Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
The car lights up, fireworks popping overhead, and his only reply is a kiss. He curls his fingers into my hair, my scalp stinging, and his pace quickens, our bodies slapping together. I pull away from his mouth, looking down and watching him move between my thighs.
Fuck, the door is open. Shit.
But I can’t help but be turned on as I watch us. Finally.
He couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t see reason because I wasn’t his last goodbye.
No.
He had to have me.
His breathing stutters, he shakes, and then he thrusts, grunting and groaning as his brow etches in surrender. He holds one of my breasts as he spills, and I look up at him, entranced by the look on his face. His closed eyes. His open mouth. The sweat on his forehead. It’s what I’ve been waiting to see ever since he got home. Passion.
And thank goodness, it’s for me.
I trail my lips along his jaw as his orgasm subsides. “Don’t wake up,” I whisper. “Not yet.”
No regret. No panic. Don’t ruin it, Lucas.
He opens his eyes and looks down at me, holding me close. “Oh, Quinn.”
I beam up at him. “Sit back,” I tell him. “I want control of you now.”
I want to touch him.
He removes the condom and finds something to clean up with before sitting back in the seat. I straddle him, reaching over and closing the door.
Just once or just one night?
Same thing.
Manas
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. Fuck, it’s hot.
It’s like New Orleans hot.
Music drifts through the trees from a distance, and I train my ears, listening to familiar voices laughing and shouting down at the camp.
Figures lurk in the brush beyond—searching, guarding… But they don’t see us. Not yet.
With the syringe in my hand, I step closer.
Then he moves again.
I follow, matching his pace so I can disguise the sound of old leaves crunching under my shoes.
He watches the car buried under the canopy of trees, two tons of steel rocking in the night. The naked body of a girl on top of a man just visible through the fogged-up windows.
He creeps.
I inch closer, the rustle of the weeds under me lost in the sound of his own movements.
He steps again. Then again, approaching the car, and I suck in air, launch forward, and grab him, dragging my brother down to the earth.
He growls behind my hand as the needle sinks into his neck.
Wind sweeps through my hair, bringing the scent of a campfire, and I pin his chest to the ground as he thrashes.
Then, he relaxes, and I withdraw the syringe and flip him over.
His head rolls from side to side as he exhales. “She’s here,” he breathes out, the drug working fast as his lids slide closed. “The Dodge…”
Watching him sink into blissful oblivion, I shake my head. His ravings, his obsession, his lack of control… Deacon is a fucking full-time job.
I just hope I found him before he did something really stupid. What was he going to do here tonight? Why was he going to that car?
Removing a ziptie from my suit pocket, I secure his wrists. “Sometimes,” I whisper to him, the whites of his eyes just visible through the slits. “I imagine what life would be like if I’d chosen her instead of you. But you were both out of your damn minds.”
Rising up, I scan the area, making sure we haven’t been detected. The blond guys—Farrow Kelly and Noah Van der Berg—drift in opposite directions, but they move too slowly, pacing. I dart my eyes between them and the car.
They’re keeping a lookout, I finally realize.
Glancing down at Deacon, I squat and check his pulse. “Is that our girl in that Mustang?” I taunt.
I didn’t see the couple get into the car, but why else would my brother be interested in their fucking?
“Did you have anything to do with that?” I tease, dusting off the dirt and grass from his face. “I’ll bet you did.”
I pull duct tape out of my suit jacket. “She’ll love him good.”
I don’t know who she’s with, but she’ll be devoted to him and never make him question it.
I pull a strip of tape. “Unlike Winslet with us…”
Manas, hold me, her voice curls into my head again.
Her breathless whisper still tickles my ear, and I let my eyes fall closed a moment.
“She never loved us well enough to replace what she took,” I murmur, more to myself than Deacon.
He wants her to be alive. I’ll never understand why.
I love you… Her voice, her scent—still perfect memories, though.
I plant the tape over his mouth because he’ll fight me if he wakes up. This isn’t the first time he’s run from New Orleans, and not the last time I’ll have to chase after him. Sometimes he comes here. Sometimes he goes elsewhere to play.
“She’s dead,” I tell him.