31. Elena

I'm notsure how kicking the O'Brien matriarch out of the house turned into a drunken night in the backyard, but here we are.

The firepit and the tiki torches are lit. We're all sitting around the fire, drinking and laughing and enjoying each other's company.

This is always what I wanted in a pack.

Maeve put out some snacks and told us not to be obnoxious assholes while she tries to get some sleep.

I'm drinking what I believe to be my fifth glass of wine, resting my head on the chair, and looking at Cillian.

I can't help it when I push a dark piece of hair out of his face.

"Why do you have to be so beautiful?" I ask him.

"I think you've had enough to drink," he replies, placing my wineglass on the stone.

"You're probably right."

His hand rests on my thigh, where he's doing this really soothing rubbing-thing, and I nearly forget all our problems.

"I'm sorry I lied," he whispers.

"Was any of it real?"

His hand comes over and cups my face. I can hear the other guys laughing, but I'm too focused on Cillian to listen.

"Every second. I just wanted you to want to be with me, I guess. I think we both wanted the same thing in the end."

"You know, I never got my fifty grand," I tease with a smile, and he laughs.

"I'll make sure to transfer your accounts from the High Roller to your new one."

"Keep talking dirty to me."

God, he's so fucking handsome, especially when he smiles at me. His fingers are feather-light against my face as we stare at each other.

"I think we're going to be okay," he says.

"I don't think I'm done making you suffer just yet." I smile as I say it.

"What torture did you have in mind?"

"Besides spending ridiculous amounts of your money?"

"That's not torture, that's a given. You need to be more creative."

I tap my chin, thinking about all the things I want.

"I want a cat."

"Done."

"I want a wedding ring, something custom-made that symbolizes the four of you when we bond."

He smiles. "Done."

"I want you to tell me all the things you like about me besides my scent or my looks," I continue insecurely.

He moves his body even closer. His body heat is radiating off of him when he speaks.

"Where do I start? I like that you're loyal to a fault. You stand up for yourself, even when you're scared to. When I saw you that first night at the High Roller, I knew you were scared shitless. Your scent had this slightly bitter edge to it, but you faked it flawlessly. Even when you're scared, you're brave. You ran away with hardly any money in your pocket and a half-ass plan, but you made it work for you. You're a fighter. Even when you're still mad at us, you stood up to my mother, which hardly anyone does. And I know you'd be a great mother."

My heart thunders in my chest as I nearly leap into his lap to wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight.

His scent is as comforting as his words were. This wall I've been keeping between us is crumbling down piece by piece.

"I forgive you," I whisper to him, and he holds me even tighter.

I don't know how long we stay like that, with me on his lap and his arms around me, but at some point, I must fall asleep.

"Lorcán is going to carry you to bed," Cillian murmurs, and I groan, not wanting to leave his warm embrace. "I can't carry you with my leg, mo stór."

I pull back with sleep weighing me down.

"What does that mean?"

"My treasure."

My brows furrow, and I wonder if it's because I'm drunk or tired.

"But that's the first thing you called me."

He smiles. "Because it's what you are to me. You're my greatest treasure."

I grab his face and kiss him. It's probably messy and uncoordinated, but I don't care.For the first time, I feel nothing but happiness about Cillian O'Brien being my scent match.

The amount of deliveries that have shown up for me is ridiculous, but with all my Luxe Nest items currently taking over the driveway, I remember Cillian telling me my room—which now has visible windows—is not my nest.

"What's all this shit in the driveway?" Finn yells as he walks through the kitchen into the living room.

"Stuff for my nest, but I don't know where my nest is," I say, batting my eyelashes.

Finn sighs. "Follow me."

I jump out of my seat and follow him past his and Cillian's rooms. There's a passcode panel on the side of the door, and he makes no secret of inputting the code—4395—as he pushes open the door.

"Why does it have a code?"

"Safety precaution. If we're all in one place, we're vulnerable, especially if you're in heat. It's bomb-proof, sound-proof, scent-proof, the works."

"How long has this been here?"

"Since my father signed the contract," he replies easily.

We walk down a small hallway. The lights are dim, lit from the ground as we enter the main space.

It's beautiful, definitely not completely my style, but it's clearly well-designed. Once I bring in all my things from Luxe Nest, it will be perfect.

The bed is built into the floor, with navy sheets and bedding. There's a mountain of pillows on the bed, as well as shelves built against the wall. To the left, there is an entire kitchenette set up. It's small but functional.

To the right there are two daybeds lining the walls, definitely there to give the guys some relief if needed.

The only lighting in the room is soft, warm light from lamps that look like they can be dimmed even further. There's still enough room for the sex chair Declan bought, which is great. I walk further into the room and open the pocket door on the back wall, which leads to a massive bathroom.

