Page 3 of Carry Your Debt

By some goddamned miracle, the reigning Queen of Back Talk doesn’t utter a single word. She simply rises, rounds the couch, and heads in the direction of her bedroom—all in complete silence. The only sounds then are her feet as they pad softly away behind me and my own harsh breaths.

A moment later, I hear the shower kick on from behind the nearest wall. Without further thought, I find myself gravitating toward the sound, leather shoes eating up the remaining distance. My forehead thuds against the exposed brick, and my aching shoulders drop with a lengthy sigh.

However, before I can begin indulging in thoughts of Sabine less than a few feet away from me—alone…naked…soaping up—I hear the gentle scratch of a key slipping into the apartment’s front door lock.

I spin, Raptor in hand and aimed squarely between the amused eyes of a familiar intruder.

“Rhett,” I grunt, mind still racing, and arm lowering only somewhat reluctantly as I take in his casual appearance. I suck down a growl.

Isthiswho she’s been with tonight?

I’ve seen the looks they shoot at each other. The way they both always seem to conveniently disappear at the end of a Team night out.

“Ohhh-ho, Daddy Zeus is home!” my Second singsongs, completely ignoring the gun in his face and swinging the door shut with a large, booted foot.

I narrow my eyes. “…Daddy Zeus?”

Instead of answering, he tosses me a suggestive wink before bending down to scoop up Sabine’s fallen set of keys. He drops them onto the small lamp table by the entryway like he lives here, and then he’s stalking over to the kitchen, opening a cabinet, and pulling out a glass—again, like someone who’s played out this routine a hundred times before.

The ease with which he moves around her space shouldn’t incense me the way it does, but I can’t help it. I’ve been forcibly iced out of Sabine’s life by Sebastian’s edict for months now.

Meanwhile, she’s been here in Roxborough, free to do whatever she pleases.

Whomevershe pleases.

They both have.

My jaw clicks.

“She’s in the shower,” I say gruffly, as if he can’t hear the water running from a few feet away.

Rhett turns from the sink to lean lazily against the counter, drink now in hand. Striking eyes flick toward the bedroom before coming back to settle on me. He only hums in response, sipping at the water with exaggerated care. Then I’m being subjected to a slow, critical inspection; my hair and suit nodoubt both looking as stretched thin and disheveled as I’m feeling.

A single blond eyebrow quirks at what he finds.

He’s clearly enjoying my discomfort.

Bastard.

“Someone keeping you up at night, boss?” my world-class shit-stirring Enforcer drawls in that infuriatingly charming way of his.

What the fuck?

“Watch yourself, Orbison,” I snarl back. Not even he’s getting a free pass when it comes to keeping this Sabine-sized preoccupation under wraps.No onecan know just how deep the cracks in my armor run.

It’s the only way to keep her safe.

He doesn’t so much as flinch at my bristling, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. He grins. “Your secret’s safe with me, Capitano.”

Jesus Christ. I’m way too fucking tired and on edge to be jugglingtwobrats today. They're both as fucking bad as each other, and at this point, I’m not even sure whose attitude is rubbing off on whom.

What I do know is I sure as fuck need to stop thinking about them‘rubbing off on each other’before my jaw slips and I crack a molar.

To give my shaking hands something to do other than wrap themselves around Orbison’s thick, corded throat, I concentrate instead on sliding my jacket off and draping it neatly across the back of the closest dining chair. Rhett continues to smile across the rim of his glass as I carefully roll and cuff my shirt sleeves. The actions are calm and deliberate, unlike the current state of my insides.

Those are fuckingrioting.

When his tongue darts out, gliding along his bottom lip while he observes me, the motion sends another angry jolt through me as I’m forced to picture Sabine’s mouth all over again.

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