NO LOCK
1664 Words
THE PACT OF FIVE
CHAPTER 5: NO LOCK
The bathroom in my suite is a masterpiece of black marble and gold fixtures, the kind of space that’s meant to feel like a spa but right now just feels like a *trap.* The rain shower is massive, the water pressure perfect, and the steam curls around me like a lover’s embrace. I let the hot water cascade over my skin, washing away the tension from the last twenty-four hours—Knox’s note, his *kiss*, the way the others looked at me like they wanted to *murder* him for touching me.
*Fuck.*
I should be *terrified.* I *know* I should be. But all I feel is... *alive.* Like my body’s been asleep for years and now it’s finally *woken up.*
I lather up my hair, the scent of jasmine and vanilla filling the air, and close my eyes, letting the water rinse the suds away. The sound of the water hitting the tile is soothing, almost meditative. For the first time since yesterday, I can *breathe.*
Then I hear it.
The *click* of the bathroom door.
My eyes fly open.
*What the—?*
The door swings open, and there he is—**Micah**, all messy dirty-blond hair and smirking brown eyes, leaning against the doorframe like he *owns* the place. His vintage band tee is stretched over his chest, the fabric clinging to his toned arms, and his worn-in jeans hang low on his hips. The scent of bergamot and bourbon fills the air, mixing with the steam.
I *shriek*, my hands flying to cover myself. But it’s too late. He’s *seen* me. *All* of me.
Micah’s smirk only *deepens.* "Morning, sunshine."
My face *burns.* "Micah! *Get out!*"
He doesn’t move. Of *course* he doesn’t move. Instead, he pushes off the doorframe and steps *inside*, shutting the door behind him with a quiet *click.* The sound echoes in the tiled room, bouncing off the walls like a *challenge.*
I *glare* at him, my heart hammering. "I *swear to God*—"
"Relax," he says, holding up his hands. But his eyes are *dark*, his gaze *hungry* as it rakes over me. "I’m not gonna *touch* you. Yet."
*Yet.* That one word sends a *shiver* down my spine.
I grab the loofah from the shelf, holding it in front of me like a *shield.* "Micah, I *mean* it. *Leave.*"
He leans against the vanity, his arms crossing over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing. "Or what? You gonna *wash* me out?"
I *growl*, my fingers tightening around the loofah. "I’m gonna *scream.*"
His grin is *wicked.* "Go ahead. See if anyone comes." He tilts his head, his eyes glinting. "Daniel’s in a meeting. The staff knows better than to interrupt *me.* And the others?" His smirk turns *dark.* "They’re *busy.*"
My stomach *twists.* "Busy doing what?"
Micah’s laugh is low, rough. "Fighting over who gets to *kill* Knox for kissing you."
My breath *catches.* "What?"
He shrugs, but his eyes are *serious.* "You think they didn’t *notice* the way he looked at you last night? The way he *touched* you?" His voice drops. "*The way you responded?*"
I *flush*, my skin heating under the hot water. "That’s—it’s none of their *business.*"
"Oh, little omega," he murmurs, pushing off the vanity. "It’s *all* their business." He takes a step toward the glass door of the shower, his hand pressing against it. The condensation from the steam fogs his fingers. "You’re *ours.* And we don’t *share* well."
I *should* be *furious.* I *should* be *screaming.* But the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only thing in the world worth seeing—makes my *knees* weak.
His other hand joins the first, his fingers tracing the fogged glass. "You know, I *bet* if I walked in here right now, you’d let me."
My breath *hitches.* "You *wouldn’t dare.*"
His smirk is *dark.* "Try me."
I *should* call his bluff. Should *dare* him to do it. But the truth is, I *don’t* know what I’d do. Because the way my body’s *reacting*—my n*****s tight, my core *aching*—I *might* let him.
The water cascades down my body, the droplets sliding over my skin like *fingers.* I watch as Micah’s gaze follows the path of the water, his eyes *darkening* with every inch.
"f**k, Lena," he murmurs, his voice rough. "You’re *killing* me."
I *should* look away. Should *cover* myself. But I don’t. I just stand there, my heart *hammering,* my body *trembling,* as his eyes *devour* me.
His hand slides down the glass, his fingers pressing against the fog. "Let me in."
It’s not a request. It’s a *command.*
And *God help me,* I *want* to.
But then—
*Click.*
The sound of the bathroom door *again.*
Micah’s head snaps toward it, his body tensing. But he doesn’t move away from the shower. Doesn’t *hide.*
And when I look past him, there they are—**Knox**, his dark eyes *black* with rage, his jaw *clenched* so hard I’m surprised his teeth don’t shatter.
Behind him, **Cole**, his green eyes *burning* with guilt and hunger.
**Jax**, his smirk *gone*, replaced by a *snarl.*
**Zane**, his gray eyes *cold*, his expression unreadable.
And **Micah**? He just *grins*, like this is the *best* damn day of his life.
Knox’s voice is a *whip-crack.* "Get the *fuck* out, Micah."
Micah doesn’t move. Not at first. He just *watches* me, his eyes *dark* with promise. "Your loss, brother."
Then he’s gone, striding past Knox like he doesn’t have a *care* in the world.
But Knox doesn’t follow him. His eyes are *locked* on me, his chest heaving, his hands *clenched* into fists.
And I *know*—this isn’t over.
Not by a *f*****g* long shot.
- Writer
