry a word.”
“Paltry, huh?” she couldn’t resist teasing.
He grinned. “You know I speak no word of a lie.”
Looking up at him, she saw his earnestness and had to sigh. “I know Devon’s confused,” she confessed. “I know he’s worried, too.”
Kurt’s sigh was as long and as low as hers. “Devon can be remarkably simple when it boils down to it. The man’s mind-boggling when it comes to math, and a complete moron with anything else.”
“You don’t deny it, then?”
“What? That he’s confused? No. He went to Sean, and I was there. I also got very angry at him for it.”
“Why?”
“Because Devon has this very irritating habit of talking about the things we don’t want to hear.”
“Like shedding a light on them will make it happen?”
“Something like that. Childish, I suppose, but it’s... The way he sees the world? Analyses it?” She nodded. “He’s usually hitting the nail on the head, even if it’s not exactly in the way he thinks.”
She licked her lips, understanding where he was coming from.
“See, in this, he’s right again. But he’s worried you’ll leave because of the money. What he doesn’t realize, but is sensing nonetheless, is that you’re not sticking with us because of our wealth.”
“No,” she tried to argue. “It isn’t like that.”
“Then what’s it like, Sascha? You know we love you. You know we’d slay fucking monsters to keep you safe, and would do anything in our power to take out anyone who’d dare hurt you. What more can we do? What more do you need to feel like this is your home? Do you need to buy into the damn thing? Is it as easy as that?”
She gnawed at the inside of her cheek. “That would only be possible because of the blood money. I don’t want that tarnishing any aspect of my life with you.”
He nodded. “I understand that. So, what? What would make you feel like this place was yours?”
She turned her head and burrowed her face into his shirt. He smelled so good. Like aftershave and mint from the chewing gum he whizzed through whenever he was writing.
His arms were tender about her, but so damn fierce that she knew he was right when he said they were all prepared to slay any monsters on her behalf. Even if they were monsters of her own creation.
He didn’t push her to answer. Didn’t prod her to talk or to verbalize her feelings.
She was glad for that, because truth was, she was in the dark. Probably as much as he.
She didn’t know why the house, their status, and everything that came with it, made her feel apart from them.
Because she was looking after them and was still officially on the payroll?
She needed money somehow, though, didn’t she? And she didn’t want to get another job or to get someone else to take over.
She was happy looking after the house, and caring for them filled her with a contentment no feminist could possibly understand.
“Maybe there’s nothing we can do to make that happen,” she started slowly.
“There has to be,” he argued. “I refuse for you to feel like you’re a second-class citizen in your own damn home.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. Maybe it’s my attitude that needs adjusting. Yours doesn’t. None of you seem to think anything about this place and me... You know? Not being home.” A thought came to her, and it was like a light shining in the darkness. “Maybe...”
“Maybe?” he prompted a moment later when she fell silent, her throat choking with tears.
“Maybe this isn’t home not because of anything wrong with me. Maybe it’s because you’re all my home. This is just where we lay our head.”
He stilled beneath her, and his hands were suddenly fierce around her waist. “Do you really mean that?”
She nodded, and he blew out a shaky breath.
“We’ll never let you down, Sascha. You know that, right?”
She let out a little laugh. “Oh, Kurt, of course, you will. I’ll let you down too. That’s life, isn’t it?”
He cursed. “I guess. But I don’t have to like it, and I’ll kick the man’s ass who does hurt you, understand me?”
Her lips curved but the burn in her eyes spoke of her tears at the relief the revelation brought with it.
“I get you,” she admitted softly.
“But what about this ‘slut’ thing?” he asked, prodding at a still sore wound. “I won’t have you thinking of yourself that way.”
“It’s just a change of thought process,” she replied. “Most people would think that’s what I am for wanting what I do and for being with you all.” She shrugged. “I think I need to embrace the fact I am a slut.”
“No!” he barked, squeezing her in his embrace. “You’re not! And you’d better damn well not!”
She smiled, and for the first time, it wasn’t tinged with any of her confusion. “You’re saying that like being a slut is a bad thing?”
He frowned. “Isn’t it?”
“Perhaps with certain people. But not with us, right? Like you said, I’m yours. Inside thes
e walls and behind our closed front door...”
