Sharing my Best Friend's Brother

Chapter 10

Nikolai

Guilt twists in my gut as I stare at Alyssa's last text before shoving my phone back into the pocket of my cut draped over the chair.

So far, so good.

As long as King and Mason keep ghosting the group chat like they always do when we're knee-deep in club business, she won't have a reason to start sniffing around. Won't start piecing together what we're actually doing.

And f**k, I hate it—lying by omission, dodging her questions. It's not the kind of secret that'll hurt her, just a surprise we don't want ruined, but keeping my mouth shut feels harder than I ever expected.

She trusts us now. Fully. And that trust was a b***h to earn after everything she's been through. One wrong move, one slip-up, and she'll start thinking she can't.

And if that ever happens? I don't know how the f**k I'll survive that.

"Guys, she doesn't seem suspicious!" I call out as I walk back into the studio.

King and Mason are still at it, moving across the floor in tight, deliberate steps—waltzing like two princes ripped straight out of a storybook. Their lines are sharp, cleaner than when we first started a few months ago, and I'll admit it—I'm a little jealous.

Me? I've got two left feet and the coordination of a drunk toddler. Ruby, our instructor, has been trying to fix that—patient smile, endless corrections, counting out loud like I'm back in kindergarten. But no matter how many times she tells me to "relax into the music," my body's still wired to dodge bullets, not glide across a polished floor.

Still, I'm hoping by the time it counts, I won't look like a complete i***t in front of Alyssa. She deserves to be waltzed across the floor like the f*****g queen she is—with every eye on her, knowing she's all ours.

Knowing she's our happily ever after.

Gray leans against the wall, his expression unreadable as he sips his whiskey like the glass holds all the answers he's looking for.

"What crawled up your ass and died?" I ask, because subtlety has never been my thing.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. "What the f**k are you talkin' about?"

I cross my arms, not letting him off the hook. "Alyssa says you've been ghosting Ashley. Thought you two were good."

And yeah, it's really not my business—but my wife asked me to bring it up. So here we are.

Still, it doesn't make any f*****g sense. It's not like there's a long line of women out there eager to climb in bed with him and another chick without turning it into a goddamn soap opera. Ashley jumped in headfirst—no complaints, no jealousy, just rolled with it. Girls like that don't just fall out of the f*****g sky.

Alyssa was right. He's a dumbass. And he needs to stop being a d**k before he ruins something good.

Gray's hazel eyes cut to me, sharp enough to slice. "Since when do you get to tell me how to handle my s**t?" he snaps, voice low, laced with warning. "Ashley knew what this was from the start. My job isn't to cater to her feelings. She keeps my d**k wet, that's it."

I bark out a humorless laugh. "Jesus. That's how we're supposed to treat women now? What if we talked about Alyssa like that?"

Not that we ever would. The thought alone makes me sick to my stomach. She's not just some warm body to pass the time with.

She's our world—our goddess.

I'd rather cut my own tongue off than reduce her to anything less than what she is.

And yeah, maybe that sounds dramatic as f**k, but it's the truth. Alyssa isn't just our wife—she's our everything. The anchor that keeps three broken men from drifting too far out to sea.

So hearing Gray dismiss Ashley like she's nothing to him? That pisses me off. The guy was ready to ride into the sunset with Christine—an ice-cold, calculating b***h who damn near destroyed him—and now, because she burned him, he thinks it's okay to treat Ashley like s**t.

I take a step closer, arms still crossed. "You don't get to use your f****d-up marriage as an excuse to be a d**k now. Ashley's not Christine. She's loyal, fun, and actually gives a s**t about you, not what you can give her. And instead of manning up, you're ghosting her just because s**t's getting too real."

Gray's eyes flash, a storm brewing behind them. His knuckles whiten around the glass, the vein in his temple pulsing.

"Careful, Niko," he warns. "You're treading deeper in s**t that's not your lane."

I smirk, because the threat only proves my point. He's caught feelings for her, whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Maybe. But you're forgetting something, Prez—my lane is Alyssa. And when my wife wants me to handle something, I handle it. 'Cause trust me, you don't want her hunting you down about this. It won't be pretty."

Gray's glare hardens, but there's the faintest twitch in his jaw. A tell. He knows I'm right—knows Alyssa won't let this s**t slide if she decides to step in herself.

She'd tear him a new asshole... and the rest of us? We'd just sit back, watch, and laugh our asses off while she did it.

All I can do is pass on the warning. What he does next? That's on him. I'm not his keeper, and I'm sure as hell not about to beg him to do right by a woman a million times better than the b***h he married.

