October 3rd, 2025
I plopdown on the couch, not bothering to be careful with the bowl of cereal in my grasp. Ruining her furniture is the least of my concerns. Grabbing the remote, I begin flipping through the channels, not really looking for anything, just enjoying the finery and access to quality TV while I still can.
“Do you mind? Fuck,” McCrae hisses, moving to stand between me and the screen.
I take a bite of cereal before answering, not even bothering to meet his gaze. “No, feel free to join me.”
Victory buzzes through my veins at the sound of his teeth grinding.
“You don’t belong here.”
I’m unable to hide my grin at his disdain for having me around. I meet his eyes. “Isn’t hell where we all belong?”
We remain in a stare off for several seconds, and no matter the consequences, I refuse to back down. My grin only grows with each passing second, matching the anger reddening McCrae’s face.
Revenge is so sweet.
The front door slams shut, severing the intensity of the moment, and Faith bounces into the kitchen, an array of bags heavy in her small hands. She hefts them onto the counters, a smile filling her round face with a brightness that seems out of place in this house. She shucks off her jacket, revealing a pink, strapless dress more modest than most women her age would wear, even if it does reveal her legs in an appealing way. She’s a beautiful girl, in a pure and gentle kind of way, but I barely register her—not when the real sight is watching McCrae watch her, his eyes drinking in her every movement.
“Valentina!” Faith shouts down the hallway, and I quickly look away as McCrae looks back at me.
She begins spreading out the contents of the bags, humming an unintelligible tune as she does it, like it’s the happiest day of her life or something.
Not for the first time, I wonder how she got mixed up with these villainous people.
“Valentina, get your ass out here!” she shouts again, lifting on her toes for a set of glasses in the cupboard, and I watch McCrae’s Adam’s apple bob, his eyes never once leaving her. He doesn’t move closer either—seemingly trapped in his own head.
“What the fuck?” V hisses, sauntering into the kitchen, her curls pulled back in a low ponytail, wearing a workout set that clings to her firm curves and sweat-slicked skin. I unashamedly stare at the miles of tanned skin on display.
It’s a reminder of what I caught her doing when she thought no one was around, of how she playfully darted into the spray, her lithe body tanned and glistening, nipples pebbling beneath the icy prick of the water, pierced and perfectly rosy, bouncing as she danced on the balls of her feet. How her skin had become blush covered as she finger fucked her cunt, her head tipping back as she moaned.
I shift my position on the couch, searching for an invisible relief. I shouldn’t have watched then, and I shouldn’t admire her now. It’s a toxic pattern—a habit I’m forming that I’m terrified I won’t be able to kick. It’s addicting, looking at Valentina without fear of what she thinks of me. Because it doesn’t matter.It can’t matter.
It really is a shame I have to destroy something so beautiful.
As if pulled from a trance, McCrae walks into the kitchen. “Don’t you have a house of your own?”
“What fun is my house when I can be at yours?” Faith doesn’t even look at him.
“It’s Valentina’s,” McCrae corrects, and I follow his lead, walking toward the bar.
I feel Valentina’s heated gaze on my exposed skin before I see it, her eyes burning a path down my back, and I have to bite my tongue to hide a chuckle. I’d hoped my body would have the same effect on her, as hers does on me.
“Hey Faith, can I have one?” I toss the empty bowl into the sink, knowing how much Valentina hates dishes left unwashed. She doesn’t say anything, and I know it’s a rarity when I look at the confusion on McCrae’s face.
“Sure, I’ll make us all one. Unless it’s past your bed time, old man?” Faith winks at McCrae.
“Make him one. Maybe it’ll lighten his grumpy ass up.” Valentina grabs two more glasses.
McCrae laughs—it’s a gruff sound, catching us all by surprise. “Make mine a double. I could drink you youngins under the table.”
Valentina glares at him. “You’re barely five years older than me.”
“Shit, how old are you, Valentina?” I ask, hoping to poke the bear even more.
“Thirty five, Santos.” She sneers my name like it’s a dirty word.And fuck me, it kind of turns me on.
I roll my eyes up McCrae’s haggard frame. “I guess that makes you like ten years older than me.”
