Page 21 of Scars Run Deep

My pride that I’d been able to beat back those masks and handle myself alongside the likes of Asher and Jonah, and the fact that we’d accomplished what we’d set out to do earlier, was muted by the guilt trying to dig its claws into me for the merciless way I’d dealt with those bastards in that basement.

No, not just guilt.

Worry.

Worry about what it meant that I’d… liked it.

That bloodlust driving me, that all-encompassing need that came along with it.

That taste of power. Not just a little bit of power, but ultimate power—holding lives in the palm of your hand.

And the euphoric sensation of having the means to inflict pain and—stop!

I finished drying my hair, then hung the towel back up, and headed on out of the ensuite bathroom, back into my bedroom. Not your bedroom, the guestroom.

I was about to start for the dresser to grab some pajamas when the sight of the bed pulled me up short.

There Buster was tucked up in the covers. Like, literally, the covers tucked up to his chin and his head on one of the pillows.

Not where I’d left him on the desk beside the bed.

Then in the middle of the bed were my black silky lounge shorts and my lacy cropped tank laid out, along with a pair of my fluffy pink socks that I’d thought I’d left at my house. And my bubblegum pink super fluffy bathrobe was also there arranged neatly with the rest.

“Killian,” I breathed, a stupid smile spreading over my face.

My phone was buzzing like crazy on the bedside table.

I rounded the bed and took in the sight of a water bottle with two pills beside it. There was a note there with my name scrawled across it. I picked it up and opened it.

Princess,

Saw you take some hits out there tonight.

Figured you could be needing something to take the edge off.

They’ll help you sleep too. Tonight was a lot, I know. You handled it like a sexy fucking badass, though. Never doubted it.

Get some rest.

Jonah. XOXO.

That stupid smile from a moment ago took me over once again.

Jeez, these guys.

Before I could absorb it fully, a soft knock sounded at the door.

Soft? That didn’t really fit with any of them.

I crossed the room and opened the door, surprised to find one of the security guys standing there. Actually, the Head of Security, Bryce.

His hulking form filled the doorway. His platinum blond buzz cut was a stark contrast to his all-black ensemble, tactical pants and a long-sleeve tee.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“The boss wanted to ensure this reached you promptly,” he said, before removing his hands from behind his back and producing a bottle of tequila and a fancy crystal glass.

“Asher,” I breathed.

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