Yep, I’ll be shopping at S&M, too. Kerri looks scandalized by the array of leather, lace, and bondage gear proudly displayed right out in the open. But that’s what you get when you edge dangerously close to the neon mecca of debauchery that’s Mayhem’s infamous red-light district.
God, I love this town. I was born for it. Should have come back years ago, but I was too busy proving I could build a successful life elsewhere. And I did. For a while. But it was time to come home, where I can finally breathe again after holding my breath while living in Brighton.
Why did I foolishly believe it was safe to go to Talon? So what if that place is an episode ofMister Rogerscompared to most bars on a Wednesday night? I should have remembered that nowhere is safe in Mayhem when your ex-boyfriend is a member of the gang that runs the entire damn town.
“It’s what I know,” I snap in answer to her statement.
Kerri, who is used to my attitude after all these years, laughs at my denial. “Whatever.”
On paper, our friendship shouldn’t work. She’s Brighton royalty, her quiet grace a cherry on the top of her ice-queen sundae. I’m more of an earthy Mayhem weed, with a quick temper and the mouth of a truck driver. Somehow, though, we’re a perfect fit.
“It’s notwhatever.” I hold up a hand, as if that alone will silence her and end this aggravating conversation. It won’t. “But I’m done talking about it.”
“Fine.” She turns away from the window, but I recognize her tone. She’s not finished badgering me. “It didn’t look like contempt when you stomped back in the bar like you wanted to rip someone’s head off.”
God, my stomach turns thinking about Luke—oh, wait, pardon the ever-loving Christ out of me,Jester—still acting like the same asshole he was when I left Mayhem at seventeen. Nothing changed. It’s the same situation. Only a different woman kneeling at his feet.
Wait. I’ll allowsomethings have changed.
He’s taller.
He’s filled out a bit, too.
Okay, a lot. The man is enormous. Not surprising, though, given he’s an Unholy. Each member is individually intimidating. Together, they are a collective powerhouse that rules Mayhem with an iron fist. Most men wouldn’t survive a day in their world, and it irritates the hell out of me that Luke (nope, sorry, can’t call him Jester in the privacy of my mind) puts ordinary men to shame.
Damn him.
Doesn’t matter. Being home won’t make maintaining my hatred for Luke any more difficult than it was when I lived an hour away. Catching him getting yet another blowjob confirms he’s still the same jerkoff he was in high school.
“Excuse my humiliation.”
“I warned you not to go out there.” Kerri runs her pink, manicured nails through her blonde hair.
“What can I say? I’m a moron.”
“No,” Kerri counters. “You were trying to be nice. Big difference.”
“Look where it got me.” Mortified is where it got me. “This is why I’m never nice.”
And yet, there I was, acting like a bleeding-heart idiot who wanted to save a familiar face from Brighton from making a colossal mistake. What I should have done was mind my business. If Annabelle What’s-Her-Name wanted to blow the guy who broke her boyfriend’s jaw (pretty sure ex-boyfriend now), that’s on her. It wasn’t my mouth—thank God—doing the dirty deed. Nor my trip to the gynecologist to clear up whatever STD Luke probably gave her.
Sorry not sorry for hoping it’s a nasty one.
I’m sure it’s a fact that Luke is a personal friend with penicillin—as are the women he’s screwed over the years.
The list, I’m sure, must be long and not even slightly distinguished.
It’s a known fact the Unholy are man-whores. So it wouldn’t surprise me to learn he has to give his dick a weekly alcohol dip to cleanse away the ick residue.
Ugh.
I sound bitter. Jealous. That’s not me. I need to check myself because I can’t let this sonofabitch twist me in knots.
Again.
“Yes, Faith, look where it got you. A best friend who adores you. A new business that you worked so hard for. And you just bought your own home,” Kerri reminds me. “You may be a bitch, but you have a good heart. That’s more than I can say about most people these days.”
She’s not wrong. The world is ugly, and the problem is widespread. If you live outside of a safe vacuum, the craziness will eat you alive and spit out your bones. The Unholy keep Mayhem a protected zone for its people, and wealth insulates places like Brighton. But most of the country is still recovering from a second Civil War, with most folks fighting for survival.