A laugh escaped him. “Yes. You’re right.” He licked his lips, nuzzled his nose against her throat, making her squirm in his hands from the ticklish feeling the gesture provoked. “Like I’m a pervert for watching, and Devon is weird for enjoying sharing...”
She reached for his hand and squeezed his fingers. “Exactly.”
It settled into place. The relief, the resolve. She wasn’t a slut. Had no idea where the word had come from when she was in Sawyer’s care that day when he’d spanked her ass with a wooden spoon and he, Kurt, and Andrei had made her cum, writhing against the kitchen counter like a bitch in heat.
The words had appeared, popped out to play. Like her subconscious wanted her to think about the way she was viewing herself. How low her mindset had dropped because of her new circumstances.
Good girls weren’t raised to be shared by five men. Nor were they raised to enjoy it, to love every moment of what those five could give her, to love them.
She nuzzled her forehead against Kurt’s cheek, silently thanking him for being her sounding board as she’d processed her feelings.
Each of her men brought something to the table where she was concerned. Before this, she’d known vaguely what Kurt was, but hadn’t been able to put a name to it.
He was her rock. Emotionally.
She thanked him the truest way she knew how, “Kurt?”
He hummed under his breath, and she smiled, knowing his eyes would be closed. He was tired from an all-night marathon session, and she’d just put him through the emotional wringer with their talk.
“I love you.”
Tension flooded him, but a second later it had disappeared. “I love you too.”
She settled into his arms, knowing full well they’d nap like this. His back to the corner of the sofa, her settled between his legs, his chest to her back.
Feeling loved, safe, and cherished, she allowed herself to relax.
There would be doubts. More would come along the way as she tumbled headfirst into the maelstrom of emotion they made her feel, a maelstrom that would become clouded with pregnancy hormones. But she couldn’t run from them, nor would she be scared.
There was no need to be when she had five men willing to chase her monsters away for her. No need to fear her sexual needs would make her a bad mother. She was who she was. They loved her for that. And so would the child they’d gifted her.
Forty
The one advantage to money, Devon knew, was it let a person do whatever they wanted. Anything, be it for good or ill, became an option. Accessibility was the downside to wealth. There were no limits when the sky was close to hand.
So, when he overheard Sean telling Sascha a stipend from her inheritance had trickled into her account, he’d been on the alert.
Not for anything bad, per se. She could do whatever the hell she wanted with her money. He didn’t care if she never touched it and used his for the rest of her life. Money didn’t matter to him.
For himself, money accessed a lifestyle he’d never be able to live otherwise. He was free. Had the liberty to putter on the projects he wanted to concentrate on, needing approval from no one.
Well, he kind of needed it from Sawyer. But he didn’t count.
He wanted Sawyer in his life. Sawyer was his sanity sometimes. Sascha too, come to think of it. She slotted into his life, taking up the sentinel position opposite Sawyer. Because of that, because of their hyper-vigilance with him, his own brain tended to slide away from that particular problem.
Some might think him selfish. Unobservant about the important things. But he always made sure his household was well. Always made sure the members weren’t ill at ease over something.
With Sascha and Sawyer however, he made doubly sure. It was why he was in Sascha’s Cadillac today.
Having watched her make breakfast this morning, he’d sensed her edginess. Had known something wasn’t right.
Two days ago, Sean had given her the news. News she’d accepted with a marked lack of interest.
Sean was handling her inheritance for her; well, Sean and Andrei. They were sorting out the accounts she’d need to contain the amount of money coming to her, were arranging her finances so that she was forever protected.
She declared she didn’t want to use the money now. But when she realized what it would do, Devon knew that would change.
He didn’t begrudge her the hypocrisy. Didn’t judge her for suddenly wanting to access what she’d never had. He’d known she’d do it; that her opinion of the blood money would change when she realized the doors it opened. He’d just wanted to circumvent the danger of that. Make sure they weren’t suddenly unnecessary because money wasn’t a problem anymore.
“Devon?” Sascha mouthed his name as she came to a halt in front of the car.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “What are you doing in there? Again? This is getting to be a damn habit!” she declared, heading to the driver’s seat, stacking her hands on her hips and glowering at him through the glass.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Where?” she demanded.
“To the prison.”
