Page 11 of Tarnished

“You okay now, baby?” he asked softly, the term of endearment slipping past his lips. I didn’t think he even noticed, and I definitely wasn’t about to point it out for fear of him never using it again.

I secretly loved it—craved it—when Beck slipped up and called me those sweet pet names. They made me feel special. Loved. And when was the last time I’d felt that outside of Beck?

I glanced at Tank, his name for me reverberating through my skull. Little one. Something soothing slid through me that had nothing to do with the coffee or alcohol.

Did Tank care, too?

“I’m okay,” I softly told Beck. I finished my coffee and set the mug on the nightstand before yawning. Beck helped me back beneath the covers before sliding beneath them with me. He tugged me back against him so he was spooning me, his arms banded around my waist.

Tank leaned over us, tucking the blanket in around us. “Goodnight, you two,” he whispered.

My heart lurched into my throat, and I latched my slender fingers around his thick wrist when he turned to leave the room. Immediately, he stopped, his muscles going just the tiniest bit rigid. My voice trembled when I tentatively whispered, “Will you please stay?”

Tank looked down at me then, running his eyes over my features. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but finally—thankfully—he nodded and pulled the blankets back, sliding on the king-sized bed in front of me. I closed my eyes, my palms pressing against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart against my fingertips, easily lulling me to sleep.

I was almost asleep when I felt him drape his arm over me, but his palm didn’t settle over my hip.

No, it settled over Beck’s, and my heart lurched into my throat.

Did Tank like both of us? Was that possible?

If it was… why did I like the idea so much?

9

Beck

Sunlight was streaming through the curtains when I groggily opened my eyes the next morning. I was more rested than I’d been in months, and it took everything in me not to do a whole-body stretch while still lying in bed next to Clarke… and Tank.

Tank who’d slept with his hand on my hip all night. Tank who’d crawled into bed without question because Clarke asked him to. And somehow, he’d sensed I’d needed him, too without me ever saying a word. My chest tightened. How long had it been since someone had taken care of me in such a simple way?

How was a big, burly man like him so… kind? I’d watched him drop bodies. Seen the cold, dead look in his eyes as he did so. He’d held me at gunpoint and threatened to end my life. I knew there was darkness inside of him. Coldness.

But looking at him now, he was sort of like a giant, overprotective teddy bear—just a really buff one. And it made me tingle inside. Made me crave him as much as I craved Clarke. Tank made me feel safe, and while I was Clarke’s protector and would do anything in the world to keep her safe, I wanted to feel safe, too. I wanted someone to give a damn about me as much as I loved and protected Clarke.

Was that too much to ask?

I eased out from beneath Tank’s warm hand, immediately shivering after as if his hand alone had been providing my body with warmth. After gingerly easing off the mattress, I stood beside the bed and finally stretched. And then, I stared at the beautiful image of Tank and Clarke cuddled close together. His frame dwarfed her much smaller one, practically swallowing her inside his body. But damn, they looked perfect.

Would I look that good in his arms, too?

Biting back a longing sigh, I quietly walked around the bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet as I made my way to the bedroom door. The hinges didn’t so much as squeak as I opened it and slipped out, quietly shutting it back behind me.

When I emerged into the kitchen, I blinked at the state-of-the-art appliances in front of me. The man—Alejandro, I thought I remembered his name being—had definitely not skipped out on any luxuries in the safe house. It was almost like booking an AirBNB and being on vacation.

Figuring I could make myself a little useful—and since I actually liked cooking, even though I hadn’t got to do it much until after I went to college and moved into an apartment—I began working on breakfast: eggs, bacon, and pancakes. I even started the fancy-ass coffee maker, knowing how irritable Clarke could be without her morning caffeine.

But would she still want caffeine? Was that something she still craved? She hadn’t had it in months. What if it made her upset to smell coffee, something that was part of her normal life before she’d been snatched out of her bed in the middle of the night and tortured for months?

“Smells good in here,” Tank rasped from behind me.

Yanked from my thoughts, I spun around in surprise, blinking at the sight of him. He was still in the clothes from yesterday—the clothes he’d also slept in, which I knew couldn’t have been all that comfortable. His hair was sleep-mussed, and there was a light crease on his cheek from sleeping in one position for so long.

“I, uh, made breakfast,” I stammered. “And coffee.”

Tank smiled at me before walking around me to the coffee pot. He grabbed one of the mugs hanging from the bottom of the cabinet and set it down before pouring the steaming coffee into it and taking a sip of it. I scrunched my nose up at him.

“Black coffee?” I asked incredulously as I took the final pancake out of the pan and set it on one of the three plates I had set out.