Page 74 of Carry Your Debt

Or ever.

“Baker,” I grit out.

“First Sinclair, now Jameson, Winters?” the prick says, dragging his eyes down her body, the disdain clear in his voice. “Do they know you broke into their place yet?”

“Le-on,” Sabine greets him, enunciating his full name in a way that, for some reason, has the sneering linebacker flinching.Interesting. “If it isn’t the consequences of my own actions. Again.”

The fact these two hooked up is not news to me, but it still torques the fuck out of my guts just thinking about him being with her.

Inside her.

My eyes burn.

This fucker’s days are numbered.

“Rich coming from you, Baker. Why don’t you fuck off back to your little biker clubhouse?” I growl, very casually pressing her closer to my side. His eyes flick down at the movement before he redirects his sneer to me.

“Says the wannabe gangster. Don’t hate because you and your boys passed on an opportunity,” Baker mocks, spreading his hands.

“Not sure if wiping Club asses is anything to brag about, but you do you, I guess,” Sabine shrugs, trying to tug me forward.

“We passed for a reason, dumbass. Enjoy our scraps,” I jeer.

“Enjoymine,” he spits right back, with another pointedly aggressive rake of his eyes over Sabine’s slender form. His smile is oily.

Just before I can lunge at him, Sabine yanks me sideways so suddenly I almost pitch over. She uses my momentum to turn us and then bodily steer us away from the smug fucking Titan.

“Raincheck,” is all she says, staring straight ahead.

Looking forward to it.

Because I didn’t miss the look of dark fury that flashed across Baker’s face the moment she turned her back on him.

I don’t normally regretmy one-night stands. It’s hard to regret something if you never spare it a second thought. But Leo Baker is starting to haunt me like the motherfuckingGhost of Hookups Past,and I’m wondering what it’s going to take to finally exorcise his ass.

“Still can’t believe youactuallyfucked him,” Ares snarls the moment we’re alone in the designated champion’s locker room.

When all he gets from me is a considering hum in the back of my throat, he starts making an angry beeline toward his belongings.

Ares’s gear sits waiting for him on a low-set bench in the middle of the makeshift tiled floor. Instead of starting his warm-down, however, he deliberately positions his back to me, shoulders set and hands hovering over the small duffle.

Perhaps it was meant to antagonize—but all his cold shoulder really does is treat me to an unobstructed view of some disgustingly defined back muscles and their sprawling artwork. The abstracted skull piece is stunning; spliced through with wilted roses, and various broken timepieces and heavy on the black ink. It stretches down his spine in a massive void of yawning jawbones and harsh, aggressive lines, before eventually crumbling back to dust somewhere below his waistline. Thehaunting imagery continues down both muscled arm sleeves, across his torso, and all the way up to his chiseled jawline—every single inch dark and aggressive, just like him.

As I observe him silently, the only sounds between us are the steady drip from a nearby shower stall, and Ares’s labored breathing. Every movement of his is stiff with both pain and frustration. His bloodied fists clench in time with the sharp rise and fall of his shoulders.

I’ve personally never seen Dio lose in one-on-one, hand-to-hand combat before tonight, and I’m sure the victory must have tasted sweet despite the mouth full of blood the Enforcer left him with. There’s none of that elation now, though. Instead, he’s poised on a knife’s edge, straddling that adrenaline and the frustration about Leo.

But something about all of that unbridled rage trapped beneath his skin beckons to me like a siren call, and I suddenly want him to give me something—anything—other than his back.

What would it take to tip him over?

“Because he works for the enemy…or because he wasn’t one ofyou?” I finally decide to toss back at him like a taunting grenade, hoping like hell he’ll bite.

The man in question doesn’t turn, only scoffs loudly, the echo like a sudden whip crack against the tiled room.

He can’t hide the small shiver that judders down his spine though, not with the way each of the taut muscles ripple along its path.

“What makes you think you have any right to chime in on who I fuck?” I take a quiet sidestep, hoping to get a better view of his side profile as I continue to needle him. “Any right tocare? If I want to fucka Titan—hell, if I want to fuck anAce—I’d have every right to.”

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