No more threes, Bailey.
“Right. Well. You know that if you ever need me, I’m only one call away. If you wish to talk to somebody about how big their cocks are, you can call me for thattoo,” she says, chuckling as she leans in for a hug that feels like a goodbye.
The one thing I love about Sarah is that she doesn’t pry when she can sense that I don’t want to talk about something, and I give her the same respect. But we both know that if ever we need one another, we’ll be right there by each other’s side, ready to throw the first fucking swing.
“At least your Christmas won't be lonely,” Sarah says, and I let out a huff of annoyance, because I don't know what's worse. Spending the holidays with my family, or at the house of assholes.
“Wanna split a taxi?” I say, and she gives me that look she always gets.
“Stop stalling. Get your ass off my bed, and go to your new home and get all the fucking you deserve. We all know that if it were me, I wouldn't even hesitate,” she teases, and I mockingly gasp, feigning shock at her usual crude words.
Nofuckingwill be had by them.
Just by my life, cause it seems to fuck me a lot lately. I only hope that I’m strong enough to appear as unbothered as possible by them, because they are like a blazing fucking fire whenever I’m around, and I’m nothing more than a suicidal moth, willing to be consumed by their flames.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROMAN
Ifucking hate the holidays.
The traffic is always a bitch, and I swear it’s like an open invitation for the world's most idiotic assholes to venture away from their everyday lives and shop for gifts at the same time as everyone else.
It’s me.
I’m the idiotic asshole.
If you searched www.dumbass.com, you’d see a picture of my face.
My phone buzzes for the thousandth time in my coat pocket, though I’m choosing to ignore it. My father has been calling me all day, but I know it’s because he’s not happy about usrefusing to spend the holidays at home as a family. He’s going to have to get over it because Colton, Jace, and I have other plans.
Since becoming enforcers, our Christmases are filled with endless assignments. We’ve had to prove ourselves over and over again to The Order before they’d even consider giving us time off. This is the first year we’ve had a break, and I know it’s because my father had planned to have us stay with him, but fuck that. We’d all rather work instead.
Besides, it means that I actually have time to buy the perfect gifts for my boyfriends, which is how I ended up here—in the middle of the mall, paying a woman five bucks a pop to wrap presents. I’m a complete ass at gift wrapping, and the guys would only laugh at me if I tried.
Behind me, someone’s kid is crying, and I’ve had just about enough Mariah to last a fucking lifetime.
Gifts in hand, I haul ass to my car, that low hum of anticipation sitting warm in my chest. I plan to cook dinner for them tonight, and yeah, I’m weirdly looking forward to it. I can’t remember the last time we just simply existed as a normal fucking household, and the past couple of months have been like a heavy, emotional weight on all our shoulders.
Guilt wraps around my heart, squeezing tightly with the regret of how we left Bailey that night.
There isn’t a single day that has gone by since that I haven’t thought about it. How her mouth felt wrappedaround my cock, her moans when both Jace and Cole fucked her, is enough to send me spiraling. But all of that fades away, and is replaced with the ugly truth that we left her there like she was nothing more than an also-ran racehorse. Ridden hard and hung up wet.Literally.
Leaving her like that was our only option.
The connection we’d always shared only intensified to a catastrophic level from the moment we touched her, and we all knew that she felt it too.
That was a huge fucking problem, because if she ever decided to venture down the foolish path of discovering our true identities, not only would she reveal who killed her ex, but she’d learn that the three masked strangers were her stepbrother and his two best friends. That would only complicate the fuck out of everything, and risk raising speculation where The Order is concerned. Not to mention my father, who is still fucking calling me.
I reject the call, sending it straight to voicemail with the rest of them, as I pull into our drive beside Colton’s snow-covered Audi R8.
They’re home.
I’m smiling when I hit the top of the porch, because I know that the minute Colton sees that I come bearing gifts, he’s going to wield whatever power he thinks he has over me and try to convince me to let him open them early.
Not a chance.
This is our first normal Christmas together, so he can wait until next week and open his presents on Christmas Day like everyone else.