Before Gray can make up any more pathetic excuses, Ruby claps her hands from the center of the floor. "Niko! You're next."

Her accented voice slices clean through the tension, and dread washes over me.

Fuck.

Time to make a fool out of myself.

As King steps off the dancefloor, he smacks my ass hard enough to sting. "Go get 'em, slut."

My cheeks warm like they're on fire. The asshole knows exactly how to get me hard in a room full of people about to watch me trip over my own feet.

I shoot him a glare, but it's weak at best. "f**k you."

His grin spreads slow, dangerous. "Careful with that mouth, Niko. You keep runnin' it, and I'll make sure we don't leave the parking lot until you're choking on my cock."

Oh, f**k.

My throat dries, my c**k thickening—even though I should be worrying about footwork, not whether he's gonna make good on his threat.

But knowing King, he will. And knowing me? I'll love every second of it.

It's been too damn long since I've tasted him, felt him pound into my ass until I couldn't think straight.

And f**k, I've been craving it. Bad.

Ruby clears her throat, the sharp click of her stiletto dragging me back to reality. "Niko. Stop stalling and get on the floor."

Her eyes cut to Mason, who's still standing beside her. "You—partner with him."

Mason's lips twitch slightly as his gaze meets mine. Without hesitation, he strides over and offers his hand like he's Prince Charming in a green button-up and slacks—except this bastard's about to watch me stomp all over his toes.

"Don't look so thrilled," I mutter, slipping my hand into his anyway.

"Relax," he says quietly, his voice steady in that way that always works like a balm on my frayed nerves. "I'll make sure you don't look like a complete dumbass this time."

"I don't believe you," I shoot back, earning a low chuckle that only makes it harder to focus.

Ruby claps, loud and commanding. "Positions!"

Mason steps in closer, one hand settling at my waist, the other firm around mine. His touch is solid, grounding. And even though my brain keeps screaming about how ridiculous I must look, especially with me being an inch or two taller than him, my body can't help but respond to him anyway.

At first I keep my eyes glued to the floor, trying to focus on which foot is supposed to go where. Left, right, right—f**k, I've already lost count.

Ruby's voice cuts through the noise in my head. "Niko, stop staring at your shoes. Look up. Into his eyes. Follow his lead."

I groan under my breath. "Like that's gonna work."

Mason's lips twitch again, like he's fighting a smile. "She's right. Trust me, Niko."

Reluctantly, I drag my gaze up to his. His green eyes are steady, the patience in them making me feel more exposed than stepping on his toes ever could.

The tightness in my chest loosens, the rhythm finally clicking as I let myself get pulled into step, lost in his eyes.

"Better," Ruby calls out, circling us like a hawk. "Much smoother when you stop fighting and just follow."

Easy for her to say. She's not the one trying not to pop a boner in the middle of a waltz lesson.

Mason's hand presses firmer on my waist, guiding me through a turn. "Yeah, see what happens when you just submit?" he purrs, low enough for only me.

Heat flashes up my neck, my breath hitching on that one word.

Submit.

Fuck. I'd submit to him, to King, to Alyssa—any way they wanted. On my knees, bent over, tied up. Doesn't matter. They own me, body and soul, and I don't even pretend to fight it anymore.

Not that I'd ever show this side of me at the clubhouse. There, I'm the smart-ass VP with the sharp tongue and quicker knife. No one gets to see the part of me that craves being handled, owned, undone—except them.

And Mason? He knows it. He can feel it in the way I follow his lead, even when—by every unspoken rule—I shouldn't be okay with this. Shouldn't let another man hold me this close, guide my steps like I belong in his arms.

But I am okay with it. More than okay. And I don't even give a f**k if Gray's watching.

He already knows about us. The whole club does.

So really, there's no reason to be ashamed. No reason to pretend I'm anything but exactly what I am—a man who loves his family so much he'll let them lead him across a dancefloor just as easily as he'll let them wreck him in bed.

Ruby claps once, making us freeze—though my heart's still beating like a drum. "Better. Much better. Now again from the top."

Mason smirks past me at King before looking back up at me. "Now we're getting somewhere. I think Alyssa's gonna love this."

My chest tightens at the thought, the image burned into my brain—her in some gorgeous dress, glowing, laughing, letting me spin her across the floor like she's the only woman in the world.

Because she is. At least in mine.

And maybe, just maybe, when it's my turn to hold our queen in front of everyone, I won't look like a complete dumbass.