I spin on the heel of my trusty black-and-white checkered Vans, with Havoc crowding behind me as we enter the house. This adult version of him takes up way too much space in my living room.My Lord. He never intimidated me before, but there’s no denying he’s a touch terrifying now that he’s a whole man and we’re alone.
Where no one will hear my screams before they even have a chance to leave my throat.
Somehow, I summon a backbone and remind myself that I knew this person before he turned into the beast towering over me. Who is also scowling down at me for no reason. Let’s be honest. I knew him when he was nothing more than a scared kid who hid in my backyard whenever his mother would go on a bender—or worse.
But I get a nagging…itch...in the back of my brain right at the same time a pit forms in my stomach. Every part of me cringes when my mind catches up to what my eyes saw right before I turned to walk into the house.
That sonofabitch.
Havoc isn’t alone.
I stomp back to the front door. And there he is. With his ass parked boldly as you goddamn please in the passenger seat of Havoc’s truck.
Luke was always an incandescent sun in the center of my universe. While in Brighton, I had a reprieve. I was free from his gravitational pull. Free from his phantom presence haunting me every moment of every day. But I feel it now. His stare scorches me, hotter than the June heat. The specter sensation of his hands on my body even though he hasn’t physically touched me in years.
I hate him.
I hate him because I hate myself for still giving him this power over me.
And here I go, second-guessing my decision to come home.
Maybe Mayhem isn’t even home anymore.
What a bunch of crap.
Mayhem has always been my home, and I’ll be damned if Luke-friggin’-Hayden runs me out after I spent all that time dreaming of coming back.
The object of my disgust opens the door and climbs down from the truck. He looks different when not lit by moonlight and neon. Oh, and with his dick actually in his pants. I resent how causally gorgeous he is in those low-slung blue jeans and a white Fox T-shirt. He’s boy-next-door meets psychopath, and he’s staring point-blank at me with a silent dare in those incredible amber eyes.
Sorry, pal, I don’t break easily anymore.
He made me the monster I am today. Now he has to deal with his creation.
I spin and nail Havoc with a glare. “What’s he doing here?”
“He insisted.” There’s not an ounce of contrition in Havoc’s tone. “I told him he had to wait in the truck.”
“Well, he’s outside the truck, so apparently, he didn’t listen,” I snap.
He gives me a one-shoulder shrug. “He’s Jester.”
Meaning he hasn’t changed. Not at all in almost a decade.
“For the love of…” I mutter and grip the frame as I lean my upper body out the front door. “You can come in, asshole.”
Because fuck him. He didn’t ruin me.
But I’ll tell you what. I have never, not in all the days of my life, wanted to do anything more than slap the smug smile clean off his face. Instead, I notch my chin and maintain my dignity. Let him think he won if it strokes his ego, but this round is mine. I’m not a chicken shit. Nor am I the same broken teenager who limped out of Mayhem with her tail between her legs. I grew into this bitch, and he better recognize who the hell he’s playing with real quick, because one thing is for damn sure, this town is too small for us to be at war.
Although Main Street would look lovely decorated with his intestines.
I’m just saying…
My fondest wish is to bleed him the way he bled me. But as my father used to say, a good revenge against someone who wronged you is to ignore them and live your best life.
Well, this is me, living my best life.
Or at least me trying to live my best life.
