Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Grey?” Trent wrenches me out of a reverie.
I focus over on him with a tight smile and then take a harsher sip of whiskey.
He’s baffled, eyeing me, then my ex-wife. “What was that?”
“The music—it sounded like one of the songs at our wedding.”
“It wasn’t,” Phoebe snaps at me, doing a good job of flipping over the boat I capsized. “And that time is dead and gone.” She holds Jake’s hand tighter, making a show of how she’s moved on from me.
Jake cups her hand around his.
It should work, except Trent is bored and loves trying to kick Jake down a few pegs. And I’ve unfortunately reminded him that Phoebe and I were once together. But there is very little that I can’t outmaneuver.
Trent grins over at me, his cigar between two fingers. “How was she when you were married?”
“Vapid.”
Phoebe scoffs.
“Uninteresting.”
Heat flushes her cheeks.
“Destructive.” I look her over. “She devastates everything she touches, like poison on a vine—I was tangled up in her. Dying from the inside. And I never wanted out.” I lean forward toward Phoebe. “But there you were. And there I was.” I watch her blink softly. “There will never be a day, a night, a minute, a moment, a breath where you aren’t destructively mine. And I hope it fucking terrifies you.”
Phoebe is doing her best to control her breathing. She’s glaring, likely pissed at me for making emotion surge in her. “I hope you go to hell, Rocky.”
“I’m already there, Phoebe.” I raise my glass to her. “Where do you think I met you?”
Trent full-belly laughs. “Jeeeez, you two are something else.” He tsks over at his brother. “Jake, Jake, Jake. You’re just going to let her ex-husband say that about your girlfriend?”
Jake has an arm around the love seat. He’s clinging to the furniture like it’s a safety harness, barring him from standing up. “Their relationship is in the past, Trent.”
He slings his head to me. “How was the wedding night?”
Fuck him.
“Ew, no, we’re not talking about this,” Phoebe protests.
“Oh, now you’re a prude?”
“Knock it off,” Jake warns.
Trent laughs, more unsurely. “We’re all adults. We can talk about sex. Come on.” He spreads his arms. “Is that not what we do here?” He motions to Collin and Oliver, and they chime in like seagulls.
Yes.
Yes.
“The wedding night!” he decrees. “And play something more interesting. Upbeat!” he shouts at the quartet. “Not whatever this shit is.”
I purposely don’t look at my brother.
Trent nudges my arm. “What was it like? Best lay you ever had?”
“Forgetful, TK.” I need Jake to intervene. Now.
“Trent,” Jake says his name like dry ice. “Don’t go there with me.”
“What are you going to do? Cry about it?” Trent bows forward with his cigar. He puffs smoke toward Jake, then tells Phoebe, “I have a feeling you’re a secret starfish.” I’m burning alive. “You just lie there and take it—”
Jake is on his feet, thank fucking God. I shoot to mine. Trent stands more leisurely. He’s laughing beside me. “Big scary Jake. Come to protect his skunky girlfriend. From what?”
“Do you even hear yourself?” He waves an angry hand. “Do you know how you fucking sound?”
Trent laughs. “Oh, Jake. Always so afraid. You know, deep down, that Phoebe will realize she prefers guys like me and Grey. And I have a feeling that realization is going to happen tonight. When she spreads her legs and I—”
Jake lunges, and Trent looks to me, like I’m his guard dog. But the urge to slam my fist against his jaw tries to overpower me, and the only way to mitigate it is to let Jake reach his brother.
I hold out a weak arm, and Jake tears through me. He throws a violent right hook into Trent’s mouth, using all his weight. His lip busts instantly, and he stumbles to his ass, dropping his cigar.
“Get the fuck off him!” I shout at Jake, pushing him in the chest.
And Jake surrenders with his hands up, but we share this brief moment of fury and fear. His brother needs to go. His brother can’t be left to his own devices tonight. Not with Phoebe. Not when Jake isn’t able to sleep in her room, and his mom likes to have housekeepers check on him.
I pry away from Jake quickly. “Jesus Christ. Trent? Are you okay?” I help him up, but it takes everything—and I mean every fucking thing—in me not to stomp him in the face.
“I’m going to bed. I’ve had enough of this,” Phoebe says.
“Yeah, you do that!” I shout at her.
“I will!”
Oliver fakes a yawn. “Me, too. I’m beat. Collin?”
“Nah, I could…” He trails off as Oliver mimes a joint. “Actually…” He grabs his crutches, and Oliver easily lugs away Trent’s friend. Likely, they’ll go smoke in the garden or on a balcony.
Trent touches his bloodied lip. Seeing the crimson on his fingers, he laughs. “Nice one, little brother!” he yells as Phoebe pulls Jake toward the exit. “You do have fight in you, after all!”