Page 43 of Treachery

She must have seen something in his expression, because her eyes softened.

“James…you don’t have to tell me?—”

“No, no…I want to—I need to.”

“Okay…I’ll listen.”

He knew she would, he just hoped she was still in his arms when he was done.

He nodded hesitantly, his expression hard, his skin pale, his eyes dulled with apprehension and sorrow.

Her heart was still racing from her outburst, but now it was also thudding in fear.

God, what had he gone through?

“I met Dale Grady in the fifth grade. We were both only children, we both had shitty parents, and we both had somethingto prove. Fast forward fifteen years…we’re partying, getting high, doing stupid shit for the thrill…but Dale took it too far.” Swallowing thickly, Locust’s eyes filled with grief. “We were at a party, I was high as fuck—addicted to heroin and pills—and Dale was talking out his ass about some new shit he scored from some shady dude. I didn’t care that the whole thing sounded suspect, I just nodded and grinned like the high ass fuck I was. I watched as he loaded the syringe, as he put it in his veins, and the whole time I was grinning, laughing, thinking about the bitch sucking my dick and when I could get to Wendy’s for a Frosty.”

Oh, God…this is going to be so bad….

Closing his eyes as unutterable pain etched his features, Locust croaked, “I passed out. I didn’t mean to, but I did. And when I woke up….”

A sob rose into her throat, but she swallowed it. Her hands against his chest, she slid them upward until she was cupping his face, pouring warmth and love into him.

“Dale was dead. I’ll never forget what he looked like—eyes wide open, expression frozen in a look of panic, puke on his chin and t-shirt, lips blue…. I was right there, sitting on the couch next to him, but I was so fucked up, I didn’t stop him, I couldn’t even if I wanted to because I was so strung out, I couldn’t rub two fucking thoughts together. I knew it was my fault; he was dead because I was a bad fucking friend. He died because I was a druggie who only cared about my own self. Three weeks later, high as fuck, grieving, terrified, drunk on tequila, I climbed to the roof of a bar down the street from the flop house where Dale had died. I just…I wanted to end it all, to stop the pain, to stop seeing his face in my mind. I stood on the edge of the roof, lifted my foot, ready to splat and end it all, but then this voice came out of the dark behind me….”

“Frost,” she said as things started rewriting themselves in her mind. “It was Frost.”

He nodded, the movement jerky. “It was Frost. It was his bar. Someone saw me climbing the ladder at the back and told him. He said he came up there to beat the shit out of whoever thought they could trespass on his property, but then he saw me…and he knew he needed to do something. That night, he talked me down off the ledge—literally—got me hooked up with a program in the Poconos, and I got clean. After that, he dragged me to the club house, handed me a prospect kutte, and told me to get to scrubbing toilets. I’ve been with the Unchained since.”

Well…that did explained things.Somethings.

Locust nuzzled her palms which were still pressed against his cheeks. The roughness of his five o’clock shadow against the flesh of her hands was a sensation she missed…so, so, so much. Closing her eyes against the memories of them together, of his scruff tickling her naked skin, she battled back the need for him.

He hummed, his gaze lifting to hers, and she gasped at the naked vulnerability and agony in his dark blue eyes.

“That night, if he hadn’t come up there, ready to bust some heads, I’d be dead.”

EIGHTEEN

Another two weeks passed,and Locust had to feed his near voracious need for Nadia by watching and rewatching the recorded video feeds from her place.

After he’d cracked open his chest and told her about Dale, and his almost suicide, Nadia had gone quiet. Well, she’d thanked him for telling her, asked him for space to think about things, then left. He hadn’t heard from her since…not that he wasn’t still watching over her.

He still had his cameras in her place, still followed her—from a distance, still ordered her favorite takeout meals, and still texted her once a day just to let her know he was thinking about her.

Fuck space, he wasn’t lying in bed next to her every night, so that was space enough.

And he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out before he stormed into her house, tied her to her bed, and made her give him her answer.

Did she forgive him? Was there a chance for them? Would he ever again feel her body beneath his, her tight pussy wrapped around him, the warmth of her breath as she panted against his neck?

Never in his life had he jacked off as much as he had in the last six weeks, waiting for her to forgive him. The videos of her daily life were like personal porn, but they were nothing like the real deal, especially since she’d started to change clothes in the bathroom…almost like she knew the cameras were there….

Frost was back home with Emily, but things were still chilly there, Redtube was still stomping around like a tiger with a thorn in its paw, Tornado was spending more and more time with an old friend, and Patriot was gearing up to ask his ol’ lady to marry him and make shit official, but Locust was still sitting, his thumb up his ass, waiting to his life to start again.

Tossing back the last of his JW, he pulled his cell from his jeans pocket and glared down at it.

Still nothing from Nadia.

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