With mixed feelings, Happy watched the car disappear. Foss, Nash, and Sack had just been picked up by someone working for Hana. He hated giving up control, and that familiar helplessness was already building in his chest. He trusted his brother—loyal to the core, even if he'd lost the memories to prove it. If anything, that loss had made him tougher, more focused. And yet...

He wished the roles had been reversed. That he'd been the one in the fire while the others ran the diversion.

"Come on. They're gone," his sister said softly, tugging at his arm.

Worry was etched into her face too. Sack meant a lot to her—not just because he was the father of her child, but because he'd always been there for her, even when she was at her lowest. Happy got it. Letting Sack go again wasn't easy for her, especially with the way his memory loss had changed things between them.

He walked into the clubhouse with Dana.

"Does this bring back memories?" he asked hesitantly.

She shrugged. "The situation's totally different."

Maybe for her. Not for him. That same helplessness was gnawing at him again, and he couldn't shake the fear that they'd again underestimated their enemy. That there was still some hidden catch, even after going over the plan so many times. Even though it seemed like the best option for Hana herself.

They grabbed drinks at the bar. A few women climbed onto the stage, dancing around the pole to lighten the mood. Normally, he might've watched. Not today. His eyes drifted instead to the far side of the bar, where Naomi stood. Kozik was with her, looking after her.

He took a sip from his glass, catching Dana grinning out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You still like her, don't you?"

"Oh, fuck off. I'm not one of your girlfriends you can gossip with."

"No, she's dead."

The words hit like a punch, a cold shiver running through him. She was right. And he regretted snapping at her. Because of Maddox, she'd lost every friend she'd ever had. And the ones she'd made after escaping? Most of them were gone too. She was so relentlessly positive, it was easy to forget how much she'd been through. How badly she must have craved a simple conversation like this during all those years of imprisonment—just talking about something as dumb as feelings.

"I don't know," he muttered, doing her a favor. "Didn't I already tell you I'm not into that kind of shit?"

"But she's special to you. I can tell."

"She gave birth to two kids who are apparently mine. That helps."

Dana smirked. "Bet you'd lose it if one of your brothers tried something. Knuckles wouldn't think twice about it."

The idea alone made irritation ripple through him. One look at Dana's smug expression told him there was no point in denying it. "Maybe."

"You don't have to turn into some happy little family overnight. I mean, complicated families are kind of our thing, right?"

He let out a small huff of a laugh. She wasn't wrong. Juice and Dana only had one kid together, yet they were raising three. And their own childhood? That had been a shitshow. With their dad in prison and their mom falling apart, he'd done his best to look after her, though they'd both made their share of mistakes. They'd lost each other along the way—and now here she was, giving him relationship advice.

"But what then?" He scoffed. "Am I supposed to take her out on a date? Yeah, no thanks." Just the thought made him cringe. He couldn't see himself doing that.

"Why not?"

"Just... not."

The topic was draining him. Relationships weren't his thing. He'd drilled that into himself for years, and there was no reason to think differently now. Life was already complicated enough with two grown sons in the picture.

He glanced around the clubhouse, his eyes skimming over the women. None of them caught his attention. None of them sparked anything in him.

Unconsciously, his gaze drifted to Naomi. Her lips wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle, and in a flash, he was hit with the memory of them wrapped around his cock. The thought alone sent a wave of heat coursing through him.

It had been like waking from a dream only to find himself in an even better one. And fuck—yeah, maybe he'd gotten a little carried away. He was used to rough sex, but Naomi clearly wasn't. She'd bitten him—hard, too—and he had to admit, that wasn't the kind of roughness he'd been expecting.

Was that his one chance? And why did it feel so shitty if it was? Annoyed, he stood up. What a fucking mess. He didn't want to think about this anymore.

He walked over to a group of croweaters and gave them a look that made his intentions clear.

He didn't care how many of them came along, as long as they could help him push Naomi out of his mind.

It felt so... empty. So meaningless.

He'd never been bothered by that before, but now...

