“Right.” In the next second, I hear my door shut, and I’m still standing in my bedroom with half a hard-on, trying to figure out if I just got dumped.
Shit, the sex wasnice,and instead of hitting the sheets again, she’s worried about having the garbage disposal installed. Not exactly what I would call sex talk.
I huff out a laugh. “She basically just did to me what I’ve done a hundred times over. The brush-off. The ‘hey, it was great—or in her case, nice—but I’m out, and don’t count on it happening again.’”
She screws my brains out, swallows my cum, and yet I still feel fucked over. And not in the good way.
SAMMIE
I enter my room, extremely proud of myself. For once, I wasn’t the victim, a role I never planned on playing again. Istood tall and threw words back at Deuce he’d probably said a hundred times over the years.
“Hey, babe, it was great, I’ll call you.” Never calls.
“Hey, babe, you know this was good, but it was a one-off.” Never calls.
“Hey, babe, I’ll call you the next time I wanna get my dick wet.” Never calls and has something thrown at his head.
Yup, I handled that like a pro. The look of shock and disappointment told me I played it perfectly. I head for the bathroom, strip off my sleep shorts, pull my top over my head and pause. I press it to my nose and inhale. Deuce’s unmistakable scent. Damn. I fling it to the floor and turn on the water hot as I can stand it, then let it pelt over me.
I wipe the water from my face and realize it’s mixed with tears. Yeah, I might have played it perfectly, but what I said and what I feel are completely different. Deuce showed another side of himself in bed. I noticed it the first time when we had our crazy sex behind the bar.
His hard features soften, and a vulnerability washes over him that I didn’t think would be possible for an outlaw. A quiet introspection I don’t see with the other Kings. Deuce is a man who feels deeply no matter how hard he tries to hide it.
Then last night, the way he burst into my room afraid something or someone was hurting me—it was crazy. Crazy because I never had a man react that way. Usually, it’s me cleaning up the messes the males in my life make, not the other way around. That in itself was eye-opening, but the way he gathered me in his arms last night, so gentle and caring, so unlike the persona he portrays with his brothers.
Like when I asked him about the scars on his back. He gave me short, clinical answers, but his eyes betrayed his hurt. Then he used sex to change the subject, accompanied by multipleorgasms. Something I never experienced before, and yet he brought me there every damn time. Not that I’m complaining.
Yes, Deuce touched me in a genuine way, but I know I did the right thing. We still have the responsibility of The End, and there’s no way I’m letting my emotions interfere with its success. We have to see each other every day.
I glance down at my ankle monitor. I don’t have the luxury of leaving. I have to be patient because nothing and no one, including Deuce, could get in the way of my future.
I lean against the tile and let the water sluice over me. I presented all good, valid reasons why Deuce and I would never work. Practical and sensible.
Then why does it hurt so damn much?
When the water chills, I turn it off, towel myself dry, and my phone vibrates with a message. I swipe at the screen, then grip the phone and stare at the device.
Chapter Twenty-One
DEUCE
An hour later, I enter the main room of The End. I can’t ignore the looks from my brothers even though they think they’re being discreet. Usually, I’m here before them, and it’s the middle of the afternoon. Usually, I’m barking orders and overseeing the job. Usually, I don’t have a fuckin’ headache like I downed a fifth of vodka.
I immediately return to what I was working on yesterday. Spackling and sanding the back hallway. Manual labor grounds me, and, in a way, rebuilding The End is like rebuilding my life. The End was left to die, but it survived somehow. Just like me.
Prison not only took years of my life, it gave me time to focus on the broken parts of my life. A childhood no one should’ve survived. Actions from adults that made no sense. Then, as I got older, the suffocating anger that would surface when I least expected it. A raging storm that lived within me, just under the surface, ready to break free at the slightest provocation.
The prison shrink talked about accountability, but for me, it was all about survival.
“You all right?” Ace asks.
“Of course.”
“You’ve been acting kinda weird all day.”
I pick up the trowel and slap more spackle on the wall. “Got shit to do.”
“Yeah, but usually you’re up everybody’s ass wanting to know what we’re doin’ and when we’re gonna be done.”
