Chapter 19: Mine

"What’s wrong?"

Jack was the first to speak, his usually honest face suddenly tight with worry.

Mitch’s brows slammed together. "Fuck—did she reopen a wound?"

Inside the shower stall, silence held for a single breath.

Then the rush of water started up again, as if nothing serious had happened.

All five men exhaled at the same time, half the tension leaving their shoulders. But the heat in their blood only burned hotter, as though someone had just poured oil onto an already raging fire.

Damn it.

That soft, pained little sound from earlier had been like a kitten’s claw dragging straight across their nerves.

While each of them was still locked in a private war between reason and the edge of losing control—

"Ah—!"

A sharp, piercing scream tore through the night from inside the stall. There was nothing practiced about it—only raw, unfiltered terror.

Right after came a heavy thud of a body hitting the floor, followed by the splash of water flying in every direction.

Something’s wrong.

The thought barely finished forming in their minds before Ray was already moving. His tall frame shot forward like a leopard that had just been provoked, covering the distance to the door in a single stride.

The thin door panel slammed inward.

The moment it opened, a wave of heat—thick with steam and the faint, sweet scent of the girl—rushed out to meet them.

And then Ray froze in the doorway.

Time itself seemed to hit mute.

He saw her.

In the narrow, dim, steam-filled stall, May sat collapsed on the cold concrete floor, soaked to the skin. Her long hair clung in messy strands to her pale cheeks and collarbones. Water droplets slid down her still-shaken face, traced the slender line of her neck, and disappeared into the deep, pale expanse below.

She had fallen hard. Shock still clouded her eyes; all she had managed was to throw both hands up in a desperate attempt to cover the most private part of her chest.

That tiny shield was nothing against the full force of what he was looking at.

Vast stretches of dazzling white crashed into his vision without warning—like a sudden blizzard. From the impossibly slim waist that looked as if it could snap under a single grip, to the soft curves rising and falling with her rapid breathing, to the pale, water-glistening calves curled beneath her in a helpless, almost pitiful way...

Every inch of her tested the last thread of an adult man’s self-control.

Every inch of her lit a wildfire inside him that threatened to burn everything down.

Gulp.

Ray’s throat bobbed hard, completely beyond his will. In that single second, he felt every drop of blood in his body roar and surge toward one place. Even the newly healed wound on his arm seemed ready to split open again under the force of that heat.

Fuck.

He was going to lose his mind.

May finally dragged herself out of the fog of pain and fright. She lifted her head—and met Ray’s eyes.

Her mind detonated with a deafening boom.

Worse than the giant rat she’d just seen. Far worse.

It was over.

This was social death in full 3D surround sound.

She wanted to scream, to dig a hole and crawl into it, but her throat locked shut. Not a single sound came out.

Just as she felt herself about to be cooked alive by the heat in his gaze, Ray moved.

He stepped inside without a second of hesitation and dropped to one knee in front of her. Under her stunned stare, he reached up with one hand and tore open the front of his olive-green shirt in a single clean motion.

Riiip—

The solid fabric gave way with a sound that made the heart skip.

A moment later, the shirt—still carrying his scorching body heat and the heavy, unmistakably male scent of him—settled over her from above, wrapping her completely, leaving nothing exposed.

"Don’t be afraid."

His voice was rough, scraped raw, like two stones grinding together.

May was swallowed by that overpowering mix of gunpowder, sweat, and pure masculine presence. Her mind went blank. All she could register was his scent filling her nose, the feel of his shirt against her skin, and the residual heat still clinging to the fabric.

The next second, two iron-hard arms slid under her knees and around her back. She let out a startled cry as he lifted her in one decisive motion, bridal-style, leaving her no room to protest.

"B-Boss..."

Cradled against his chest, the still-warm shirt pressed between them, she was surrounded by the heavy scent of his hormones.

Boss, are you role-playing the overbearing CEO now?

Okay but... these pecs actually feel pretty safe.

She was still mentally roasting him when a circle of people closed in around them.

"Boss, she fell—let me check her," Theo said first, reaching out as if to take her from his arms.

"I can support her!" Mitch shoved forward too, hand already halfway extended.

"Back off."

The low warning rumbled from Ray’s throat. He didn’t even bother looking at them. He simply held the small figure tighter and used the broad wall of his own back to cut off every lingering, less-than-innocent stare.

The message in that posture was blindingly clear: Mine.

The other men froze. Looking at the unyielding line of his shoulders, their expressions turned uniformly ugly. Jealousy thickened in the air until it almost felt solid enough to pickle the whole convenience store.

Ray set May down carefully on the rough camp cot, adjusted the shirt around her until she was covered from neck to ankles, and only then turned to face the others.

His long eyes swept over them, voice cold. "Planning to stand there like pillars all night? Not eating dinner?"

The cooking fire burned high, flames crackling and throwing jagged shadows across the walls. Mitch had sliced tenderloin from a wild boar; the meat sizzled and dripped fat, filling the air with rich, savory scent.

But even that aroma couldn’t overpower the other, far more dangerous one still lingering in their minds—steam, heat, and the sweet trace of a girl’s skin.

Everyone stared at the skewers over the fire, yet their eyes were unfocused, clearly somewhere else.

Mitch’s mind kept replaying the exact second the door had been forced open. Water droplets... pale skin... and those heart-stopping curves rising and falling with every breath...

"Fuck!"

His hand jerked. Hot grease splashed onto the back of it, making him yank back with a low curse.

Nearby, Jack was mechanically stuffing meat into his mouth, cheeks puffed out like a hamster. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, and the flush that had risen at dinner still hadn’t faded.

All he could see were those long, well-proportioned, water-glistening calves—white enough to blind, curled from the fall, toes small and round and painfully fragile. The image hit harder than any zombie horde he’d ever faced.

"Hey, what are you thinking about? You’re chewing that meat into paste," Alex’s lazy voice drifted over. He tore off a strip of meat and held it out to May with a cheerful grin. "May, try this. Mitch burned his hand fighting for it—rare goods."