was vague at best, and it was abundantly clear he was sparing me the details.
For that, I was thankful.
Less than twenty-four hours after Samantha was discharged into the care of her cousin, we found out she'd killed herself.
42
The process of healing took some time and a healthy amount of therapy for me. Unlike the boys, I wasn't used to all the violence, death, and destruction. It plagued my dreams to the point I would wake up screaming and thrashing, even with one of them sleeping beside me. After a few weeks, I'd admitted to myself—and to them—how scared for my own sanity I was becoming. After that, they'd sourced me the very best therapist in the state, and with her help, I was slowly healing.
Archer had needed more time in the hospital than he'd been happy with, but we’d given him no option to decline. The bullet wound in his side had chipped a fragment of bone from his rib, which had started causing complications, and I wasn't risking his health over his stubborn pride.
There’d been no way in hell he could make his fight and had to forfeit. That, I guessed, was the thing pissing him off the most.
To my surprise—in a good way—after a few weeks, the guys started taking turns accompanying me to therapy. Not to babysit me, but to participate. It was weird, but every damn time it made my heart happy. They were invested in this relationship and in my wellbeing. But more than that, they recognized the need for themselves to grow and heal along with me... They put their big dick energy aside and welcomed positive mental health changes.
Not to say they suddenly became choir boys, hell no. But every damn day our bonds grew stronger and tighter until I could barely remember what it felt like to be without them, criminal activities and all.
The first weekend of summer, Archer woke me up early and announced we were going for a vacation.
It was out of the blue enough that I sat up with a confused frown. "Vacation? Where to?"
His answering grin was all mischief. "Wait and see, Princess."
I scowled back at him. Surprises were not high on my list of favorite things these days. "Sunshine..."
He silenced my sleepy protests with a long, lingering kiss that made my heart race. "Pack a swimsuit, baby girl. Or don't." His wink was pure sex, and a wave of desire rippled through me. "Come on, it's a long drive, and I promised we'd be there for lunch."
I frowned again. "Promised who?"
He just kissed me again, then reached over and flicked Steele in the forehead to wake him up. "Come on, metal dick. We're leaving in half an hour."
Steele flipped him off without opening his eyes, but Archer just smirked and headed out of my bedroom.
I thought for sure Steele had gone back to sleep again, but the second the door closed, his arm snaked around my waist and he dragged me back under the covers with him.
"Mmm, good morning, Hellcat," he mumbled into my neck as he kissed my warm skin. His hands roamed over me, slipping under my sleep shirt and gripping my waist.
I grinned as he ground his hard dick against my ass. "Max... you heard the boss. We gotta go in half an hour."
"I heard him," he replied in a sleepy voice. His fingers hooked into my panties and tugged them down my legs. "Half an hour. So let's be quick, or I'll end up sharing you when he comes back to yell at us."
A low chuckle bubbled from me as he coaxed my legs open. "Don't need to tell me twice."
As it turned out, it was closer to an hour before we left the house. Steele and I used every second of that half hour, then still needed to shower and pack our bags for this mystery vacation.
Or rather, it was a mystery to me. Steele clearly knew where we were going because he helped me pack and discarded anything remotely dressy or formal. So that was my clue. Wherever we were going, it was going to be casual and comfortable the whole time.
It already sounded perfect.
We took one of Archer's black, bulletproof Range Rovers, and the boys gave me the front passenger seat. My phone rang before we'd even been on the road for five minutes, and a flash of anticipation raced through me as I looked at the caller ID.
"Leon," I answered, knowing he was the only one who’d call from