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That is until we’ve stopped a few feet away.
All at once, they jolt.
Beretta hops from the back, Ransom pushes off the side, and Arsen shoots into a sitting position, his right foot planting firmly on the ground.
I don’t realize my lips have begun to curl until I blink, finding Monti’s staring at me.
“James—”
“Monti.” I turn to her.
She nods, and then shrugs, her eyes moving back to the boys. “K, fine, but like... don’t be stingy.”
She grins playfully and a low chuckle makes its way up my throat.
I grab for the handle, but Tanner flicks the locks.
He glares at my sister before focusing on me and reaches between the seat for his weapon, but I roll my eyes, shaking my head.
“Open the door, Tanner.”
When he hesitates, my sister kicks the seat. “Now, Tanner.”
With a low growl, he does as he’s told, and I push my door open.
My sister laughs when all three of the guys are suddenly standing shoulder to shoulder.
“Should we wait?” she asks, but I shake my head and step out.
No sooner does the door close, than they pull away, and I don’t make it a foot forward when I’m flanked.
“There she is.” Beretta smiles, but it’s short-lived and the air shifts. “What the hell?”
Ransom comes right up to me, a heavy frown over his forehead, his eyes glued to the clean slice along my cheekbone. He darts forward, one hand pulling on my lower back, to keep me still or move me closer, I don’t know, but he manages both.
His free hand grips my chin, tipping it sideways and his nostrils flare, his face painted with anger, but his touch is gentle, as the last man to touch it was.
But this is different, as are his words.
“Are you okay?” He grips me tighter, his voice strained and body stiff.
I swallow, and when my hand begins to shake, I ball it into a fist, but he either notices or senses it and covers my knuckles with his palm. I’m not sure if he realizes it, but his hold on my chin has softened and slipped back toward my hair.
He dips closer and my lungs decide they can finally open, my nerves come back to life, and I suddenly feel the sting of my skin, the pounding of my head.
“Jameson.” My name is a mix between a desperate growl and harsh whisper.
My eyes flutter closed, my body deciding it needs no permission from me to mold to his.
“I’m fine, it’s nothing,” I breathe.
Fisting my hair, his exhales warm my skin, and an ache forms between my ribs, my lips parting.
His gorgeous blue eyes are sharp, hooded and desperate for something—relief, connection... answers.
But I’m not sure to what questions.
Tension builds along his brow and he swallows. My muscles coil low in my stomach as his attention falls to my mouth, only to snap back up to mine. They’re lower, darker, and I’m witness to the desire raging behind his gaze.
I hold my breath as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips and I swear he wants to kiss me, but instead, he tears away, taking my breath with him.
He throws himself in the passenger seat, and pulls his hood up over his head, pointing his glare the opposite way.
Instantly heavy, my shoulders fall, but this is an entirely different kind of weight, a denser, full-body exhausting kind.
A mental one, pounding at my temples and ribs and wrists.
It makes no sense.
When Beretta’s hand falls on my shoulder, I look to him.
He gives me a little shake. “We were just gonna fuck with you, start trouble for whoever you ditched with for the fuck of it. Didn’t think it would be your fam and didn’t know you had an interview with the Joker.”
A small smile finds my lips and I glide my finger along my skin below the cut, fluttering my eyes. “I’d say the position is as good as mine, what about you?”
He chuckles, walking backward toward the car. “You’re committed, that’s for sure,” he teases and reality slams over me once more.
Committed.
I’m committed.
I belong to a man who looked into my eyes while I stood cut and bleeding before him, his only concern if his trophy would no longer be posh and polished.
He didn’t apologize or exhale in relief that we made it off the yacht before it blew the fuck up. He didn’t ask if I was okay or offer comfort as I remained there, unmoving and maybe in a bit of shock.
He was cold. Showed no emotion.
Not an ounce of fucking care.
Just as you wished for, Jameson...
I don’t realize I’ve closed my eyes until a forehead meets mine, and I open them to find Arsen has stepped into me.
His arms are gentle and wrap around my body, hugging me to him.
My features smooth out as I look up into his dark blue eyes. My hand falls to his chest, and a soft smile finds my lips.
