Page 162 of The Pucking Wrong Man

Camden patted his stomach. “I couldn’t eat another bite, ma’am. That was the best chicken I’ve ever had.”

It was almost fascinating, watching Camden turn Mrs. Carver into a tittering version of herself.

It didn’t escape my attention that Mrs. Carver didn’t offer me dessert. It also didn’t surprise me in the slightest.

“Come on, baby girl,” Camden said, helping me out of my chair.

“Thank you,” I said, every nerve on edge. Was this it? Were we really going to walk out of here unscathed, and it would be done?

“I’ll show you out,” Michael said then, dashing all my hopes.

“Oh that’s—” I started to say, but Camden cut me off.

“Sounds good.”

Shit.

Camden said his goodbyes, artfully evading Mrs. Carver’s invitation to come back soon. She and her husband had a much cooler farewell for me, but it was still infinitely less icy than it usually was.

And then we were walking out, Michael silently stalking behind us.

None of us said anything until we were outside, the door to the house firmly closed.

“Go get in the truck,” Camden suddenly murmured to me, and I glanced up at him, only to see the full weight of his feelings.

He was absolutely furious.

“Let’s just go,” I whispered back, not because I was scared that in a fair fight Camden couldn’t beat Michael to a pulp…but because never in the history of the world would Michael ever engage in a fair fight.

“Are you sure she’s worth it?” Michael called from behind us then.

Camden stiffened and slowly turned to face him. “Excuse me?” he said, in a chilly voice that should have sent Michael running, if Michael had any normal human emotions left in him.

Instead, Michael stood his ground, his arms folded in front of him, a wide grin stretched across his serial killer face. “She obviously doesn’t care about you if she won’t even give me what I want for the pictures.”

Fuck.

This was it.

A terrifying heat was settling over Camden as he stared at the man who had tormented me from the time I was just a girl.

“What pictures?”

Michael laughed, looking delighted as his gaze bounced between us like a demonic ping-pong ball.

“Well, she can’t be that in love with you if she hasn’t told you about that.”

“What pictures, Anastasia?” Camden turned to look at me, completely ignoring Michael. His body was stiff, a dark expression in his gaze that I couldn’t quite read.

I squeezed my eyes shut, a tremor passing over my skin. I wished this wasn’t happening in the front yard of the house that still gave me nightmares to this day. My throat was clogged, anxiety clawing at my spine. My pulse was racing so fast, I thought my heart might explode.

“Smile, little bunny. Arch your back. Pinch your nipple. Yes, that’s it. You like that, you little slut.”

Memory after memory assaulted my brain. Fuck. I was going to throw up. Leaning over, my breath came out in short, panicked gasps.

I didn’t want to give Michael a show. He’d love that, me sick over him.

Frantically inhaling, I tried to make myself brave enough to talk about this—my darkest secret, my biggest shame. This was where I would lose him though.

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