I come so hard, bright lights appear in my vision as I empty myself inside her. Bay grips me like a vise, and she did that fucking shit on purpose to coax out the best orgasm of my life.
It was.
She didn’t need to do that to win her blue ribbon.
Coming down is a trainwreck of breathing correctly and not wanting to leave the crook of Bay’s neck.
It means we have to go back to the problems facing us.
Emilio Wildes is dead and that’s not what worries me.
It’s his dog he had on a leash, one who’s about to roam the neighborhood looking for his next bite.
TWENTY-SEVEN
levi
Time shiftswhen Bay Astor walks into a room.
Especially after I fucked and kissed her—for real this time. No bullshit ploy to get the Forsaken assholes to believe one story over another. Not some stupidjust-in-case-someone-sees-usdisplay of PDA.
No, I kissed her because Ihadto.
I fucked her because she’s always been mine.
Call it whatever the fuck you want; I grew up with this girl, and I have happily put my life on the line to keep her safe. It’s why I kept Baby Wildes out of South Shore. It’s why I never made an alliance with Cairo Black to gain an ally. Fuck Reeve Stanton because his flirting gets on my last fucking nerve.
And then there was my cousin, Ozzy.
I can’t say I was a huge fucking fan of the idea of him marrying her, but he was the least bit vulnerable when it came to his dick and his emotions, so I gambled.
Roger would fucking kill me.
Nonetheless, despite my efforts, shit has gotten messy. I’m not entirely sure what bullshit charm Torin put on her, but she fell for him. I know she did.
Same for Stanton.
I don’t have to rub two brain cells together to figure that one out. If I was an ounce bisexual, I’d probably fuck him, but I’d rather choke him out and watch the life leave his eyes more than anything. I’m not going to forget him hitting her and how he missed his trip to Mexico.
“Lev.”
The sound of my name off her lips and the way she smiles at me was worth threatening Hot Rod over.
He’s still pissed at me. I couldn’t give a fuck, but he’s my brother-in-arms, a faithful right-hand man. Sitting in an empty warehouse like some fucking most-wanted felon wasn’t eating away at the need to see Astor.
So, being the prick I am, I’m holed up in Pedaline Graham’s house, a South Shore OG. She’s lived in this very house since before The Landings and South Shore split and has lived through each day of its violent rivalry. I remember when her husband died about five or six years back, the whole community gathered up and helped with anything she needed.
I mean, fuck, people still come over and mow her grass, pick up her groceries, and check in on her to make sure she’s alright. It probably wasn’t the best place to hide, but I have a safe house I’m leaving for tonight. This was the closest I could get to Bay before I have to disappear again.
“That you, Astor?” Tears build up in those lucid blue eyes of hers before she bobs her head repeatedly in confirmation, erasing the space between us in rapid succession. “C’mon, Bay, don’t cry again.”
“Fuck you. I had to go to your fake funeral the other day.” She plops down on the bed beside me, causing discomfort to ripple through the stitches in my gut, but I ignore it. “It was fucking awful.”
I reach for her, cupping the side of her face and feeling the softness of her slightly tan skin. “Yeah…I know. I’m sorry. I’d ask you if it was bomb, but I heard about the fucking sniper.”
She scoffs. “Yeah. Apparently, I have fans.”
“Mhm.” I drop my hand and feel the loss of her immediately. “We need to talk.”
