At Obsidian Ridge, combat instructor Dale Ricoh thinks he’s unshakable—until a no-gloves sparring match with former Marine Ty Monroe ends in a kiss that feels like both contact and conquest.
Oren Callaghan can’t look away, even as the buried fragments of his captivity claw their way to the surface.
Together, the three men are lethal; apart, they’re unfinished. But when low-grade drones and a too-smooth recruit signal that the Ridge is being stalked, Dale, Ty, and Oren are forced to step across a new line. To protect the family they’ve built and the home that remade them, they must face the ghosts of the past—and choose whether to stand together or fall apart.
Be Warned: m/m sex, menage sex (MMM)
“I need a name,” Ty growled, his voice laced with tightly coiled rage. He didn’t stop walking until he was toe-to-toe with Oren, gripping the arms of his chair, spinning him to face him. He pushed Oren’s legs apart with his knee and stepped into the space like he owned it. He reached up, cupping Oren’s face in his calloused hands.
“Tell me, baby. Give me that bastard’s name.”
Dale watched Oren swallow, his throat working before he managed to whisper, “Why?”
Ty’s scowl deepened. “Because your dad is already dead, and I can’t do shit about what that bastard did to you, but this prick is still currently breathing, and he hurt you. And it’s my right to hunt him down, tear him apart, and shove his balls down his throat.”
Dale snorted. “Such a vivid mental image, thanks for that.”
Oren’s expression softened as he wrapped his hands around Ty’s wrists. “By that logic, I hurt you. Doesn’t that mean Dale gets to do something equally horrific to me?”
Ty’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, the weight of Oren’s earlier words seemed to crash down between them. A low growl sounded from Dale’s side of the counter, and he was surprised to find it had come from his chest.
Both men turned to Dale.
He smirked. “I was thinking something a little more creative. Like an erotic spanking. Maybe some strategic use of teeth.”
Laughter broke the tension. Oren leaned up, brushing a kiss to Ty’s lips, soft and lingering. Dale felt the pull of desire in his gut as he watched—his inner voyeur more than pleased.
Then Ty turned, reached for Dale, and pulled him into a kiss, too—just as hot, just as claiming. Dale let it happen, allowed himself to be consumed, just for that moment.
“Smells amazing in here,” Ty said as he snagged Dale’s wine glass and took a sip. He turned to Oren with a nod. “We’ll talk more about what happened today. I’ll get that bastard’s name tonight. But for now—I’m starving.”
They moved together in quiet ease, setting the table, dishing up the pasta, pouring wine. The easy rhythm of familiarity settled around them.
And for the first time in longer than Dale could remember—he felt like this could be the start of something real.
****
The dishes were done, the kitchen spotless, and the three of them had migrated to the lounge area of Dale’s suite. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering light across the room. The lights were low, the atmosphere warm and quiet, almost intimate.
Dale sat on the couch, his long frame stretched out and relaxed, one arm slung over the backrest. Ty had claimed the armchair to the side, a glass of whiskey in his hand, while Oren had sunk to the floor, his back to the fire, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. A few bottles of beer sat open on the coffee table between them, mostly forgotten.
Dinner had been good. No—better than good. Easy. Familiar. They’d eaten, laughed, told stories—ridiculous tales from their service days that had them all howling. And for a while, it felt like nothing needed to be said. Like the cracks in the foundation had been sealed with spaghetti sauce, shared glances, and stolen kisses.
But silence, even the comfortable kind, eventually opened the door to truth.
Oren cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the wine glass in his hand. “Ty…”
Ty looked over, eyebrows raised. Oren didn’t look up, but the tightness in his shoulders told Ty everything.
“I need to say something.”
Ty gave him the space. Didn’t interrupt. Just waited.
“I’m sorry. For what I said. For how I said it. You didn’t deserve that.” Oren’s voice was quiet, but steady. “I was reacting to ghosts—my father’s voice, the shit he drilled into me. But I don’t think like him. Not anymore. I’ve spent too long trying to unlearn what he beat into me. I don’t believe that love is wrong. I don’t believe that you’re—we’re wrong.”
He finally looked up. “I believe people should be able to love who they want. And I want to live that way. Even if it means losing everything else. Come hell or high water. My father be damned.”
Ty’s chest tightened. He nodded slowly. “I know you didn’t mean it. But I needed to hear that. So, thank you.”
Oren finally met his gaze. There was emotion in his eyes. Gratitude. Regret. Something else.
He looked at Dale, then back at Ty. “I meant what I said earlier. I want to live free of that hate. But sometimes … sometimes the cracks in the cement let the demons crawl through.”
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