Page 61 of Property of Chaos

VANESSA

I can’t decidewhat’s worse: waking up feeling dog-tired from yet another night of interrupted sleep or sleeping so damn well that when I do eventually rouse, I ache to stay in the suspended state of bliss. At least with it being a Sunday, there’s no rush to get out of bed. No rush to get through my routines, and nowhere to be.

Just me, my cozy bed, and…the fuck?My right arm pushes up against something solid andwaytoo big to be Murphy. Eyes snapping open, I carefully draw a breath and inch my hand toward the lump. Itbreathes.

Oh, fuck no. I whip my head to the right so damn fast that pain shoots along the tendons of my neck, breath hissed between my teeth at the burn.That’s going to last.I refocus and, as suspected, come face-to-face with a mess of two-tone hair inches from my face.

How long has he been there?

I daren’t move. Dare not disturb him. Not when I get such an honest view of the man in a fully vulnerable state. And that’s exactly it, isn’t it? He’svulnerableright now, yet he trusted meenough to put himself in that position. I could doanythingto him, and he’d be entirely at my mercy.

Anything…

I blow a breath between parted lips, calming my racing thoughts. My traitorous vagina twitches at the imagery flicking through my mind.No.Not now. I know I’m starved down there, but sheesh, just because a man is in my bed, it does not make him therightman.

You’re genuinely damaged in the head if that’s your first thought, Ness.

I drag my gaze lower—as far as my eyes will let me without having to move—and suck a sharp breath. He’s shirtless. Shirtless and covered in a detailed network of images inked into his tanned skin. Skin that molds to perfectly sculpted muscles, the swells and valleys of his back an intoxicating landscape.

Chaos is fucking half naked and laid out face-down on my goddamn bed.

I slowly bring my left arm beneath me and brace my elbow to the bed, inching myself higher. He continues to sleep, the arm closest to me tucked high beneath his head, making each and every muscle in his patchwork arm pop, the other shoved straight off the side. To my utter disappointmentandrelief, he still has his jeans on, bare feet hanging off the foot of my mattress. But that ass. Why do men’s butts look so good in denim?

And why the fuck do my fingers ache to slide beneath the restriction of his belt to trace the divots above said biteable ass?

One leg following the other, I gently ease out my side of the bed and stand before I get myself in trouble, my lips parted as I take in the scene before me. Yeah. No hallucinations here. Just more than six feet of pure masculine energy spread across my comforter. I pad softly around the foot of the bed, never oncebreaking eye contact from his form, and trace where his hand lies off the side of the mattress.

His fingers curl, the backs resting atop the fucking pages I tore from my journal last night.No.My heart clenches, chest stupidly tight. I mean, he read the whole book last week, butthosepages? That was stuff I’d never put into inked words before. I planned to burn and release those secrets tonight beneath the new moon.Shit.If he thought I was unhinged before, he’ll think I’m dead-set insane now.

I creep closer, lowering myself to a crouch as I move and reach for the pages. He draws a deep, shuddering breath, and I freeze, lungs in an iron grip, while I wait to see if he opens his eyes. Chaos groans in his sleep—a sound that goes straight to my fucking clit—and turns his head to face the other way, his arm shifting onto the mattress beside him.

I snatch up the entries and clutch the paper to my chest, fucking soul sinking when I see what lay beneath: the goddamn new phone. He wouldn’t.This is the guy who broke into your house, Ness.He so would.

I snag the device off the floor and backtrack toward the safety of the doorway to check what he’s done—if anything.Of course, he’s done something.My thumb swipes frantically at the phone, yet the colored ink on the pages behind catches my eye.The hell?There are notes all over the confessions, the same as he put throughout my journal. Inked in what appears to be the purple marker I keep for when I’m feeling fancy with my headers.

With my back to the wall, I buckle my legs and slide to the floor to ingest his commentary.

The sun rises as I read, its long, warm fingers inching across the floor toward my toes. By the time I’ve scoured all of Chaos’s notes, birds sing in the front garden, and silent tears track my cheeks. I stare at the man across from me, still sleeping soundlyon my bed, my head against the wall and hands resting in my lap.I was so wrong.

I’ll never be able to look at him the same way again.

My gaze snags on his cut, hanging carefully from the corner of my headboard, the thick, stitched patches twisting the soft leather. He presents a lie to the world. This tough exterior. The facade of a man who couldn’t care less for his fellow man unless it benefited him. And yet, that’s nothing of what he is.

He’s incredible. An intellectual. The man quoted goddamnPoeon my pages, for fuck’s sake. He reframed the misbeliefs I’ve held about myself my entire goddamn life and not only wove them into a new perspective, but he explained it. Eloquently. Empathetically.

What did the world do to him?Is he happy in his life? Being viewed as such a menace to society? Or, like me, did he hope for something more? Wish for a future that was never his to have, thanks to the guidance and influence of the caretakers in his life.

I slowly rise to my feet, inching closer. The club’s insignia is the main artwork across his back, yet it’s as though he’s given the middle finger to that convention by framing the skull with images of his choosing. Neoclassical statues and architecture, graves, lilies, crows, andholy fuck—more quoted lines from the classics. Short verses that give a glimpse into his way of thinking.

The smartphone digs into my palm, reminding me I haven’t checked to see what he did with the device. I back towards the window and rest my ass on the sill, jerking my head around when movement in my periphery captures my attention.

Murphy enters the room.

I lift my finger to my lips as though the damn animal understands human gestures and urge the little menace to be quiet. He hesitates, moves a paw forward, twitches his goddamn tail high in the air, and then launches onto the bed.Oh, you little…

Chaos stirs, rolling to his side with a groan, back to me as he mindlessly gropes for what disturbed him.

The two-timing stray fucker weaves beneath Chaos’s forearm and pushes against his chest, little legs sliding out until his fat gray body molds to my midnight intruder.

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