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The attitude in his tone pissed me off. It was dismissive and bitter—he didn’t want to be married to me. And, logically, I didn’t want to be married to him either, but logic didn’t counteract the bitter taste of rejection coating my tongue.

I shook my head, trying to clear the feeling of being unwanted from my mind. “I was coming to look for you.” I said, gesturing with my hand to the oversized shirt swallowing me whole, making the half-truth believable. “I need clothes to wear. Kenji was supposed to tell you I needed my shit.”

Caleb’s nose wrinkled at my statement. I couldn’t get a read on the emotion that flashed across his face.

Also, why the fuck was I holding my tongue about the fact that Kenji had sent me a video of him fucking his hand like it was me? Or that I fucked Niko? That was supposed to be the whole point of that little escapade. Yet here I was, standing in his room, with nothing on but another man’s shirt, avoiding the topic.

My therapist would say I avoided telling him because I was still reeling from the rejection. I felt Niko pulling away, and I didn’t want to experience yet another person telling me with their actions that I was unworthy.

Fuck.

Therapy was the worst decision if you were determined to sit in denial and disassociation.

Caleb stepped closer, stripping off his suit jacket and tossing it on the bed. “You’re already wearing something, Scar. Are you being greedy and want a shirt from all of us?” he asked, moving so close I had to crane my neck to keep our eyes locked.

My mouth had a mind of its own. Because what I was trying to say was No. I don’t want to wear your fucking shirt. But what came out was, “Maybe I do want a piece of all three of you, Caleb.”

What. The. Fuck?

Caleb’s brow ticked up ever so slightly, like he was as shocked as I was that I’d admitted that little tidbit. So, of course, I had to remedy my mistake.

“I also want to try heroin, but some shit is so toxic it should be avoided no matter how fun it looks,” I said, letting my eyes pointedly drop to his crotch for a second so there was no mistaking what I was referring to. “Now, who the fuck is taking me to my apartment to grab clothes?”

Steam was practically coming out of his ears. Hopefully they had good dental insurance, because with the way he was clenching his jaw, he was going to need replacement molars. He turned without a word and stalked out his door, calling over his shoulder, “Get your ass out here so we can go get your shit.”

The smile I had fell when I remembered my bare legs.

“What the fuck am I supposed to wear to get there? I don’t have pants.” My panicked question was met with silence. “Caleb, I don’t fucking have underwear either,” I yelled after him.

CHAPTER 21

SCAR

THAT’S RIGHT, BITCH. I HAVE $$ TOO

I’d probably sleep like the dead tonight.

Because feeling emotions was fucking exhausting. I didn’t know how people did it. Today I’d felt rejection, anger, and jealousy—all within a few hours of each other. Well, I wasn’t 100 percent sure I was jealous. Maybe envious was the better word for what I experienced when Caleb had dragged me into Kenji’s room and rummaged through the random clothes he kept in there that his hookups had left behind. I could’ve made myself a closet from all the shit in that drawer of his dresser.

The city passed by the window of Caleb’s SUV. Walking would’ve been faster, but the bulletproof surround made me feel safer than being out in the open.

“Where you taking me, Callahan?” I asked as he pulled into the entrance of a parking garage of a high-end department store.

“You said you needed clothes, so I’m taking you shopping,” he answered, as if my question was ridiculous. His eyes flicked to me as he pulled up to the valet booth. “It’s not like I can have my wife walking around in that.” The green of his eyes wasn’t visible in the low light of the garage. Instead, he peered at me through two inky pools.

I tensed under his scrutiny, which was ridiculous. He was the reason I looked like this. The tiny biker shorts I’d found were the most normal-looking piece of clothing I could find, and I had to steal one of Kenji’s graphic tees to wear on top because everything else showed my nipples.

“Well, no shit,” I bit out. “But I meant I wanted you to take me to my apartment for clothes, asshole. I have other shit I need to get.”

He said nothing more as he exited the car, handing over the keys to the parking attendant. The fabric of his tailored suit hugged his muscled body like a second skin. Irritation spiked in my veins as he left me to trail behind like a damn dog. The ass hadn’t even opened my door for me.

I jogged to catch up, interlacing our fingers. His hand was warm and calloused, and I ignored how well mine seemed to fit in his.

“What the hell, Scar?” he asked, looking at our interlocked hands with disdain.

We had to look like such an odd match standing there. Him in his expensive suit and loafers and me looking like a homeless hooker.

“Ashamed of your wife, Callahan?” I started walking toward the private entrance of the high-end boutique, C’est La Vie, tugging him along. “Come on. You wanted to take me shopping? Then let’s go fucking shopping.”