Sloane walks into the kitchen, grabs the box of wafers off the counter, and closes it as she walks into the pantry while giving Jax the stink-eye. Kinley must have told her about the guy’s arrival after she left the room.
She looks much better, her dark hair is still damp in its low braid falling over her shoulder and some of her color is back.
She is sexy as hell in an oversized sweater that reaches her knees over a t-shirt and tights with big fluffy socks thathug her calves. She’s fucking adorable.
When she walks back out with an arm full of cans and canisters, she looks between the three of us and her face turns stern, “Am I supposed to make dinner while the three of you stand in the way?”
“That’s my cue,” Jax says and walks to the table that Spits is monopolizing and sits in one of the chairs.
Callum walks away and I turn to follow him, but as I walk by her, I pull her by her waist to me and kiss her on her temple. Her frame, which was stiff as a board earlier, molds to me.
A small smile pulls her lips but she keeps her eyes averted to all the stuff she has in her arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SLOANE
WITH EVERYONEstuck in the house, tensions are high and the cattiness of the three sisters, well, mainly Kinley and Breanna, has started to grab everyone’s notice. My constant companion these past few days when I’m in the kitchen is the one they call Spits, because of the huge amounts of sunflower seeds he eats, but he doesn’t talk much.
Even though his personality is practically non-existent because he is so wrapped up in his computer screens to notice anything around him, he’s a good-looking guy. He’s tall and his brown hair is cut short like a military cut, his broad shoulders and large chest leave no question as to whether he stays in shape.
His attention is almost always on his computers, if he’s not tapping away on a keyboard he’s tacking info and pictures to a board he set up against the wall behind him. Thismorning is no different.
As I walk into the kitchen, the sun isn’t even up and I can hear the cracking of sunflower seeds and I mumble, “Good morning.”
The sound of an empty shell being spit in a cup reaches my ears and my stomach turns, he mumbles back, “Morning.”
Blue screen lights are illuminating the entire corner of the breakfast nook on the other end of the kitchen, but no overhead lights are on. I use the soft glow of the computer lights to guide me to the coffee maker and I pour a cup, “You want a cup of coffee?” I ask him.
“Uh Uh, that shit will eat your gut up.” He looks up like he just realized where he is and his eyes snap up to mine before he says, “Sorry, I should have said ‘that stuff’.”
Chuckling at him, I pour in the obligatory half a cup of cinnamon roll-flavored creamer, take that first sip of goodness to start my day, and lean against the counter to enjoy it for a minute. I walk over to the light switch and flick the lights on so I can get started on breakfast when my eyes land on a face that I’d hoped never to see again.
The coffee cup in my hand falls to the floor and shatters as I cover the lower half of my face with both hands. Spits shoots out of his chair and it falls over behind him, pulls a gun from thin air, and looks around the room before he follows the direction of my gaze to a picture on the wall behind him.
My heart is beating like it was that day when that disgusting man was standing between my legs with his fingers in me, looking at me like I was nothing but a piece of meat for him to enjoy. My stomach starts to roil, and I run to the sink to vomit up the little bit of coffee I just drank.
“What happened?” I hear Mason’s boss ask, he’s been sleeping on the couch in the family room.
“I don’t know, she saw that picture on the wall and,” Spits pauses, “there she is.”
“Take it down.” I hear Mason command and then his hand is on my back, warm and soothing as he slides his palm up and down my spine. A rag appears out of nowhere next to my face and I take it after I wash my mouth out under the tap and splash cold water on my face, my breaths coming fast and short. “Take a deep breath.” He says in my ear.
“What happened?” I hear Kinley and Marley’s panicked voices almost at the same time.
“It was him,” I whisper into the sink and take another deep breath. “The man that touched me, the man I stabbed.”
“Did you say ‘stabbed’?” The high pitch of Kinley’s voice cuts across the room like a smoke alarm.
“Kinley.” Mason throws out her name like he would if he were talking to an errant child.
Standing up, I turn around to see the audience of the entire house crowded around the two doors that lead to the hallway and the dining room. Everyone looks like they jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, some are in housecoats, and some are in bedclothes.
I lean against the counter in front of the sink, but Mason’s arm is around my waist to make sure I don’t fall. I glance at him and see he threw on his sweatpants, the ones I took off him last night, and nothing else. The cut muscles of his chest and abs are on display and his short hair is standing up in a perfect halo of bedhead.
He tapped on my door after midnight last night and when I opened the door, he scooped me up in his arms and his mouth was on mine. He kissed me like a favorite meal he hadn’t had in a while, and then he kept me up for hours.
Something felt different, though, like he was taking his time; every touch and kiss was slow and deliberate. Not like when we were at the hotel and every move and touch was only about pleasure.
