For days, things go on the same way. Just the three of us, in my family’s hunting cabin, eating together and drinking together, reading tedious Griskoldian history books, watching the windows for dangerous robot squirrels.

There are no robot squirrels. Even though I know it’s a joke, every time that either Bianca or Beckett asks me if I’ve seen one, I roll my eyes and frown. Bianca even suggests that maybe we can invite them in and ask them to do the dishes, but I don’t respond to that either.

And we fuck. I can’t believe that I ever thought Bianca wouldn’t want us both, or that for some reason, she’d have to choose.

Even though she’s all breathy gasps, wide eyes and bitten lips, Bianca’s voracious. She’s almost as voracious for us as we are for her, and that’s a thirst that I don’t think can ever be slaked.

I wake up one day to her already straddling my hips, pussy wet, eyes dark with lust, and the moment my eyes are open, she sinks onto my cock and rides me hard, Beckett behind her the whole time, kneading her breasts while she moans.

Then once I come she’s on her hands and knees, over me, and I watch her face as Beckett fucks her hard and makes her come again.

For some reason, it’s even better than getting her to myself. Making her come and then watching her come, red lips parted and eyes fluttering in ecstasy, is twice as good as being the only man fucking her.

On the couch. In the kitchen. In the shower. Neither of us can get enough of her, and after a few days I’m beginning to wonder if we ever will.

* * *

After about a week, we’re out of everything. Not to mention that the three of us are slowly going crazy, trapped in the hunting cabin with little to do besides learn the most tedious parts of Griskoldian history.

There are only so many games of hangman you can play, so many discussions about the best kind of sandwich. There’s even a limit to how many hours sex can fill — sooner or later, you do need to eat.

“I think we need to go into Inversberg for supplies,” Beckett says one day, stretched out on the couch, a massive tome on his lap.

I sigh, sitting on the leather recliner next to the couch, flipping through a home-decoration magazine that dates from the late 1950s. It’s pretty clear when most of the decorations in this cabin came from, at least.

“I’m not sure it’s safe,” I say.

“Nothing’s happened yet,” Bianca points out, lying on her stomach on a rug in front of the fireplace.

“That doesn’t mean nothing will. Maybe they’re just waiting for us to go into town so they can kidnap you and—”

Beckett growls, so I just stop. Besides, I don’t want to imagine what could happen to Bianca — seeing her picture manipulated to look dead in that video was more than enough for me.

“Or, the whole thing was just a weird prank and they’ve already moved on to bothering someone else,” she says.

“They killed someone before you,” Beckett points out, sounding horrified.

“How sure are we it was the same group?” she asks, rolling onto her side.

My eyes follow her form: the way her breasts move under her shirt, the line her nipples trace underneath the fabric, the notch of her waist, the swell of her hips.

“Why would they take credit if it wasn’t them?”

Bianca shrugs.

“Because they want us to think they’re always up to something? They think we should stay on our toes, never sleep well at night?”

Beckett shrugs.

“We’re here in this cabin, aren’t we? So they did manage to prevent me from making any public appearances for the past week, and God only knows how many upcoming weeks.”

“So you think they just want you scared, and that’s all,” I say, my voice still deep and dangerous.

“They haven’t done anything to make me think otherwise,” she says. “Besides, no one knows we’re here. Inversberg isn’t exactly a hub of innovation, either, from what I know.”

Beckett and I look at each other. As much as I hate to admit it right now, Bianca is right.

There’s not much in Inversberg. And if no one knows we’re here — which they don’t seem to, given that nothing has happened, there’s no reason for them to look there, either.

“We’ve got disguises,” Beckett points out.

“Ugh,” says Bianca.

“She’s got us,” Beckett says as well. “I dare some fucking computer nerd to try getting between her and the two of us.”

Also a good point.

“And we could stand to get out of the cabin,” Bianca goes on. “We’re driving each other a little crazy, and wouldn’t you love to read something besides—” She tilts her head. “Great Naval Feats of the Griskold Navy?”

She frowns. Beckett frowns.

“How is that a book?” he asks.

“Isn’t Griskold landlocked?” says Bianca.

I sigh, closing the book and tossing onto the floor in front of me.

“There’s a very large lake, and it’s a short book,” I say. “Lots of pictures.”

Bianca grins.

“So... we’re going?” she says.

Beckett and I look at each other again. He shrugs. I look away.

I still don’t like this, but I’ve always been a little more high-alert than my best friend. More than once, while we were serving together, I was overly cautious when I didn’t need to be. My danger-sense is tuned a little high, though if I’m being honest, his is a little too low.

But between the two of us, we should be able to handle one girl in a small mountain village. Right?

“All right,” I say. “Fine. The two of you win. Let’s go into town.”

* * *

Two hours and a long Jeep ride later, we’re walking through the small, charming cobblestone streets of Inversberg. It’s a picture-perfect small mountain town: stone buildings lining the street two stories high, flowers in the window boxes of every wrought-iron balcony.

Cheese shops. Wine shops. A Charcuterie shop, even a place that sells nothing but roses, which this little town is famous for.

Bianca walks between us, slightly in front, obviously thrilled to be out of the dull, boring cabin and in the sunshine for once. She’s wearing a sundress, her shoulders bare, the skirt swirling around her legs.

It’s a little distracting. Okay, it’s a lot fucking distracting. I spend minutes on end watching the way she walks, the way she breathes, wondering if she’s got a bra on underneath.

The thought that she doesn’t is tantalizing, distracting. Every time another man looks at her on the street, every time I see that light of appreciation come into his eyes as he watches her, I’m murderous.

Then I’m suspicious.

Then I decide that no matter what, he doesn’t need to be fucking looking at her — hacker group or no — and I glare at him until he finally looks away.

The urge to grab Bianca and pull her into an alleyway is nearly overpowering. The front of her dress is done with a few small buttons, and right behind them is the answer to whether she’s wearing a bra or not.

We go into the small grocer, and I stand for a moment by the refrigerated section, trying to cool myself down while Bianca looks over the apples, picking some out and putting them into bags.

She keeps going.

She’s really buying a lot of apples.

“What are you doing with those?” Beckett finally asks her.

She looks down at the bag full of apples, slightly embarrassed.

“I like apples?” she says, then laughs.

“Apparently.”

“They’re really good, they’re easy to eat, and they last for a long time in the fridge,” she says, with a funny little shrug. “I don’t know, do you hate them or something?”

“I just don’t like them that much,” Beckett says, eyeing the heavy bag.

“I can put some...”

There’s a flash of black in the corner of my eye, and it trips some trigger in my brain.

Danger, I think, pure instinct, and even though I turn instantly I don’t catch what it is. I just know that there’s something lurking in here, something I don’t like.

Something bad.

“Stay here,” I tell Bianca and Beckett, and Beckett stops mid-sentence, undoubtedly saying something about apples.

I follow the shadow deeper into the store, heart pounding.