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“I know…wait, how do you know that?” Lyla asks.
Shit. I’m so horrible at this double agent, backstabbing thing. Coming up with the best lie I can on short notice, I say, “I just figured he wasn’t happy that they started a chapter so close to the Hounds.”
“You would be right,” she huffs with a heavy sigh.
And if I know Isaac, now that the Savage Kings have provoked him, he’s never going to let them get away with it.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Isaac
All day, I call Lyla, trying to find where the hell she went so I can tell her to get her ass home. But either her phone died, or she turned it off.
There’s only one person who may know where she went.
Even though Lyla’s car isn’t in the parking lot, I decided to stop by Holly’s.
When I go up to knock on the front door, it’s not even fucking closed all the way, which sends me into a panic.
Storming through the town house, I head straight for her bedroom…and find Holly undressing, not a care in the world that her goddamn door was unlocked or that I was able to sneak up on her.
“Where’s Lyla?” I ask.
Holly jumps in surprise and spins around to the door. The sweatshirt she was about to put on is clutched to her chest. The sweatshirt I bought her that first night.
She stares at me for a long while, not blinking, not saying a word, until finally, “She’s not here.”
“But she was, wasn’t she?” I ask, nodding toward the canvas bag on the floor.
“Yes,” she answers as she finally slips the sweatshirt over her head as fast as possible, like she doesn’t want me to see her in nothing but hot pink panties. As if I haven’t already seen, touched, tasted every inch of her body before.
I know it’s been a few weeks, but what the hell? Maybe I really did startle her, but still, it irks me.
“Why the fuck didn’t you call or text me?” I snap at her.
“I assumed you knew. Where else would she go?”
“I drove by last night but didn’t see her car.” Now that I think about it, I don’t remember seeing it in the garage next to my mom’s Buick either last night. If she walked off in the dark last night, then she really has lost her damn mind. “Where is she?” I demand.
“I-I don’t know,” Holly says, lying right to my face, which really pisses me off. It pisses me off almost as much as not being able to see her for weeks and then having her cover up the second I show up.
When I stalk toward her, she backs up until her calves hit the bed. “I think you do know. Tell me right fucking now.”
She shakes her head, her face completely blank. I have no clue what’s going on inside her head, but I don’t think this is just about Lyla.
“Guess I’ll have to beat it out of you,” I say to get a reaction. It works.
Holly’s mouth opens, and for a second, I think she’s going to refuse for the first time. But she glances at the open bedroom door, then juts her chin out. “Guess you will.”
A second later, I pounce. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, I tug on her oversized sweatshirt to drag her down across my lap on her stomach. She tries to brace her palms on the mattress to raise up, but I cup the back of her head to keep her face down on the mattress. When she obeys and doesn’t try to get up again, I let her head go to jerk the sweatshirt up her back, revealing her ass, which is right in front of me, covered only by that hot pink thong. My dick jerks against my fly underneath her stomach at the gorgeous sight. Grabbing the waistband, I yank them down her legs, wanting her ass completely bare for me.
The first smack of my palm against both of her ass cheeks cracks louder than any of the ones before it, making her grunt and swear softly. The second and third aren’t much gentler.
“Ready to talk now?” I ask as I run my stinging palm over her red ass. “Or should I keep going?”
“Keep going,” she whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear her.
I slide my palm a little lower, slapping her again and again just to hear her moans grow louder. These smacks aren’t to hurt but to tease her. When my hand goes still on her ass cheek, she even wiggles it, wanting me to touch her where she’s so desperate. She knows the movement drives me crazy because she’s rubbing over my dick straining against my zipper at the same damn time.
