But they don’t.
This is fucking bullshit.
That’s who we are?
Like he fucking knows her? Rooke doesn’t knowshitabout Haven Lee. I know how she got the scar down her chest, her favorite flower, how she’d always turn her face up to the sky and stick out her tongue to taste the rain.
Me.
Not him.Me.
But she kept this bullshit. Hid it safe, out of sight, so no one could find it.
Like a dirty little secret.
We used to be each other’s dirty little secret. Guess Heavenly’s outgrown Hide and Hunt.
I must have only briefly outrun my unsober ass on my rush over here, because that’s when everything finally catches up with me.
The edges of my vision blur, light dimming. My breath is hot and thick as I pant through a sudden swell of nausea, and that heat makes my blood boil.
But I’m not mad at Haven.
She could have a hundred reasons for keeping this shit. Evidence. Blackmail. Who the fuck am I to judge?
It’s Rooke that’s giving me double vision.
He thinks he knowsmy girlbetter than I do? Thinks he can manipulate her?Pushher?
Nah.
I bought the rights to her heart when I was a kid. That shit’s non-transferable. That motherfucker will have to pry them from my cold, dead hands.
Haven is mine.
Mine.
FUCKING MINE
I stagger.
My arm wheels out, knocking into the nightstand, sending the pretty little lamp crashing to the floor. It explodes on impact despite the thick carpet, its beaded shade jiggling merrily.
That’s when the grenade finally goes off.
Chapter 47
Haven
“Wait…wait…” I press my face against the car’s window, trying to make sense of a bunch of blurred lights up ahead. The rain smearing down the glass isn’t helping. Neither is the amount of alcohol I consumed.
“Are those…is that…” I whip my head around, staring blearily at Melissa. “Hey. You. How drunk am I? No. Really. Give it t’me straight. How. Drunk?”
“You…” She points at me, stares at her finger, and spreads her fingers out so she can study her manicure. “Fuuuck. I chipped a nail.” She sways as the Uber driver angles for the curb. “Whendidi chip anail?”
“Drunk,” I insist, and then turn back to my faceprint on the window. “I think I’m very drunk.”
This is a problem.