The emerald green tiles cover the floor and the walls in the massive shower that also houses an enormous bathtub. When my feet pad along the floor, I realize they're miraculously not cold.

"Heated tiles?" I ask, turning back to look at Finn, who is just staring at me, almost like he wants to gauge my reaction—that can't be right, though.

"Declan's idea, if you can believe it," he sighs.

"It's beautiful, thank you."

"I shouldn't be the one?—"

"Just say you're welcome and help me bring my stuff in?"

"I'll have some of the guys bring it in."

I whine, and he tilts his head at me. He almost looks like he wants to approach me, but decides otherwise.

"They can come as far as the door. They can't come in here," I demand. The idea of other men in my nest is abhorrent. No, it's worse than abhorrent, it's despicable. I start pacing, thinking about all their scents ruining the space and how their shoes would fuck up the floor.

"Only the people you want in here are allowed in this room, Elena," he says plainly.

I try to forget about it, but I can't. How I ever thought I could sell my heat to the highest bidder is insane because there's no fucking way. I need my scent matches; I need Lorcán and Declan. I don't want anyone else dirtying up my nest, my belongings.

Finn grabs my face roughly, jolting me out of my spiral.

"I will handle it. No one else will touch your stuff or come into your nest," he states, his green eyes pleading with mine.

Fuck, his scent. His face, even with the one black eye, is still handsome. I don't find his scars scary, if anything, they just enhance how handsome he is.

"Elena?"

"Hmm."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Do you have a cart or something? We can both bring everything in?"

He looks at me for what feels like the first time. Not like I'm the woman who was sent to destroy him, the Omega he didn't want, or some pest that lives in his house. He looks at me like he wants to kiss me.

But he doesn't. He drops his hands and nods.

"Yeah, let's go get everything in so you can work on your nest."

No hotter words have ever been said. I might need to do a little bit more online shopping to make sure everything is extremely perfect. I definitely need to have all the guys come in here and roll around or something because the scent is completely off.

Finn grabs a metal wagon from the garage and waves me off when I offer to help him load boxes into it. Instead he instructs me to use a utility cart on wheels to transport all the smaller items to the nest. I handle that while he carries the bigger items through the house for me.

It shouldn't be as attractive as it is, him dressed casually with his veins bulging as he sets all my crap in the nest. I want to gawk and get intimate with every single one of his tattoos, but I just pull my cart as we haul everything into the nest. It takes three trips.

Finn is sweating, and he smells amazing.

I expect him to cut and run now that everything is in the room, but he surprises me.

"Does anything need to get built or put together?"

I clear my throat, taking back my previous statement. That is officially the sexiest thing I've ever heard.

"There's well, um… it needs to be…" Fuck, how do I tell this man that there is a sex swing that needs to be bolted to the ceiling? "It's okay." I wave him off.

He looks at me, then around the room.

"I'll go get my toolkit."

Finn O'Brien, head of the Western Irish mob, has a fucking toolkit. As soon as he leaves, I run to the bathroom, sprinkle water on my face, and take a heaping wad of toilet paper to take care of the current situation in my panties.

Mean Finn, I can handle. Domineering Finn, okay, no problem. Sweet Finn, who carries my shit and puts together my heat furniture? This I don't know how to handle.

He said he couldn't be in my heat, that it's something that he just couldn't do, and I respected that. But how is he going to say that when he smells that good and is suddenly being so fucking kind?

I smack myself in the face a little and blink.

Get it together, girl, damn. He kidnapped you, remember? Left you in a room for three days in the same dress? Basically called you a spoiled mafia princess.I suppose the last one is kind of true.

But despite everything he's done, everything that's happened between us, I still yearn for him in a way I can't explain.

When I walk back into the room, he's on a ladder using some sort of tool to find where the support beams are.

His shirt rises, showing a sculpted section of his abdomen that's decorated with black and gray tattoos I wish I could explore with my tongue.

No, wait.

"Are we going to talk about this," I say, completely ogling him.

He does something with a screwdriver before he looks down at me.

"After your heat. I want us to both be clear-headed."

"But we'll talk?"

"We'll talk," he confirms, always acting so fucking mysterious.

He calls his tool a mother-fucking piece of shit, and it has me holding back a giggle. I just wish he would talk to me now. Or better yet, take me on a test ride on that swing, leaving the talk about feelings and our pasts for later.

He bites down on his lip as he concentrates, and I lose all my willpower.

"I'll be right back, going to get some stuff from my room," I lie, and nearly half run to my room.

I thank past-Elena for cleaning and charging the new vibrator I got online as I get off to images of Finn O'Brien using power tools and sweetly touching my face.