She crossed the living room, weaving through unfamiliar wreckage—splintered chairs, beer cans, walls scrawled in marker and spray paint—the air thickening as she neared the kitchen, sweet-rot and ammonia burning at the back of her throat.
And then she stopped cold.
A woman lay sprawled beneath a shattered window, glass glittering around her like ice.Her body jerked, fists clenched, heels thudding against the cabinets.Foam streaked her mouth.Each ragged gasp came wet and uneven, her head smacking the filthy linoleum again and again.
Dropping to her knees, Cassie rolled the woman onto her side just as vomit spilled across the floor, acrid and choking.The woman’s skin was clammy, slick with sweat, her pulse hammering too fast beneath Cassie’s fingers.Her breaths stayed shallow and wet, each rise of her chest shuddering beneath Cassie’s grip.
Then, just as suddenly, the spasms slowed.Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.
Cassie leaned closer—something about her face feeling familiar—
“Con…ner?”the woman rasped.
Cassie’s stomach clenched.“Connor—you knew him?”
The words had barely left her mouth when the woman seized again, her body snapping rigid and thrashing so hard her arm cracked across Cassie’s jaw, knocking her sideways.With Cassie’s grip broken, her skull struck the floor—thud after thud—blood flecking into the foam at her lips.
“Shit—no, no—” Cassie shoved her hand beneath the woman’s head, feeling each jolt slam through her palm.
Trembling, she dug for her phone.It slipped once, clattering.Snatching it back up, she fumbled at the screen.
“Come on, come on,” she begged, voice breaking.
The line clicked.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
Chapter Eighteen
Insidetheclubhouse,pastthe commons and through the noise, Nash stood in the pool room lining up a straight shot on the four.
The cue ball smacked the rail, grazed the corner pocket, then died in the middle of the table—off by a fucking mile.
He muttered a curse under his breath, grip tightening on the cue until his knuckles ached.
“That was painful to watch,” Snake said, sucking his teeth slow and deliberate as he chalked his cue, eyes never leaving Nash—like he was measuring him.
Nash didn’t reply.Just kept staring at the felt while the reel in his head kept running.
Cassie at Sally’s—sparring with him, eyes bright, mouth smart, giving as good as she got.
Cassie on the back of his bike, arms wrapped around him, breath warm on his neck.
Cassie in his bed, legs locked around him, matching him push for push.Thrust for thrust.
He’d gone to sleep with her.Woken with her.Spent the whole damn day inside of her, touching her whenever he wanted.
And for a half a goddamn minute, it had been like all the years between had never happened.
Snake dropped the five.Then the six.Then the seven.Each clack of the balls against the pocket jolting Nash back to the present and the pool game he was losing…badly.
Hell.He should’ve kept his hands—and his goddamn dick—to himself.Should’ve kept the wall up between them where it clearly belonged.Because now—
Snake circled the table, tapping the cue against his palm like a taunt.
“Keep playin’ like this,” he said, “and I’m gonna start puttin’ down hard cash.”
He bent, sank the eight clean, then leaned on his cue wearing that goddamn punchable smirk of his.“Spot me another game, or you finally done losin’?”
