Chapter 91: Reid
The rage starts long before Albie and his damned door-knocking.
It starts the moment Charlie laughs and says, “Jake and Madeline can go upstairs.”
I don’t move. I don’t say a word. I just watch her stand, small and polite as ever, and head for the stairs.
Watch Jake follow her.
That’s all it takes.
Minute after minute passes. The house gets louder, drunker. They forget they were even playing a game.
Finn’s laughing too hard at something that isn’t funny. Liam’s spilling his drink. Charlie’s trying to hold the group together, and Sloane’s halfway gone.
And me?
I’m sitting here, pretending not to count the minutes since that door closed.
By the time ten have gone, I’m halfway out of my chair.
The urge to move—to go up there, break down her door, drag him away from her, take her
out of this goddamn house—burns hot and violent in my chest.
Jake should know better.
Madeline has no idea what kind of man she’s alone with.
And when the screams finally cut through the noise, I don’t think—I move.
The chaos that follows is a blur: Charlie with a broom, Liam with a pan, Finn shouting about the window, Albie dripping on the carpet.
Everyone panicking. Everyone loud.
Except Jake.
He’s calm. Too calm.
When he steps into the room, his jaw’s locked, his eyes darker than I’ve seen in months.
And his hands—
They twitch like they’ve just remembered the shape of something they shouldn’t have touched.
The room around us is pure chaos.
All I see is Jake.
And all I can think about is my fist colliding with his face, the sound it would make, the way she’d flinch if she knew just how pissed I am that he was alone with her.
But I stay still.
Because the second I move, everything burns down.
So I keep my face calm, my tone steady, like I’m part of this idiotic mess and not the real one.
He says he’ll check outside, make sure no one’s there.
I nod once, watching him, every word tasting like ash.
When Jake steps out into the storm, the door slams behind him with a gust of wind that rattles the windows.
I let out a slow breath, trying to drag the anger back down where it belongs. It doesn’t work—not really—but I have to pretend. For now.
The house is still buzzing with leftover panic. Finn’s pacing, running a hand through his hair. Liam’s slouched against the wall, laughing softly at nothing. Both of them are too drunk to be useful, too loud to think.
“Upstairs,” I tell them, voice low, even. “Night’s over.”
Finn blinks at me, confused. “Already?”
“Yes, already. Go.”
Liam grins like it’s a joke but starts up the stairs anyway, bumping Finn’s shoulder on the way. Sloane watches them with that half-disgusted, half-bored look she’s perfected.
“You good to go up too?” I ask her.
She nods, quiet for once, and pushes both idiots the rest of the way. The sound of their footsteps fades down the hall until it’s just me and the storm outside.
Madeline’s at the bottom of the stairs now, hands around herself, looking like she’s not sure if she’s supposed to stay or run. There’s a crease between her brows, worry written all over her face, and for a second, I almost tell her to go upstairs too.
Instead, I turn to Charlie.
She’s swaying where she stands, giggling to herself as she tries to fold the broom back into the corner. “M’fine,” she says when I take a step closer. “Think I’ll just crash here.”
“Go upstairs, Charlie.”
She waves a hand, dismissing me. “Shoo. Go away, you big mountain. The couch loves me more than my bed anyway.”
I groan under my breath. “You’re impossible.”
But I find a blanket and toss it over her anyway, tucking the edge by her shoulder so she doesn’t wake up freezing. She’s already half-asleep, mumbling something about tiramisu and beer.
The room finally goes quiet.
For a moment, I just stand there, listening to the rain hammer the glass and the faint echo of Jake’s footsteps outside.
Madeline is standing in the same spot, eyes darting between the glass and the door, shoulders tight like she’s waiting for something to crash through.
“Madeline.”
She jumps at her name. I take a step closer, then another, until I can smell the faint trace of Jake still clinging to her.
“You should go up too,” I tell her.
She shakes her head, the motion quick, panicked.
“What if someone really is here?”
Her voice trembles, and her bottom lip does too. The sound cuts through whatever’s left of my patience. Right now she’s not one of my crew, not some young woman I have to look after. She’s just her.
And she’s looking at me like I'm just Reid, and she needs me to fix whatever storm is going through her head.
“Come on,” I say, quieter now. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She doesn’t move.
So I reach out and take her hand. Her fingers are cold, trembling, and when I curl mine around them, she follows without a word.
The house is quieter now, the others already snoring behind closed doors. The storm presses against the windows, steady and relentless.
Her door’s half open. The sight of it drags that old anger back up my throat.
This is where she was with Jake.
The thought makes my jaw clench. I can almost feel his fingerprints in the air.
I force a breath through my teeth. The anger shifts when I look back at her eyes, glistening with unshed tears.
Before I think better of it, I lift her—careful, almost gentle—and sit down on the edge of her bed, pulling her onto my lap.
She gasps, small and startled. Her palms press against my chest as if she’s going to push me away, but she doesn’t. And some dark part of me takes satisfaction in that.
She’s so tense I can feel the tremor of every muscle.
I tilt her chin up with one hand, slow enough that she could stop me if she wanted. She doesn’t.
Her skin is soft under my fingers, her pulse fast.
“If someone’s here,” I tell her, voice low, steady, “Jake will find them.”
She swallows hard, eyes flicking toward the window again.
“There are no intruders in Northhaven. No thieves. No criminals. Just pranksters who don’t know when to quit.”
Her fingers clutch my shirt tighter. Her breath is still uneven.
“You’re fine,” I say again, though it comes out rougher, darker. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
I keep saying it until the shaking starts to fade. Her breathing slows. The tension bleeds out of her shoulders, and she sags a little against me.
I should set her down. I don’t.
Instead, I tighten my arm around her waist, feeling the faint, fragile weight of her against me.