Page 12 of Pretty Little Lies

I’m treading a line where desperate meets frantic, and I can’t go another day without talking to Bay about what happened the other night.

How my hitting her was for reasons that I can’t explain because it’s not my place.

Which sounds like a douchebag excuse if I’ve ever heard one.

Regardless and, to prove my point, she hasn’t texted me back.

And I’m going crazy without being able to apologize about the sick performance I put on to save her life. How familiar it sounds to something I’ve done previously that did nothing at all to saveher.

Guilt has been spiraling in my gut for the last three days, and I haven’t been able to sleep. Every inch of my body craves that woman and I have—had—my sights on her since the first moment I saw her. Those fucking ocean eyes put me on lock quicker than I could find the key for it. And I know we’re treading through dangerous territory, but she’s worth it.

It’s worth anything to find out if, what I felt in that tree house, could be my saving grace in my head. If I could finally have a relationship with a woman who wasn’t going to be filled with shame and my dick giving in to her every night.

Nostrils flared, I push back things I can’t change, the dark place in my head that sends me spiraling for purchase on regaining my reality. Bay may have not had the time to speak with me or simply doesn’t want to. And I won’t allow my brain to sit on the latter until I find out for myself.

My cell buzzes in my pocket again, alluding that Torin is bored as fuck atHurricane, but he can just do the books real quick and leave. No one asked him to fraternize with everyone there, but it’s something he likes to do. Being a presence to show that he gives a fuck to all the hardworking women busting their ass all night in eight-inch heels and barely anything on.

We run a gentlemen’s club for extra cash because drugs and guns aren’t guaranteed when you got the Coast Guard up every inch of the ocean, thanks to Emilio. We found other ways tohustle and the last thing I want to is to be the reason some white thirty-year-old psycho decided to play target practice with a school with an assault rifle I sold to someone else.

I have enough blood on my hands. However, those motherfuckers were far from innocent and I was doing society a favor.

Popping the screen out of its tracks, I slowly lower it to the ground and lean it up against the white siding of the house. I back up to get a running start so I can get some air and drag myself inside until something hard plows into the side of my head next to my ear.

My body bows forward a bit from the blow but I quickly pivot and, fuck me.

This was a possibility.

A big one—literally.

After all, I did just sneak my ass into enemy territory to see my future wife, if she’ll still have me, and I just so happen to run into her guard dog; Levi Wallace.

When I expect something smartass to leave my throat—it’s probably from hanging out with Torin for too long—Levi lunges for me again.

I’m not so quick on my feet for that move, and his fingers grip onto my Nirvana t-shirt, already launching another blow to my face.

On my best day, I still wouldn’t go up against Levi Wallace in hand-to-hand combat. The dude’s like six feet tall, a million pounds of inked muscle and his punch feels like he took a sledgehammer and battered up with it. His attitude is semi-close to Torin’s, so that’s not at all petrifying; however, I’m not looking to have my pretty face smashed in either.

Levi is quick to parry my hit for how massive he is, swinging his arm like he’s stacked up on steroids because his next hit causes me to stumble back once and colors blur my vision.

I know what this is for, and I’m fully aware that I deserve it, but there’s a little sliver ofwhat else was I supposed to fucking dothat resides inside my head. I wasn’t left with many options and less bullets to wipe out Emilio’s men.

And, as much as I would love to explain that to Levi, he doesn’t look like he’s up for talking right now.

However, it doesn’t stop me from trying.

“Hold on, Hulk Hogan,” I surmise, holding both my hands out defensively to show him that I don’t want to fight. Not that it seems to matter. “There’s more to the story than what you know.”

“Did you touch Bay?”

Fuck.

“Wallace—”

“Did youtouchwhat was mine?”

My brows mindlessly clench, because there’s no way. It’s not like I hang out or see Levi every day of my damn life, but there’s been no buzz about Bay and him being a thing. Though, why would you publicly announce that? It’d just mean she’s a target and a weak point.

Nevertheless, I don’t like it.

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