Page 96 of Pretty Savage: Defy

“I’m leaving,” he says, his voice flat, his expression carefully blank. Every emotion controlled. “The Brothers are going to the club. Like I told you.”

“Sounds good.” I reach behind me and lower my zipper. The dress slides down my body and puddles on the floor. Cool air reaches the exposed burn of my brand, offering the first relief I’ve had all evening. Since my dress has a built-in bra, I’m left standing in my underwear and heels.

Carrson’s fingers stop on the final button of his jeans.

His eyes find me and remain there through one full breath before he turns toward the dresser.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“All right.”

I step out of the dress and pass close enough for my shoulder to brush his arm. He shifts away before the contact becomes a caress.

“Don’t.”

The single word stops me faster than if he’d raised his voice and yelled.

“Don’t what?”

“Touch me like we’re fine.”

His back remains to me, the muscles along his spine held rigid.

I focus on my jeans, tugging them over my hips. “I didn’t say we were.”

“This isn’t retribution.” The words come out clipped. He takes a button-up shirt and shoves his arms into it with enough force to strain the seams. “I’m not going because I’m angry with you.”

I get my shirt out of the drawer and slip it on quickly. “But you are mad at me.”

“Furious, but that’s not why I have to go.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t believe me.” He drags a hand over the back of his head, mussing his hair. “I told you about the club before any of this happened.”

“I remember.” I reach up and pull the pins from my hair. They strike the dresser with soft metallic clinks, like pennies tossed into a wishing fountain. I tip my head back and comb my fingers through the curls Sam shaped with a curling iron. They loosen over my shoulders and spill down my back.

Carrson’s eyes follow one spiral as it slips across my shoulder before he forces them back to my face.

“I’m still keeping every promise I made.”

“I know.”

His mouth compresses like my trust upsets him, maybe because I didn’t give it to him earlier when I hid the brand. His fingers are on the buttons of his shirt. He leaves the top half undone, revealing an unfairly attractive glimpse of defined chest.

I bend to pull on my socks. Carrson’s eyes drop, staring at my ass, then jerking toward the ceiling.

I grab my phone and shoot a quick text to Sam.

I put on my jacket, and Carrson finally looks at me. “What’re you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

His gaze moves from my jacket to the phone in my hand. “What?”

“To the strip club. I’m coming, and so are the Sisters.”

He looks at me as though I’ve answered him in Pig Latin. “You can’t.”