Page 60 of Treacherous


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I stop at another stop sign, and when I see no one behind me, I turn slightly toward her. “What?”

Her face turns a pretty shade of pink and she avoids my eyes. I grip her chin and turn her face toward me. “What is it?”

She chews on her bottom lip. “It uh… kinda turned me on,” she admits quietly.

Those words send all the blood in my body south, leaving me mute for a couple of seconds. It doesn’t really surprise me, but what does is her admitting it. I’ve fucked plenty of girls after fights. There are tons who turn into horny fiends from watching the action. Fucking is one of the more satisfying ways to come down from an adrenaline rush.

I knew from Rylee’s expression that night at Hart’s that she was turned on, but to have her admit it, that shit makes it really fucking hard to concentrate.

“Do you have any clue how much hearing that turns me on?”

She dips her eyes away before bringing them back up, smiling shyly. “So, will you let me come to the next one?”

I press my lips into a firm line. Can I say no to her? Do I even want to say no to her? I won’t lie and say I don’t like the thought of her being there, her pulse racing, her body quivering, getting wet while watching me. But I don’t like the thought of her being near so many rough people.

“You can go. But,” I stress the word when she smiles triumphantly, “only if Pierce will be there, and you promise to stick with him from the moment I leave you until I get back to you. I’ll also want you right at the front with one of Hart’s men, so I can make sure no one fucks with you.”

“Hart?”

“The owner.”

“Okay.” She nods. “I can do that, and I know Pierce will go with me.”

Right as I steal a kiss, a horn blares from behind us. Gritting my teeth, I let up on the brake and propel forward. The rest of the trip is made in silence, save the low tune of the rock song playing from the radio.

I haven’t seen much of Oliver over the last week. If he wasn’t being such an asshole, I would have preferred him to be with Rylee during the fight, but there’s no way I’ll trust him to protect her. And I’m pretty sure he’s been avoiding me; despite his claim he won’t let Rylee come between our friendship. If I’m with Rylee, he keeps his distance. If I’m with him and Rylee appears, he makes an excuse to leave. Whatever. He’ll come around eventually. What counts the most is he’s stopped fucking with her.

Pulling to a stop in my driveway, I shut my truck off and climb out. Rylee slides across the seat and exits through my door. I’ve never been ashamed of where I live—Dad, Danielle, and I make do with what we have—but as I lead Rylee up the sidewalk to the front door, I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. The old, small brick home isn’t even a quarter the size of the house she lives in now. And with her mom being a surgeon, I’m sure the house she lived in before was still a hell of a lot bigger and nicer than my small, three-bed, two-bath house. The yard is kept mowed and the inside kept clean, but there’s still no comparison.

I stuff my keys into my pocket and kick the door closed behind us the moment we enter. Rylee stands in place and looks around the small living room.

“This is nice,” she remarks.

“Yeah,” I grunt.

She turns to face me. “I’m serious. It feels like a real home in here.”

I seize her hand and pull her into the kitchen. Grabbing a couple glasses from the cabinet, I fill them both with water and hand her one. As she tips the glass to her lips, she walks to the fridge.

“I assume your sister did these?” She gestures to the pictures hanging by magnets on the fridge door.

“Yeah.” I come up beside her.

“She’s really good.”

“Danielle is good at everything she does, but drawing is her favorite.” I clear my throat of the lump that’s suddenly formed. “She wants to be an artist when she grows up.”

Rylee smiles. “It’s great she already knows what she wants to be. And if these drawings are any indication, she’ll be a damn good artist one day.”

If her fucking lungs last that long. And if the goddamn insurance company will approve her for a transplant. I keep those thoughts to myself and go set my glass in the sink.

“Where are they, by the way? Your dad and sister, I mean.”

“Danielle had an appointment today. They won’t be back until later.”

“Oh.”

She sets her empty glass in the sink beside mine.

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