And infuriatingly frustrated.
Incredible emotions to channel into a book. Not so much to feel for your boyfriend.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I grab it, yanking it from the charging cord, hoping it’s my psycho telling me what the hell is going on.
It’s not.
Lilah
Weigh-ins are in a meeting space on the first floor of the hotel in ten minutes. Something is definitely going on, but Killian won’t say what. Just that you’re fine and should stay where you are. I laughed at him and said Ryan girls don’t like to be told what to do.
Dillan
What did he say?
Lilah
That he’s well aware and that’s probably why you haven’t heard from anyone.
Dillan
You realize I’m going to kill them all, including your husband, right?
Lilah
If I were there, I’d help you. Any idea what you’re going to do?
Dillan
Looks like I’m watching weigh-ins. Thanks, sissy.
I don’t bother touching up my makeup or taking the time to change. A sense of urgency is pushing me to get down to that conference room before I miss the weigh-ins. Even if I don’t know why, I know I need to be there. Stepping off the elevator, I ask an assistant to point me in the direction of the right room and hear the commotion filling the space before I even move inside.
The large room is packed with reporters, fans, and staff.
I’d guess at least a hundred people fill the seats and line the walls.
Rome sits at the front of the room on a raised dais with his team surrounding him, Liv on one side and Hudson on the other. Killian and his father stand behind the three of them, each one equally intimidating in their own right, even Liv. But it’s Rome I can’t look away from.
My beautiful psycho looks lethal in a way I’m not used to. His face is strung tight as he clenches his jaw. He’s changed, interestingly enough, considering he hadn’t come back to the room to get clothes. But someone must have given him a pair of fresh gray sweats and a navy-blue Crucible hoodie. His matching blue hat sits backward on his head, and his hands are clenched in fists at his sides.
My man is pissed, and it only takes a moment for the ever-present magnetic pull between us to force his eyes to search out mine.
Oh shit.
The minute he sees me, the tick in his jaw tightens, and the anger in his eyes darkens.
But I don’t get the feeling that anger is directed at me.
Or maybe it is—what the hell do I know? Apparently nothing, and that was done purposefully.
“He looks good,” a woman next to me says as she brushes by. A tight-blue bodycon dress is practically painted on her skin, and a pang of jealousy hits me low in my gut because those words... there’s something about them. A familiarity I don’t like. I get the impression she’s seen my psycho before. There was an intimacy in her voice that makes me want to claw her eyes out.
Maybe I should be the fighter.
As I force myself to focus on what a horrible idea that would be, an arm slings over my shoulder, and I nearly scream before realizing it belongs to Lucky. “Jesus Christ, Beneventi,” I whisper-hiss. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry, Dillan. I saw you come in and didn’t want you back here alone.” He raises his brow as if to sayDo you blame mewithout uttering a single word. When I look back up at the stage, Rome is stripping down to his compression shorts while his opponent stands across from him, waiting his turn. Rome’s eyes continuously stray to me, stopping where his brother’s hand still lingers around my shoulder.
