The building looks like it could collapse in on itself at any given moment. Cement walls are chipped away, years upon years of neglect are starting to outshine the once-graffiti-colored walls, and electrical wires dangle overheard.
It’s a shithole.
Perfect for my ex and his last resting place.
Torin leads us deeper into the decrepit structure, and I can feel some of the excitement strumming off his shoulders.
His deep-rooted hatred for Matteo is almost as unmatched as mine, but he wasn’t the one dating him once upon a time.
It’s no secret Torin has been itching to get his hands on my ex for the longest time. The boy who chased me around—with zero fucks that I already had a man— was the same one who wanted nothing more than to rid Matteo of this earth for all the turmoil he put me through.
I didn’t spend the energy on it.
Until recently.
Pretty Boy suddenly stops in front of a doorway and pivots, towering over me with a small, mischievous lift to his lips. “He’s a bit busted up, Wildfire. And when he sees you, he’s going to be hella pissed.”
“So?”
He smiles. “I’m just warning you.”
A broken tsk escapes my lips. There isn’t anything about Matteo I don’t know. Especially with his temperament and pride. “Thanks.”
Torin moves without another word, spiking my blood pressure. I’m about to face my dumbass of an ex, and he’s going to donothingbut spit out threats and violence.
I’m afraid I might do something rash.
Yet I promised Levi I’d stay away, and he’d stay alive.
Moving inside, I unconsciously hold my breath and search the vacant space for Matteo.
He’s not hard to find.
The man who abused me, put a hit on my best friend, and made me lose my unborn child is standing in the middle of it, chained to the ceiling and caked in blood.
His gaze is already locked onto mine, but I don’t receive an immediate glare.
No, I get a smug expression, as though I’m the one under his control.
“I knew you’d come to me,” he quips confidently as I notice only one arm is suspended in the air. “You always knew what was good for you, Bay.”
Begrudgingly, I search for his other arm, but I don’t see it.
Atall.
“Torin,” I whisper, feeling the familiar churn of bile rising from my gut. He immediately appears on my right, before he steps between my sight of Matteo and crooks my chin up with his index finger.
“Yes?”
God…he’s so fucking infuriatingly pretty. All-American god. He’s perfect.
My next exhale is involuntarily shaking, and Pretty Boy picks up on it instantly.
“Do you wanna go?”
“No,” I quickly retort, even though… “Where is his…arm?”
Torin pushes one of his cheeks out with his tongue, then says softly, “Ozzy got mad.”
