Page 12 of Keep Me

He plucks my hand from his face and brings it to his mouth, lips fluttering lightly across my knuckles as he speaks quietly. “I don’t need your money, Cortez. Your daddy’s paying me plenty.”

I wrench my hand away as subtly as I can. Kissing his cheek, soft and teasing, gave me a heady rush of power and control. But when his lips brush against my hot flesh, I get the same heady rush for different reasons. Dangerous reasons.

Once the check is signed, we all make our way outside to say our goodbyes. Lochlan is nowhere in sight. He must have found some other way home. Despite everything with Roan, it was really nice to see Matt and Stephen, so I say, “We should do this again soon,” as I stand on my toes to wrap my arms around Matt’s neck in a hug.

“Anytime, Reg.” He squeezes me back, then more quietly says, “And we love the new boo. Way to go, girl.” Goddammit.

I let him go, and Roan reaches for my hand, interlacing his long fingers with mine as he waves to my friends as the valet pulls up with their car. It’s possessive and controlling, but not nearly as much as when he spins me toward him and presses me tight against his hard body, his arm like a bar across my lower back.

He tilts my chin up. It’s deliberate and cunning, meant to shake me like every other move tonight. He lowers his mouth toward mine, but I palm his chest, holding him back. “What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss, our lips only a breath’s width apart. I can smell his rich and masculine cologne and feel the heat in his gaze, causing the tops of my ears to burn.

“You want it to be believable, right?” His mouth hovers over mine, his breath tickling my lips, and my eyes narrow in on the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. “They’re driving past right now. Better make it look good,” he taunts. I can feel the low, raw tenor of his voice vibrate through our chests pressed firmly together.

“I hate you,” I say, grasping either side of his face in my hands in what looks like a passionate embrace. In reality, I’m holding him back from bringing his lips down on mine, the hard flex of his jaw under my palms. The arrogance in his smirk is hot on my face, and I have a sudden urge to bury my long nail in his eye socket.

I hear a honk behind me and assume it must be Matt and Stephen as they pass. The second they’re gone, he steps back, releasing me. All artifice of charm is swiped clean from his features. The only thing left is those stony-blue eyes, cold and detached, as they bore into me.

“Get in the car, Cortez,” he orders, stepping off the curb and around his car. He opens his door and looks over the top of the car to see me still on the sidewalk, not having moved an inch. “If you’re waiting for me to open your door like a gentleman, you’re gonna be here all night.”

The street light catches the copper in his hair and cuts his defined jaw and cheekbones with shadows. His blue eyes are as stunning of an azure as they are heartless. Never has such a pretty face pissed me off so much.

“Fuck off, Fox. I’m calling an Uber.”

1. Continue playing Play with Fire (feat. Yacht Money)—Sam Tinnesz, Yacht Money until end of chapter

Chapter 8

Reluctant Partners

Roan

Her body doesn’t make a loud thud when it hits the ground like it should. Maybe it’s because my ears are still ringing from the gunshot. Her eyes are still open, and I want to go to her to close them, but another man wedges a gun between my eyes, stopping me.

Are my ears ringing or is it my heart I’m hearing? Is it her heart? Can your heart still beat with a bullet in your brain?

I know what death is. I know what guns do. And I know that the red splattering the walls and the couch and the pillow with a fox and the red seeping into the carpet under her head means she’s dead.

The gun did that.

The man that shot her walks over to me and crouches to look me in the eyes. I hate his eyes. They are black and evil. As soon as he does, the one holding the gun in my face removes it.

I was supposed to keep them safe, and I failed. So, I charge at the man with evil eyes. My fists only get a few punches in before I’m being pulled back, the gun now pressed to my temple.

The man with evil eyes laughs. It’s not a happy sound. It makes the air feel cold, like the wind in the pumpkin patch before Halloween. “Tell your pops Worenski stopped by.”

I should have never opened the door…

My knuckles are split, and droplets of blood dot the floor at my feet. Even though this has happened hundreds of times before, I still wake up dizzy and disoriented like it’s the first time. I dazedly grab a shirt out of the hamper to wipe the streaks of red off the new, fist-sized dents in the metal door.

I wrap the shirt around my hand so I don’t leave a trail of blood as I stumble to the kitchen. I avoid looking at the couch as I pass, vivid splotches of crimson still haunting me in my wakefulness.

Reggie

Potatoes, tomatoes, garlic, fresh cilantro, chicken breast…I mentally run through my grocery list in my head as I enter my apartment’s residents’ parking garage.

Potatoes, tomatoes, garlic, fresh cilantro, chicken breast…The second I unlock my car from a few yards away, I turn back around, realizing with an aggravated sigh that I left my reusable bags on the hook by the door where I swear every time I won’t forget—BOOM!

The sound ricochets through the cement garage. I instantly feel the intense heat, followed by another explosion. On unstable feet, I turn around, stumbling back. My car is nothing but a ball of flames, and the second explosion must have been the car parked next to mine also raging with fire.

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