Page 55 of Deceit

Camilla with her white powder.

Me with violence.

Our bodies barrel into my bedroom door, but I spin us around so that my frame is always in control.

Never again will Camilla have the upper hand on me—ever.

My teeth sink into her tongue in warning to not push me any further. That we’re not the same people anymore.

That I’m not the Kace Bishop who worshiped and adored her.

He’s dead.

“Keep your eyes open, Camilla. I’m not going to ask again.”

“These are the streets, Kace.” Her palm trails down my sternum and to my stomach. “And they don’t rat.”

“Call it being old acquaintances. You’ll make yourself useful to me.”

Her lips slow against mine, demanding me to feel this—us, in the same room. The same space we first had sex in. Where we used to cuddle up at night and talk.

“I want to be.” Her fingers find the waistband of my jeans. “I always did.”

I mentally shake my head. I’m not talking about our bullshit past but the present.

She falls back and takes me with her by the loops of my pants. My legs straddle her sides as possessive arms wrap around my neck.

“Fucking me isn’t going to get me what I need,” I snarl into her mouth.

“I can’t…Kace. The streets aren’t forgiving.”

Past meet present.

My hand snatches up the pillow above her head, and I break from her greedy lips.

Covering the cushion over her face, I pull down on either side before leaning over to say, “Neither am I.”

Camilla immediately begins to thrash underneath me, but my weight keeps her from making much of an effort.

I’m done with playing nice.

I won’t be fucking around when I have the only blood family I have left under my protection.

The front door of the double-wide opens, announcing Kyson’s arrival to be my mental backup.

That and he wouldn’t takenofor an answer when I told him I was bringing Camilla to my trailer for a place to crash.

Tossing the pillow to the side, Camilla’s gasps for air is like a demon just got exorcized from her frame.

I’m off her and at the end of the bed when I say, “I had Kyson pick up a few of your things from your friend’s trailer.” Camilla comes up on her elbows, and I watch her cower when I lean in. “Fail me…I dare you.”

Her bulging blues flick behind me, alluding to my friend’s entrance. She must remember how it used to be—he and I were inseparable. Not only was he my best friend, but he was my brother.

Through thick and thin and even Camilla’s bullshit, Ky was the rationality, the rock, and the voice I needed to get me through.

He’s the reason I’m still alive.

“Here’s your shit,” my best friend leers, not hiding his resentment for the woman who tore me apart piece by piece and tossing a small brown duffle bag onto the bed.

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