Her mouth worked, and he knew his supposition was correct. A smile played about his lips at how well he’d judged her—she was like Sawyer, surprisingly easy to read.
Sean was the hardest. Then Andrei. They kept themselves to themselves when it came to their emotions. He figured that was because Sean was the epitome of a British man—the stiff upper lip was a shield. And Andrei’s past prevented him from being as free with his emotions as he might have been without a murderer for a father, a murder victim for a mother, and a Bratva kingpin for a granddad.
Devon rubbed his chin. “We need to introduce you to Sawyer’s parents.”
She blinked at him then pulled open the Cadillac door. “What?”
He shrugged. “We’ve all got weird relationships with our parents. All of us save for Sawyer. They like him, don’t care what he does as long as he’s happy. Plus, you’ll love his mum’s Spotted Dick. She makes the custard fresh too. All from scratch.” He licked his lips just at the thought.
Cinta had welcomed Devon into her home all those years ago when he’d decided to cut off his father. She’d been his surrogate mum, and Hamish, Sawyer’s dad, had also greeted the skinny fifteen-year-old, bringing him into the household with a rough care that still had Devon’s chest aching.
“They used to live on one of Glasgow’s worst estates,” he informed her. “But we managed to get them to move into a nice place two years ago. Sawyer and I won’t be terrified about taking you up to see them.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to try his mom’s Spotted Dick.”
He grinned. “Stop being facetious.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Okay, I know it’s a pudding.”
He winked. “If his mum has a spotted dick, then that’s her business, but what she bakes in the kitchen isn’t anything to scoff at.”
She huffed and ducked behind the wheel. “What are you doing here, Devon?”
“I told you. I’m going with you.”
“Maybe I didn’t want you there, huh? Did that never occur to you? I have five overprotective men willing to knife any dragon who steps in my way, and I chose to handle this alone. What does that tell you?”
“That you’re misguided,” he informed her softly. “But time will change that.”
She let out a huff. “I swear, it’s a good thing you’re cute.”
“I’m not cute,” he retorted, his top lip curling up in disgust. Cute was one of her favorite adjectives. “A baby’s cute. A damn koala bear is cute. I’m not cute.”
She reached over and patted his cheek. “You keep telling yourself that.”
She winked when he shot her a glower, but prepared herself for the journey ahead. He eyed her, surprised that she didn’t try to make him leave the car—but impressed too. She knew he wasn’t budging, and she wasn’t wasting her time or en
ergy on making that happen. As she set off, leaving Kensington with all its elegant beauty behind, he murmured, “You look very nice for a visit to prison.”
She snorted. “I decided I’m an heiress to a fortune that bitch tried to deny me. I wasn’t going to slum it when I met her for the first and last time.”
Devon didn’t know fashion existed outside of its utilitarian purpose. Sawyer had bought all his clothes at one point, then that task had weeded down to the rest of the men too.
If Sean bought a suit, he’d have his tailor come to the house to measure Devon up once a year.
Kurt tended to buy him jeans, Andrei shoes.
He rubbed his chin, wondering what Sascha would add to the mix that was his wardrobe.
Still, though he didn’t give a damn about clothes—would have willingly walked around naked if Sawyer hadn’t told him it scared the cleaning women—he knew some viewed it as armor.
Sascha was one of those people.
When she’d first come to work for them, she’d lived in pencil skirts and tight blouses. He’d lived for the moment when the seams would split on either. Wanting to see the lush curves in the flesh.
After she’d been hit by that damn car, she’d taken to wearing more comfortable clothes. Yoga pants, tees.
With the concussion she’d suffered on the mend, she’d switched between both. But today? What she was wearing? It was different.
The black skirt screamed something even Devon recognized—a luxury label—mostly because of his mother’s taste in clothes as she’d loved designer wear.
He’d never understood why, when the label was all that mattered, it was worn inside. He’d told his mother once that she should wear her clothes inside out then people would know she was wearing Chanel.
He smiled at the memory of her lovely, tinkling laugh as she cupped his cheek and kissed him there. Bringing with her the scent of honeysuckle and almond blossom. “People know this is Chanel without me having to do that, darling,” she’d informed him. “Class always shines through.”
“What are you looking at?” Sascha asked, as she took them out of the city.
Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I Page 55