Beat her.
Bind her.
Fuck her.
My jaw flexes as I shove the photo into my pocket, crumpling it in my grip.I should leave it.I should burn it along with the rest.
But I’m not done with her.
Present day
The apartment at the rear of Kody’s distillery smells like old wood and liquor.Since no one stays here, I sneak in on my breaks from the tattoo shop to nap or drink.Usually both.
In the back closet, I dig through Kody’s favorite stash until my fingers wrap around the cool glass of a top-shelf vodka bottle.
The burn in my gut isn’t from thirst.It’s from everything else.
Everything I don’t talk about.
Alcohol dulls the throb in the back of my skull.It makes memories feel like someone else’s nightmares, distant enough I can pretend they aren’t mine.
The more I drink, the easier it is to convince myself I’m just a guy killing time in a quiet room, not a man trying to slay the ghosts of hands that took, voices that taunted, and pain that never leaves.
I uncork the bottle and steal a long swallow, letting the heat sear a path down my throat.A few more gulps, and the buzz starts to kick in.
Just as I sink into a dope mellow, the apartment door bangs open.
Fuck.
I come here to escape people, and that includes my nagging, overprotective family.
Ducking behind the closet door, I peer through the crack.My pulse thumps as I hold my breath, forcing my limbs to be still.
Monty and Kody stumble in with Frankie caught between them.Her red hair spills over Monty’s arm as he clasps her nape and pulls her into a kiss.
Kody watches, his black eyes unreadable, but there’s possession in the hands that encircle her waist as he hauls her against his grinding hips.
The air shifts, sizzling with raw, primal panting.
Fucking great.
I exhale slowly, pressing my back against the wooden panels, keeping my breath even.
Frankie moans softly, a whisper of sound amid the rustle of fabric, the scrape of belts unbuckling, and the wet sucking of mouths on skin.
Shut your eyes, pervert.Stop creeping on your dad and his—
Yep, that’s his boner.
Right next to Kody’s.
If they start sword-fighting, I’m out of here.
The room becomes an explosion of sensation.Low murmurs, the creak of the mattress, hushed gasps, and…
Now they’re fucking.
My fingers tighten around the bottle.I can’t ignore the cruel twist of envy and resentment knifing inside me.And something else.Not lust.Not exactly.It feels like yearning, the kind that digs deep and refuses to let go.
