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Gray’s quick to claim my lips in a slow kiss that sends more wetness to my core, and has my clit begging to be touched again.
“We should get back,” he says, like he can hear my thoughts. “Before I decide to just stay here.”
Pulling back, I point at the door. “Get out of here,” I laugh. “I’ll be out in a few.”
With a sly smile, he leaves me to clean myself up so I don’t go back out there with his cum dripping out of me. After rearranging the skirt of my dress and making sure I look presentable, I walk back to the main room where Gray’s already seated next to Rocco again.
Although I want nothing more than to go to him, I don’t. I tell myself that it’s because I don’t want to intrude, but I’m not sure that’s what’s holding me back.
I’m so out of my depth here. I don’t know what to do, except that I ought to do something while Beth, Rose, and Rhiannon place the pictures for the memorial service on the bar.
As I look back over at the Kings, I notice Alana now sitting in Slasher’s lap. When my eyes drift to Gray, he waves me over, but I shake my head. The Cruz Cunts looked to me for help, that means I need to do something, right?
With nothing better to do, I begin tidying up the empty bottles and overfilled ashtrays littering the tables and floor.
Even now, when I’m grieving, and feeling like everything is falling apart, I can’t shake the unease of being back here. The bottles rattle in my shaking hands, and I bite the inside of my cheek—stubbornly refusing to break down.
“Hey, Z.” Rose gently palms my shoulder. “Let me help you,” she says sweetly.
Shaking my head, I try to brush her hand off me. “It’s fine, Rose. I got it. Do you need anything?”
She gives me a sad smile. “Nothing you can give me.”
Yeah, I get it. We would all love to have a way to turn back time so we could do something different, something that would ensure at least Sasha and Slayer’s survival. After what I’ve learned about Gunner, I’m pretty sure the Kings are the only ones who’d miss him.
I still can’t fathom he’s dead, or that I don’t know how I feel about it. Maybe… fuck, I feel like shit admitting it, but maybe it’s for the best. Whoever Gunner really was, he differed from the guy I thought I’d befriended.
Obviously, I’m not saying he deserved death, but now I might be able to keep him in my memory as the easygoing, laid-back guy who made me laugh. That’s the memory I want to preserve instead of the one where he was shady and had a cruel streak in him. One where he didn’t mind hurting and humiliating Gray like he did by playing that recording of me and Alana. And let’s not forget, he eavesdropped and somehow recorded our private conversation.
And then there’s the thing with Rhiannon and all the others he hurt. Fuck, who am I kidding? I’ll never be able to think of him as anything other than a fucking monster.
“Fuck!”
I’m not aware I’m speaking out loud until Rose spins me around and throws her arms around me.
“Let it all out, girl,” she coos. “Don’t keep it bottled up, Zo. Set your grief and anger free so it doesn’t poison you from within.”
I laugh, but it’s a hollow and bitter sound. “What am I meant to do?” I ask for the tenth time, hating how out of my element I feel.
“There’s nothing you can do.” Rose tightens her embrace until I finally hug her back. “They need to drink and fuck it out of their system,” she clarifies, nodding toward the Kings.
Pulling back so I can look at her, I ask, “And what about you guys? What do you need? There has to be something I can do.”
I almost beg for her to give me a to-do list. The only reason I don’t is because that would be selfish.
Rose’s lips turn upward in a sly smile. “We need the same. We want to get stupid drunk, obliviously high, and fuck until all that’s on our mind is getting more orgasms.”
As I gape, she shrugs, unbothered.
Well… okay then.
Truthfully, it doesn’t sound all that bad. I could do with a good fuck as well. It’s not that Gray isn’t keeping me satisfied, I’m worrying it’s the other way around. Even when he pounded into me last night, I could tell his mind was a million miles away.
“Got it,” I murmur.
Crouching, I reach for some bottles, determined to get the worst out of the way before the memorial officially begins.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
