Page 126 of Unleashed By Eden

Despite myself, a laugh crawls up my throat.

“I bet.” I chuckle, shaking my head as I dry the shaker with a cloth.

A ripple moves through the club; it’s subtle but unmistakable. The sound hitches; conversations falter, voices dip, almost as if an invisible cord is yanking everyone’s attention in the same direction.

I don’t have to look.

My body knows before my eyes confirm it.

He’s here.

My vision warps, and I blink rapidly. My heart stutters, and I brace one hand on the bar to keep my knees locked.

Hailee whispers “Here we go” under her breath. But I keep my head down and don’t look up.

I need a second—just one—to brace for the impact. For whatever I’m about to see in his eyes. I’m expecting hurt, fury, coldness. I’ve had them all before in different configurations. I can do this.

The club tells me he’s getting closer. A slow hush rolls outward, sweeping through conversations.

I lift my head.

Carter cuts through the crowd, and people part for him without even thinking. He’s in ripped black jeans and a plain white tee, hands shoved in his pockets.

His gaze locks on mine.

All I see is the man who whispered things I never thought I’d hear from him. And the boy who has been mine in a thousand ways, long before either of us had the guts to claim one another. All of that, layered together in one look.

I step out from behind the bar before I’ve decided to move. Gravity has tilted toward him, and resisting would be pointless.

He meets me halfway, our paths drawn together.

Only then do I register the guys behind him. James. Dameon. Zac. All hanging back, expressions somewhere between pride and amusement.

I snap my head toward Hailee and Chloe.

Seriously?

Hailee claps her hands, a tiny squeal squeaking out before Chloe smacks her with a bar towel and fails spectacularly at hiding her grin.

They all knew.

Up close, I see a bruise faintly yellowing along Carter’s cheekbone. His eyes, though, are bright, clear, and locked on me.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. The guilt that’s been percolating in my gut since LA finally spills over. “I don’t know how they—”

“I know it wasn’t you,” he says.

I blink. Once. Twice. “What?”

“Liam dug into it,” he says, stepping closer. “Cindy stole the pictures from your laptop.”

My left eye twitches, a tic I can’t control.

“Cindy. Fucking. Winters.”

Rage detonates at the speed of light, and my hands ball into fists at my sides. All I can see is her smug smirk and that magazine cover. My knuckles itch to meet her face.

I suck in a breath.