His mind kept drifting back to when they'd been on his bike, how her hand had slid into his pants. There'd been a tension in his body, something new, something he couldn't name. Curiosity, fascination, maybe even more. And later, when they'd gotten off the bike, he'd been so hyper-aware of her—every move, every breath. He'd even noticed the subtle shifts in her body language just before she tried to stab him.

But this, here, now—with three women doing their best to please him? It was like eating paper-thin, frozen burgers while someone grilled a handcrafted, medium-rare patty right in front of him, topping it with aged cheddar, tomato, and crisp onion rings.

It didn't satisfy.

It wasn't exciting.

It just bored the hell out of him.

Even getting aroused took longer than he cared to admit. And because the last thing he wanted was to look like some old, impotent man, he let his mind wander.

He thought of Naomi. Of her hands on his skin, her lips on his neck, his stomach, his cock. He imagined the softness of her curls between his fingers, the rhythm she'd set before he'd taken control.

Yeah. That did the trick.

Eyes closed, he let himself get lost in memory and fantasy until he finally finished. Without so much as a glance at the three women, he got dressed again. If they wanted an orgasm, they could figure that out themselves. He'd had to do the same.

He left the row of bedrooms, cut through the clubhouse, and stepped outside. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned against the wall and let out a deep sigh.

She's got you by the balls, man.

His gaze drifted upward, to the sliver of moon hanging sharp and thin in the night sky.

The door opened and closed behind him. He wasn't surprised when footsteps headed his way and someone came to stand beside him. The faint, rosy scent around her gave her away, though on some level, he'd already known it was her.

"Are you worried too?" Her voice was hesitant, as though she wasn't sure she should even ask. Like admitting her feelings was something to be ashamed of.

He couldn't help the dry laugh that escaped. "Not about them." Maybe a little, but that wasn't why he was out here.

"'Oh. What, then?'"

He glanced at her. The faint crease between her eyebrows betrayed her disbelief that he could be thinking about anything else. His lips curved into a smirk; he was curious to see her reaction.

"I can't stop thinking about my cock in your mouth. How fucking good that felt."

She looked away, and in the dim light, he thought he saw her cheeks darken. He couldn't tell if it was from irritation or embarrassment.

"Better than the mouths or pussies you just had your fun with?"

"Don't forget the asses."

Not that it had gone that far, but the indignant snort she let out was worth it.

"So, you've been keeping an eye on me," he teased. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"I'd rather take care of myself with a toy than be treated like one."

Her words sent his mind straight into dangerous territory. "What kind of toy are we talking about?"

She swore and smacked his chest. "My kid is on his way to Colombia with some drug cartel! Have you developed the depth of a goldfish over the past few years?"

"It's called distraction," he said coolly. "No point in obsessing over it. There's nothing we can do right now."

"And clearly your 'distraction' didn't do shit if you're out here sulking."

"That has more to do with you than with Foss."

She turned to face him, studying him in silence. No doubt trying to figure out if he was mocking her.

He wasn't. He always spoke his mind.

"I don't know what to make of that," she said eventually.

He shrugged and took a drag of his cigarette. "Neither do I."

She let out an exasperated growl. "You're impossible."

He frowned. "Why's that?"

"Because..." Her voice trailed off into a heavy sigh. She stared into the distance. "It's still there, isn't it? What we used to have. You feel it too."

"I think so," he admitted, his eyes returning to the moon. Its sharp crescent looked unforgiving, unrelenting.

"Do you want to figure it out together, once all this is over? See if we can get back what we lost?"

Twenty-five years. They weren't getting those back. And going back to how things had been? It felt so far behind them. He could hardly remember what it was like to be in a relationship.

But then he thought about what Dana had said.

If some other guy swooped in and took Naomi away, he'd want to break their face. That had to mean something, right? And there was the fact that being surrounded by three eager women earlier had left him completely unsatisfied.

"We can give it a shot," he said.

And he meant it. He couldn't picture them being a "real" couple, like Dana and Juice, or Kozik and Amy. But he also couldn't picture her walking out of his life again.

Who knows? Maybe he'd surprise himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile. She laced her fingers through his.

He stared at their joined hands, a little dazed.

It actually felt kind of good.