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Although bizarrely relieved that he knew all along, his robotic responses are beginning to grate at my nerves. Before my fist finds his temple, I head over to my desk looking for the cigarette case and the joints waiting for me inside.
“You’re lucky you’re my cousin or you’d be six feet under right about now with that fucking attitude,” I mumble around the joint between my lips. I light it, taking a long drag then finally, look at him.
He gives me the tiniest grin, a barely there glint in his eyes. “Try me.”
I can’t help but chuckle. Bastian might be the brains but he's far from innocent. Unlike Byzantine and me, the kid doesn’t have a single tattoo, save formemento mori—remember you must die—tattooed across his chest. His blond hair and nose ring are the only other modifications he has on his body. But he doesn’t need a single thing to make him look deadly. His presence alone is enough. That and the fact that he barely says a fucking word. People find him unsettling. And if we weren’t blood, I'd feel the same way too.
“Fine. But I need you to find someone for me,” I reply.
“Who?”
“Lenix’s ex-fiancé.” I keep my face blank, unwilling to show how much saying that sentence affects me.
Bastian eyebrow rises, staring in question, but I don’t offer anything more.
He nods and walks out of the office.
Chapter 24
It’sTuesdaynightandI haven’t been in the office since Friday afternoon. I’m avoiding the inevitable. I know that. I’m pretty sure Ewan, who’s quietly purring beside me, even knows it. I’ve been pushing off having to look Sunny in the eyes. My body shudders at the thought.
So I’ve been skipping the office for the past two days, telling her I’m too busy with vendors for Connor’s event to stop by. I can tell she knows something is up. But could she ever guess that thewhatis me being married to the devil himself?
The very one she warned me about three and a half years ago. I mean, technically she doesn’t have a leg to stand on. Byzantine isn’t exactly the fucking Pope either. But somehow he’s always seemed a lot more stable compared to his best friend. Connor feels like a grenade, or simply put, a ticking time bomb.
I’m home. No—not home, but wherever I can call this place. It’s dark out and I’m feeling on edge. I haven't really seen Connor since Saturday night. Technically, Sunday morning if you count me watching him sleep.
Great. That didn’t sound creepy at all.
I fish out half a joint from a small circular plastic tube that I keep in my purse for just that, dragging my body downstairs and out the large sliding patio door. The silence is comforting as I walk as quietly as possible, not bothering to turn on any lights outside. The dim glow of the underground pool is enough for me to find my way to a deck chair near the back of the property. I sit with a small pleased hum, dropping my phone beside me and bringing the joint to my lips.
I fill my lungs with smoke, the high like a comforting blanket over my senses while I watch the stars shimmer above me. I sit there for a while just zoning out until I've relaxed enough to notice that the itch that started Saturday night, and that I haven’t yet scratched, hasn’t subsided.
It might even be getting worse.
I cross my legs thinking it will help ease the ache between my thighs, but it only heightens it.
I’ve been achingly horny since the charity event, and my irritation rises at the thought of who landed me in this current parched state.
It would be so easy to find someone else.
And fuck Connor clean out of my system.
Instead, I reach for my phone. Turning down the volume andluminosity, I find the video I’m looking for in a hidden folder.
My eyes lock on the screen, my body heating almost immediately—I was halfway there already. I lay back onto the seat, sitting in a loose criss-cross position, and let my legs fall wide. My fingers travel down my sundress and slide under my thong, finding my clit. I suck in a breath, already so sensitive to the touch.
My buzz is strong enough now that I forget my surroundings, my attention zeroed in on the video playing on my phone and on my fingers dragging slow, hard circles against my clit.
I’m so close…
A teasing tone breaks through my fantasy. “I wish I was recording this.”
“Fuck!” I yelp, so startled that I fling my phone clear across the yard. I scramble to sit in a less compromising position and look up, knowing full well whose eyes I’ll find focused on me.
Connor’s expression is shadowed by the darkness surrounding us, only illuminated by the bluish light of the pool floating across his face as he continues to stare me down. Still, I could make out his smug look in the darkest of nights.
“Naughty little wife,” he tsks.
