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Unknown: Enjoy your fun while it last bitch. I’m going to gut Ariah and hang your babies from lamp posts.
My vision blinks out at Samantha’s threats. She thinks she’s smarter than me, but the dumb skank is useless without a programmer. I hacked her the first time she sent a message.
Gritting my teeth, I snap a screenshot and drop it in our group chat. Seconds later, I’m staring into four sets of matching furious eyes.
“Remind me why we haven’t killed her or, at the very least, sent King to toss her into a bodybag we can hang like a piñata, then hit with spiked bats?” Wyatt seethes.
“I still vote we replace her implants with cement and drop her in a tank of piranhas,” Owen snaps.
I’d be a liar if I didn’t say both ideas sound like perfect plans. Unfortunately, we still have to play this just right. “I’m not saying these aren’t options, but we agreed to a different plan.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do? She can’t continue to make threats with no consequences,” Wes hisses, clenching his teeth until his jawbone flexes in his cheeks.
While they continue to share creative ways for Samantha to die, I open my laptop and hit publish on the video I’ve been holding for an occasion just like this. One by one, their phones go off.
“Fuck yes,” Owen shouts.
Grinning, Sebastian announces, “I’ll have Matthieu put this out through all of his channels as well.
“Please tell me I’m not the only one hearing horses run right now?” Wes snickers.
I watch Samantha’s mentions triple in seconds. She’s trending now. “It’s only fitting Samantha has her own soundtrack when this hits every porn and social media site available.”
“She’s lucky that’s all we’re doing for now,” Sebastian mutters. “She should get the Vivian treatment and more.”
Humming his agreement, Wyatt says, “That would be too good for the cunt, and no pig deserves to eat something so poisonous.”
Owen twirls one of his throwing knives between his fingers. “Maybe I should dip my blades in snake venom and then play frisbee tag.”
Four million views and counting.
“You dicks can continue to brainstorm. I’m going to see our woman,” I quip before ending the call and exiting my car.
I’m standing outside Ariah’s front door when my phone goes off again. Slipping it from my back pocket, I answer without checking the Caller ID. “Don’t you asses have a death to plan?”
“Yes—yours. You trash whore,” I snarl once I register Samantha’s voice. I’m kicking myself for not checking to see who called before answering.
“I hope you enjoy your little stunt, Levi. It’ll be the reason I take someone you all love.”
Growing tired of her threats, I volley back one of my own. “If you’re smart, you and the Senator will tuck your tails between your legs and run because we’re coming for you. There isn’t a place in this life or the next that either of you’ll be safe—I’ll snatch you from death, then send you back in pieces,” I sneer, then disconnect the call.
The door opens, and Ariah stands before me, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Everything good out here?” she asks, stepping back so I can enter.
Wasting no time, I pull her side flush against my chest, resting my palm on her stomach and breathing her in. Notes of watermelon, mint, and ginger fill my nose, melting my anger away. “Everything is alright, Dove,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head.
“You’ve been sitting outside for the last fifteen minutes. I was about to send out a search party,” she jokes, making me smile.
“Crisis averted. Call off the dogs.” I tease, and Ariah giggles—the sound is like music to my ears. There was a point over the summer when I thought I’d never hear her laugh again. I want to stay in this moment, lost in the feel and taste of her. The need to destroy anyone or anything that threatens her surges through my veins, revitalizing all my broken parts and making them whole.
Ariah leans back, slightly turning in my hold, craning her neck to meet my eyes. “Is this. . . this okay? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, even if I could spend forever in your arms.”
“What do you mean?” I question, scrunching my face in confusion.
She points between us before replying, “Our bodies. . . touching.”
Peering down to where our bodies are joined, I take in Ariah’s hands on my chest, waiting for the sensation of thousands of fire ants crawling over my skin—it never comes. “Is the best feeling I’ve ever had,” I confess before reluctantly releasing her. Even though this is a giant step, I don’t want to tempt fate and push myself too far.
She grabs my hand, leading the way upstairs to her room. We don’t speak until we’re sitting on her sofa.
