AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Says the man who just fucked me over his bike and then pretended like I didn’t exist!” I scream back at him, white-hot rage simmering in my chest. “That’s why you’re pissed at me, isn’t it? Because you fucked me and you loved it, and now you hate yourself.”
He pushes his chair back. “I’m pissed because I let you get under my fucking skin, and because of that we allowed a good woman and her innocent baby to be kidnapped by you and your fucking psychotic friend.” He taps his pointer finger against his temple. “And now all I want to do is find this guy you’re looking for so we can get Mia back, and I never”—he snarls like a rabid dog—“want to see your fucking face ever again!” He stands, toppling his chair, and storms out of the motel room.
Doubt and fear fight to take control of me. I made a mistake. I’m not good enough. Never good enough. Unworthy of love and kindness. Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I screw them closed. Just a few more days and this will be over. At least this part of the plan. Then I get to work on the Morettis.
“Wow, you really pissed him off, Fuck-up,” Romeo says with his trademark psycho chuckle.
Glaring at him, I shove down all my negative thoughts and self-doubt, my fear and the constant, bone-weary anxiety. “Fuck you, dickface.”
He only grins at me. Unable to take another second in his presence, I stalk into the single bedroom and slam the door closed behind me.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
ROMEO
Istare at the closed bedroom door. Keres is pissed. Ace is pissed. And as fun as it is to watch them to go at it, I’d much rather be involved in a completely different kind of going at it. What happened before on the bike—my dick is hard again just from thinking about it. If those two weren’t so intent on hating each other, I’d have carried her to bed after and cleaned Ace’s cum from her pussy before filling her with my own. Instead, it was all tension and snark and the two of them glaring at each other like they were mortal enemies.
Tipping my head back, I slip my hand into my boxers and squeeze the base of my shaft, groaning at the memory of being buried in her throat earlier. Fuck, I want to be inside her again. I’d prefer her pussy, but any part of her will do. I glance at the door again, about ready to go inside that room and take her, but the motel door swings open and Ace strolls back inside. I release my grip on my shaft, annoyed at the intrusion.
“Where is she?” he grumbles.
“Went to bed.”
“Fine. I’ll take the sofa.” He nods toward the couch, and the dingy brown canvas upholstery makes me wrinkle my nose at the thought of the stains it’s likely hiding.
I stretch my arms above my head. I could really do with a good night’s sleep. “Good, ’cause I’m taking the fucking bed.”
He scowls. “You’re sleeping with her?”
“You just had your dick buried so far inside her, I’m pretty sure I felt it too, and you’re worried about sharing a bed. Dude.” I roll my eyes.
“She’s dangerous, Romeo.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I adjust my cock in my boxers. “That’s why she makes me so fucking hard.” He shakes his head and I snort a laugh. “Don’t think I don’t see the effect she has on you too. I’ve never seen you lose control with anyone the way you did with her outside.”
He rubs his temples. “I didn’t lose control.”
“Yeah, okay.” I stand and give him a slap on the back that makes him growl. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Just before I open the door, he adds, “Just don’t fuck her.”
“Don’t tell me who I can and can’t fuck, Ace.”
As I already knew it would, my comeback is the match that lights his possessive-asshole fuse. He’s across the room in two strides, and one giant tattooed hand wraps around my throat. “Don’t fucking play with me. Have you forgotten who you belong to? I don’t fucking share you.”
He doesn’t share me with other guys and doesn’t often share me with women more than once. But Keres is different and we both know it. “But you do, Ace. You share me with her.” I wrench out of his grip and walk into the bedroom.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” she asks with a sneer.
I start pulling off my clothes. “You seriously think I’m gonna sleep in a chair or on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed right here?”
Huffing, she rolls onto her side and faces away from me. “Just leave some clothes on.”
“I always sleep naked, Fuck-up.” I tug off my sweatpants and boxers and toss them onto the floor.
She flips over, her pretty lips set in a fierce line that makes me want to laugh. She’s so fucking cute when she’s angry, which is kind of a good thing seeing as how she’s permanently pissed off. What we learned about her yesterday explains that. But we all have fucked-up pasts—some of us more than others—and I know it isn’t easy to keep that shit from defining us. But the alternative is to end up living a life of misery, which means letting the assholes who hurt us win. Fuck that.
