The evil motherfucker had special orgasm powers.
The devil was great at oral, it seemed.
My fingers wove through his hair, and I tugged on his strands. I lost focus on everything as heat and butterflies washed over me.
So far, this Fawn thing wasn’t so bad.
But I had a feeling this was the calm before the storm.
The pleasure before he destroyed me.
“Get dressed,” Enzo ordered.
I’d just collapsed onto the floor, still coming down from the high of the orgasm he’d given me.
“We have a funeral to attend.” He grabbed my ripped nightgown, tossing it in a small trash can in the corner, and motioned toward a door. “Bathroom. Everything you need is in there.”
“Funeral?” I muttered, trying to collect my thoughts. “Whose funeral?”
He didn’t answerme.
“Jett’s funeral?”
A rush of selfishness hit me.
So much had happened with Enzo that I’d forgotten the Night Sons had murdered Jett.
I’d just sucked off and let a murderer go down on me.
Way to go, Blair.
Come to think of it, no one talked about Jett.
No one at the university had announced the death of a fellow student. The only mention came when Daphne saw the notifications on her phone that morning. Otherwise, silence. It was as if Jett had never existed.
Is Enzo really making me attend his funeral?
Is Enzo attending his funeral?
No one wanted their murderer going to their funeral.
Jett had died for telling me the truth.
Even if he was a shitty person, he’d be alive if he hadn’t tried to warn me.
And this man in front of me, wiping my juices off his lips, was the reason.
“Chop-chop, Blair,” he said with the snap of his fingers. “And, no, you don’t have to see Jett’s ugly-ass corpse. It’s another loser’s funeral.”
Twenty
Enzo
I’d never takenmy Fawns off campus with me, but today, that changed.
If I had to endure the hell of fake grieving at the funeral of a man I’d killed, then Blair could suffer through it too.
My reluctance to attend the funeral for Hedgeford—the senator’s son whose car we had blown up—wasn’t from guilt. I felt none of that.
