“That would be nice,” I coo. “Unless you’re too sore, of course. I know my monster cock was a lot for you to handle.”
Kingsley’s eyes roar with fire. He pushes off of me, climbs onto all fours, and sticks his plump ass in my face.
“Don’t talk all that talk and not live up to it, darling,” he challenges.
“Trust me, King. By the end of this, you’ll scream so loud the whole resort will know my name,” I growl.
“What the hell was that?”
I’m barely through the door before Thomas is hitting me with questions. I move past him, but he follows me to my bedroom.
“Rip Redgrave,” he scolds in the same way Mum does when I act selfishly.
“Bloody hell, Tommy,” I groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Can’t we talk about this at… I don’t know… noon?”
Thomas’ lip curls. “You left me with Shawn at the art gala.”
I bend down, back toward Thomas, as I rummage through my suitcase. “That I did.”
“Maybe if you left me with one of the Beaumont sisters, I wouldn’t be so pissed. But you left me with Shawn. The same guy with an attitude problem who doesn’t like us,” he complains loudly in my ear. “All so you can run off with Kingsley and do fuck knows what.”
“Did you survive?”
His furrowed brow falters. “What?”
“Did you survive?” I repeat.
“Obviously.” Thomas’ hands slap at his side. He’s so angry, he might burst.
“Then you’ll get over it. That could have been your opportunity to learn more from Shawn, but I guess you didn’t take it.” I rise to my feet and pat him on the head. “Did you feed Ryland?”
I make my way to the storage closet, and Thomas is right at my heels. “I did, and I also spent an hour complaining to him about how much of a prick you are.”
I stop in my tracks. If he has already checked on Ryland, then there is no need for me to listen to two whiny babies tonight.
“I’ll have you know, Thomas,” I speak mockingly, “that I gathered more intel while I was with Kingsley.”
My brother isn’t convinced. “Really?”
Yes, and I feel terrible about it.
I toss him my phone, and he catches it. He works his way into my camera roll without me having to tell him where to look. It’s that brother intuition. While he sifts, I gather the rest of my items for my shower. I’m about to walk into the bathroom when Thomas comes in.
His gaze is locked onto my phone, his jaw set firmly, and a visible tremor runs through his hands. A chill runs down my spine.
I can’t hide the impatient but genuine concern in my tone. “Tommy, what’s wrong?”
Instead of responding, he continues as if I’ll understand purely from the ghostly look in his eyes.
It isn’t often I see this shell-shocked look in my brother’s eyes. I can only recall a few times, like when he took his first kill and when he found out our aunt was dead. That means this is bad, and I need to know why before I lose it.
My fingers dig into his shoulders as I shake him. “Thomas, answer me! What is wrong?”
With a shaky hand, he turns the phone around. It’s the picture of King with Sylvie draped over him. The one I didn’t need to take, but did anyway.
“Who’s that girl?” he whispers.
My eyes dart between him and the photo. “Sylvie. Kingsley’s dead fiancée. Why?”
