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“What about your mom?”
“Mom was…she was always quiet. Not really all there, you know. I think she was just scared.”
“Of your dad?”
“Ah, hell no. Dad wouldn’t do a thing to harm her, at least not in the beginning. Towards the end, when Galverson got him hooked on drugs, yeah, she might’ve been scared then. I don’t know. I just think she didn’t know what to do with Chance and Dad. They both liked to have us pick sides.”
“How old is he?”
“He’s my half-brother, from Dad’s first marriage. He’s fifteen years older than me. So he’d be thirty-two now. He joined the DEA when he was twenty-six.” Tray chuckled. “Yeah, Chance always wanted to top whatever Dad did. Drugs were so rampant around here and that was Dad’s focus as chief of police; he was successful in cleaning up Rawley and received a lot commendations for it. I think that’s why Chance chose the DEA over the FBI or any other agency—so he could outshine Dad.”
“What about your dad?” I asked softly. Hearing the bitterness in his voice, I couldn’t tell who or what his anger was at specifically—his dad, his mom, his brother, or just the whole situation.
Tray shrugged and sat quietly, staring out at the rain.
“I’m sorry,” Tray said hoarsely.
I looked at him in surprise.
He was watching me and gave me a soft grin. “For…I can relate. I’m sorry.”
I stood and sat in his lap, straddling him. Tray just watched me, still leaning back in his chair, but his hands came to rest on my thighs.
I slid my hands down his chest and moved to intertwine my fingers with his. I kept them there, feeling the contours of his hands, his fingers, as I watched him, watching me. Without making a conscious decision, I had inched closer to him, bringing him fully against me. Then I slightly rocked my hips.
Tray’s eyes had turned amber.
I knew mine were dark with lust, too.
We stayed that way, not moving, but both of us were affected nonetheless. I could hear the rain pounding on the glass in front of us along with our heavy breathing in the room.
“Fuck,” he moaned as he slid one of his hands underneath my shirt, gliding it against my skin.
I let my head fall back and closed my eyes, lost in the feeling of his hands on me.
Tray moved to untie my tank top and it slowly fell aside. He sat forward and pressed his mouth to mine—kissing and caressing me lovingly.
I sighed in content.
I tipped his head back and met his lips tenderly.
Tray picked me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, his hands underneath them, he stood and walked into the house. He took us to a room I never knew existed; however, I’d only been inside his parents’ room.
This room was gorgeous. That was my only coherent thought before he laid me on the bed and bent to meet my lips once more.
That night we didn’t have sex. It was something else, something more.
*
The combination of the doorbell shrilling and pounding on the door woke us up in the morning.
“The fuck—” Tray cursed, rolling out from beside me. He stood and lifted the curtain. Whatever he saw, he froze. He went absolutely still.
And then I saw what Tray always let simmer just underneath. I gasped, sitting up, when his eyes fall on me. There was a cold ruthlessness in his expression. His whole being looked capable of anything at that moment. He looked powerful.
I quickly sat up. “Who is it?”
“Stay here,” he ordered crisply.
