I pin her against the wall, grinding my hard cock against her. She wraps a leg around me, pulling me closer.Blyat, I want to fuck her right here in this filthy alley.
But then a noise—a fucking bottle shattering in the distance—snaps us back. She shoves me off, breathing hard.
“I need to leave,” she snaps, turning away. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, and she’s biting her lip so hard I can see a drop of blood.
I want to pull her into me again, to taste her sweet lips, to fill the fucking void that’s been gnawing at me for two weeks. I want to bury myself in her, to fuck her until we both forget our names. But…
Instead, I rake a hand through my hair, frustration boiling in my veins.
“Let me walk you home,Wren,” I say, her name feeling strange on my tongue. “It’s late, and this neighborhood’s full ofmudakswho’d love to get their hands on a pretty thing like you.”
She glares at me, but I can see the fight draining out of her. She’s exhausted, shadows under her eyes telling a story of sleepless nights.Blyat, has she been as torn up about this as I have?
“Fine,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself. “But this doesn’t mean anything, D. I’m still pissed at you.”
I nod, falling into step beside her. The silence between us is heavy, loaded with all the things we’re not saying. My hand brushes hers as we walk, and I feel that same electric jolt.
Yob tvoyu mat’,look at me, following her like some lovesick puppy.
What the fuck happened to you, D? You used to be a fucking badass, now you’re tripping over your own dick for this suka.
But as we round the corner, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Instinct takes over, and I shove Wren behind me, my hand already reaching for the gun tucked in my waistband.
“What the—?” Wren starts, but I cut her off with a look.
“Stay behind me,” I growl, scanning the shadows. Something’s not right, and I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to her on my watch.
But of course, Wren is fucking Wren. Next thing I know, she’s beside me, barefoot, her pocket knife glinting in her hand.
“Order me again, I swear to God, D…” she hisses, her eyes not leaving the dark alley ahead.
38
Wren
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Something’s off. D’s got his hand on his piece, ready to blow some poor fucker’s brains out. But the shadowy figure stumbling toward us ain’t no hitman.
I grumble, squeezing my eyes shut for a split second just to make sure I’m not seeing things. Sure enough, there he is… the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, lurking in the shadows.
It’s dear old Dad in all his piss-soaked glory.
“Un-fucking-believable,” I spit, my mind racing as I try to make sense of his presence. If he’s here, it can’t be good. Not by a long shot.
D’s still on high alert, muscles tense, ready to pounce. I grab his arm. “Stand down, Rambo. It’s just my dad.”
I look up at D, suddenly aware of how fucking tall he is without my heels. Shit. Has he always been this… imposing? My eyes trace the hard lines of his jaw, the set of his shoulders. There’ssomething different about him today, something that makes my skin prickle.
His eyebrows knit together, a deep furrow forming between them. He doesn’t relax, not completely, but his hand moves away from his piece.
My shoulders stay tense, muscles coiled tight. Part of me is itching for a fight, hoping some of D’s enemies might show up and liven things up. Anything’s better than dealing with John’s bullshit.
Now he’s crossing his arms over his chest, biceps bulging under his shirt sleeves. His eyes narrow as he watches John stumble closer.
I yank my hair up into a messy bun, my fingers rough and impatient. Strands escape, tickling my neck. I brush them away, irritated. My eyes never leave John as he weaves his way toward us, each step a fucking insult to the concept of walking.
The fucker staggers into view, and I feel my gut clench. I’d know that shit-faced shuffle anywhere—left foot dragging like it’s trying to escape, shoulders hunched like he’s waiting for the next sucker punch from life.
