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Little liar.
I take in the sympathetic glances from my favorite people. My brothers and Summer. Ethan, Bianca, and Linc. Ro too.
Her bodyguard lounges beside her like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he’s just another douchebag here for the party. He looks the part in a smart but crumpled suit jacket over a Henley and shades on his dark lion’s mane. He’s built like a linebacker for the Autobots. Fuck, he’s broad. All muscle. A veritable brick shithouse.
Tex Hayes. Turns out he’s Saylor Monroe’s stepbrother. He’s here until we can be certain Ro’s safe, and he hasn’t stopped sweeping the entry points and checking out everyone that comes into our vicinity.
He’s the only one here I like at the moment. He never met Ivy. Doesn’t have a reason to pity me. I climb to my feet, patting the pocket in my jacket as I do.
They liked her too. She fooled them too. But they look at me like I’m the one that is broken and… fuck them.
Rebel actually tried to suggest that I should give Ivy a chance to explain. He didn’t trust her but now he thinks she might be worth hearing out?
“Rogue,” Summer tries again.
“I need another drink,” I mutter, the fully tended bar in my line of sight. Industry parties. Everyone always trying to one up each other. As long as my glass is restocked, I’m in.
The guy behind the bar is wearing black jeans and a black shirt. It’s rolled up his forearms and matches his eyeliner and nails. He tops up my glass and I shoot it before tipping the empty in his direction. “Again.”
More whisky in my glass, I head outside. There’s a pool out here. Women in string bikinis. A couple of them approach me as I stand in the shadows and pull out my pack of darts. Tap one out. Putting it between my lips, I search my pocket for a light.
One of the women touches my shoulders. “Hello, handsome. Can I keep you company?”
I roll my shoulders to knock her touch away. “Have you got a light?”
“No.” She shakes her head. She’s blonde, blue eyed. Sun bronzed skin and fake tits. Might have been my type… before Ivy. Now, she really should be my type. Anything that isn’t Ivy should be my type.
But I have no fucking interest. I can’t get Ivy out of my head. “Then go find someone else’s dick to suck.”
She gasps. And then makes herself scarce.
“God, you’re an asshole when you’re moody.” My little brother steps up beside me. In his hand is my lighter. He rolls the wheel and the flint sparks before it flares into flame. “Worse than Rebel.”
“Go fuck yourself.” I stick the end of the paper to the flame and inhale until the tip crackles and starts to burn. Then I snatch the colored plastic lighter from his grip. “But give me back my lighter first.”
“Whatever.” He rests his ass on the edge of the brick feature wall I’ve decided to lean against. Pulls out a joint and another lighter from the pocket of his tailored black jacket.
The sweet smell of weed hits my nostrils a moment later. “You’re stoned a lot lately.”
“Yes, Mom.” He rolls his gaze at me with the joint between his lips as he lifts himself up on the wall properly. His dark jeans have rips up and down the length of them.
“Don’t be a dick,” I growl at him. “And don’t string Ro along.”
“I’m not.” His gaze hardens.
“Could have fooled me. She’s been through enough. I know what it’s like when you’re touring, remember. Not that much different than the press tours Rebel and I used to go on.” Before Rebel became a one-woman man. And me, well, I always did like sex with random strangers in hotels. Maybe one day I’ll enjoy it again. “Lots of willing pussy.”
He rears back, his expression turning frosty. “Have you met you lately? You’re an asshole.”
“I have a reason.” I scowl at him. It’s only been two days, not even that, and I am doing my fucking best to hold it all together when I feel like I’m dying. I alternate between wanting to wallow in my absolute misery and wanting to wrap my hands around Alec Hawthorne’s throat and just… squeeze. And we’re back to that awful feeling that the pain in my chest will never ever end. “I don’t want you finding out what this fucking feels like.”
His gaze softens and his hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes.
“Why couldn’t she have just told me?” It’s not like I wasn’t aware that Hawthorne was a psycho. If she’d told me from the start maybe I could have gotten past it. Believed that she didn’t hide it to help him. All I wanted to do was love her. Protect her.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs and his hand slips from my shoulder. “But she’s a sweet girl. Kind and thoughtful with her friends. A fighter. For herself and for the people she cares about. I really liked her. I liked you two together.”
I loved her. I love her. I don’t know how to turn that part off. What would even be left of me if I could? “I’m so angry.”
