“I’m raiding your liquor cabinet,” I yell. The bottles lining the shelf blur together and suddenly there are twice as many necks, twice as many labels... I shake my head like a wet dog. “Don’t take forever!”
I grip a twenty-four-year-old scotch and fetch two glasses just as a muffled gasp cuts through the walls. Then another, louder, and another, even louder. The rhythm builds, a harmony of low grunts, breathless moans, the slap of skin on skin.
Jesus. It’s surround sound in here. Dolby 5:1.
Ryder’s bed creaks as I pour the scotch, and a wine for Bianca. She’ll need it. Probably two to ease her trembling knees.
My best friend is many things. A genius, for one. Loyal, ruthless, trustworthy... and an orgasm king if the screaming women I’ve overheard over the years are any indication.
I settle onto the couch, drink in hand. If I close my eyes, I can picture every detail. Her nails raking his back, his hand around her throat, their bodies writhing in sync, covered in a sweaty mist.
Normally, that would do it. I’m a man, and any man with a pulse would be half-hard by now. Sue us for our physicality. It’s only fucking natural that we get turned on when we overhear people having sex... but my dick lies there, limp.
I tug at the front of my jeans. “Come on,” I mutter. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Goddamn it, she broke my cock.
It’s as soft, unresponsive, and pathetic as I am.
And I’msopathetic right now. My skin feels too tight, shrink-wrapping every bone and muscle until it hurts to breathe. My jaw aches from constant clenching and pulse stutters like a glitching metronome.
All because a girl I’ve only ever seen twicelooked scared.
Twice. Two fleeting encounters and her face is stapled inside my skull. Every time I blink, she’s there, staring right at me. Pale, wide-eyed, gorgeous, delicate,frightenedlittle thing.
I want a break. A few minutes where her fearful irises don’t haunt me, but for that, I’d have to stop blinking.
I’m drunk enough to try it.
The burn in my optic nerve flares with each second I stare at the ceiling. My eyelids tremble, and she’s there again, waiting in those black spots flashing in my vision.
Fuck. This feeling can’t be normal by any definition. Working with Carter, I’ve seen dozens of women in peril. Hundreds in tears, begging for their lives. I helped any I could, but the rug never flew from under my feet the way it did when I saw Leilani.
One glimpse of that innocent young face and something fundamental about me shifted.
Such a pretty girl, caught in the claws of a monster.
Such a pretty girl, terrified of the man who calls her his.
Nothing about their interactions, their supposedrelationship, felt appropriate, but the moment he kissed her temple and she seemed to relax, I retracted my claws.
Little torches swam in her eyes, making me think I’d misread things. Maybe she wasn’t as helpless as I thought.
Maybe Jax wasn’t the one making her uncomfortable.
Maybe we were?
Like a fool, I convinced myself to let it go.
I spent a week wondering whether I’d imagined her discomfort. Seven fucking days forcing my body and mind to forget how my heart faltered at the sight of her.
It failed, and after another encounter with Leilani, here I am... listening to Ryder fuck his girl, because I need information. Details. Anything and everything he can find.
How did she end up with Jax and Noretto?
Carter said she was friends with Aalyiah, his late sister. They were very close when they were kids, so what happened?
