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Straightening to my full height, I close the knife and slip it back in my pocket. Turning, I stride toward the wet, boneless heap in the clawfoot tub and cock my head.
Seth’s blue eyes are bloodshot to hell, pupils no bigger than a pinprick.
He’s awake, but he’s still fucking out of it. I turn off the icy water pounding down on him from the showerhead.
Does he remember what happened? I wonder, replaying the scene in the bedroom. Remembering the slitted eyes that stared back as I fucked Aston into the mattress, unable to look away.
Seth’s head droops as his eyes flutter shut again, but at least he’s able to carry some weight this time when I heave his sopping wet body to a stand.
“Someone’s had a bit too much to drink, huh?” I say flatly.
His little moan tells me he agrees, and I give his cheek a couple pats. A drop of blood smears across his jaw, turning pink from the chilly water clinging to his face.
Tucking his head to my chest as I wrap an arm around him, I guide him toward the door. His feet drag, but some part of him must be online, making it so I don’t have to pick him up and carry him again. Not that he’s heavy, but my arms are tired.
Hell, my whole body is after unleashing on Aston like that.
You kissed him. What the hell was that?
It shut him up, though, didn’t it?
“Cabin Fever” by Corpse starts playing as we make our way down the hall, loud enough to drown out the battle going on in my head.
I get a couple side-eyes and wary smiles, but I’m not too worried. It’s not like they know for certain what happened in that room. It’s not like anyone tried to stop it even if they had heard or suspected something was amiss.
The door wasn’t locked. Someone could’ve come in at any point to see what was going on and tried to put a stop to it.
But they didn’t.
Fucking cowards.
And it’s not like Seth will remember this night to give any sort of credible account should it even come up.
Just like Aston doesn’t remember what happened all those years ago.
The night I saved his life.
The night I stole his future.
The night I damned us to a lie.
This is what you get for poking first, Sugar.
* * *
Vale and Aston's story is far from over.
Sweet Wicked Thing will be converted into a full-length standalone soon. It's available for Pre-Order on Amazon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jessie Walker is an indie author based out of Scranton, Pennsylvania, where she lives with her long-time partner and fur-spawn. Drawn to all things dark and twisted, nitty and gritty, she likes to pretend she’s not the hopeless romantic at heart that she is. When she’s not drudging away at a keyboard, there’s a very good chance you’ll find her vegged out on her couch, listening to sad ’90s grunge, and dreamin’ up all the ways she can make the voices in her head suffer (just so she could put them back together again). She has a BS in Psychology, and will probably diagnose you.
Find out more about Jessie Walker and her work at www.authorjessiewalker.com
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