I clench around him without meaning to, and he narrows his eyes at me in warning.
“Yes.”
“Okay…” Sullivan’s exhale is ragged, the sound so unlike him. I’m not used to hearing him sound flustered.
“What is it?” Denver asks.
“Tate,” Sullivan says.
I widen my eyes at him. I knew cookie-baking Tate was more than just a friend to my brother.
“Listen, can I count on your discretion?”
Denver’s jaw ticks as his still hard dick shifts inside me. “You wouldn’t believe how good I am at keeping secrets,” he rasps.
“Good. Because what I need you to help me with isn’t exactly legal.”
“Don’t tell me anymore until I get there,” Denver grunts. “I’ll come to you now.”
“Thanks,” Sullivan clips.
Then he’s gone.
“What’s wrong? Do you think whoever this Tate is, is in trouble?”
Denver frowns, pocketing his phone. “I don’t know. But I need to go.”
“I know, I understand,” I say, stroking the tense lines that have sprouted across his brow. “He needs you.”
“You need me,” he says, resting his forehead against mine.
I press a kiss to his lips. “I’ll be okay,” I whisper. “I promise you; As long as you’re okay, then I’ll be fine… now go.”
40
DENVER
What Sullivan needsme for takes me away for the entire evening and late into the next day. But the slimy fucker who crossed this woman Sullivan seems intent on helping won’t be a problem to her anymore. Not unless he really doesn’t value his pathetic existence.
It’s already ten p.m. when I’m riding the elevator up to Sinclair’s place, and I’m as unstable as a nuclear fucking warhead from being apart from her for so long.
I smirk. I never thought I’d turn into one of those sappy fuckers, pining for their girl. It’s something I used to rib Rick about all the time. But truth be told, I was always envious of the relationship he had with Lizzie. It would have been nice to have had a girl waiting for me at home. Missing me. Writing to me.Loving me.
Sullivan and I were in an area with bad signal. And Sinclair hasn’t replied to the text I managed to get delivered, or if she did, the shit service meant it never came through.
The lack of contact with her has meant I’ve been losing my fucking mind.
I open up the tracking app on my phone. Monty’s location puts him with Sterling and Halliday. But Sinclair’s puts her at her place. Why would she be home without Monty?
I don’t have time to consider the reason, because the second I stride out of the elevator, my senses heighten, jumping to full alert mode. The hallway leading to Sinclair’s door is pumping with a deep bass. Her front door is vibrating with the volume of the music. Laughter spills out, along with it.
She’s having a fucking party?
I know I’m not assigned to her anymore, but did she not learn a damn thing from our time together? Me, Killian, and Jenson have all been busy. She shouldn’t be having a fucking party without at least one of us here to keep an eye on things. And in her own damn apartment? Anyone could plant a device. Her private conversations would be splashed all over the press. Damn it, a secret camera could already be in her fucking bathroom, primed and ready for some creep to jerk off to her in the shower.
I wrench open the door, anger sparking inside me like a lit fuse. She didn’t lock it, let alone bolt the damn thing. Any sick bastard could be in here under the guise of a partygoer.
Heat hits me as the scent of warm bodies and liquor spills out in a cloud.
