“You liked it,” I quip back without turning to face them.
“Brody is my husband,” Ali adds. I can’t stop the growl that rumbles through my chest. “Soon-to-be ex-husband.”
The urge to bend her over the desk and remind her exactly who she belongs to is strong, nearly overwhelming. But I need to finish this. Then I will fuck her.
“I’m leaving all the evidence—real and fabricated—in a folder with minimal protection. That way, when Will’s dogs go sniffing, they’ll find exactly what we want them to find and nothing else,” I finish explaining.
My fingers move furiously, fueled by the desperation to see this plan through.
“What if Will finds where we are?” Liv’s voice is small, scared. Even I can tell she’s broken. It hurts. I don’t particularly care for her, but I know the pain Will can cause. It opens scars that never fully heal; wounds unable to be soothed by time. She was nearly unconscious when we found her. She regained some of her strength as we drove home but I imagine she won’t feel whole for quite a while. Scars like that cut deep. The pain is a wound that is constantly festering, infecting you down to your soul.
I should know.
I finish placing and planting then spin in my chair. Luke has one hand threaded through Liv’s pink locks, pulling her head back, exposing the long column of her neck. He looks down at her like a beast. Her pupils are blown wide as she stares back up at him.
“I know you’re scared and hurt,” he growls as his free hand moves around her throat and squeezes. “But you have a good girl, our pretty little pet, that missed you. Celeste needs you to be strong. Can you let her show you how much she missed you?”
The pink-haired one nods slightly. Celeste slides up beside them. Luke uses his hold on her hair to turn her face toward Celeste’s. The two women kiss, slow and soft.
“There’s my girls,” Luke praises as he watches them.
My eyes flit to Ali. She’s watching them, enraptured. She’s such a stunning creature—fiery and powerful, yet delicate and soft. She’s my perfection—my soulmate, my obsession.
And I’m ready to remind her exactly who she belongs to.
“Come on, beautiful.” I hold a hand out to her as I cross the room. “Let’s give them time alone to reconnect.” I guide her to the doorway before turning back to Luke. “The guest room is yours, of course.”
He nods in thanks as his hands slide around the two females—a snake constricting their prey.
“Let’s go for a drive, my Beauty.”
TWENTY-NINE
Allison
The purr of the engine makes the warm leather seat vibrate beneath me. Seat warmers are a complete luxury that I can’t imagine living without ever again. That is, if I stay in cold and rainy Washington. I’ve been finding myself imagining a life far away from here, somewhere warm, somewhere calm, somewhere with him.
The man in question sits stoically next to me. His large hands grip the steering wheel, guiding the car along the winding roads with ease. I sometimes get nervous driving through the rain inthe dark, even though I’ve done it my entire life, but not Garett. No, he’s calm and confident as he navigates the black muscle car along the secluded highway. We’re too far out for streetlights, but the glow of the moon steaming through the trees illuminates the sharp features of his face. If he wasn’t so utterly disarming in his demeanor, one might find his handsome features to be alluring. A true Devil in disguise.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I hold my hands up to the heater and let them warm against the blowing air. Spring is right around the corner, but the cold rainy nights still chill down to the marrow.
He doesn’t answer. His knuckles flex around the leather of the steering wheel, making a sharp sound. The silence in the car is stifling. The only sound is the steady rhythm of the rain against the car.
Is he mad at me?
“Garett.” My tone is more demanding now as we weave around the curves of the winding mountain road. “Where are we going?”
He still doesn’t answer me. He sits in stoic silence as if he can’t even hear me. My annoyance grows. I’ve been pushed aside and silenced by men for too long. I’m done being polite and appropriate. That girl died when her husband was dragged away in handcuffs.
“Tell me where the fuck we’re going,” I turn in my seat to face him and unclick my seatbelt, “or I’ll fling my door open and throw myself from the car and hitch a ride back to town.”
His dark blue eyes hone in on me. His gaze is so searing italmostmakes me back down.
“You will not throw yourself from the car. You will sit back, be patient, and play with that pretty pussy while I drive us to where we need to go,” he growls as his eyes flit between my own angry gaze and the road.
“Tell me where we’re going,” I demand again.
A small smirk of approval pulls at the corner of his lips. Because despite his dominance, his need for control, I know he loves everything that I am and everything I’m becoming—anger and all.
