Page 74 of Property of Chaos

Ness tracks the movement, sipping on her drink.

“I ain’t leaving because you told me to.”

She smirks. “But it’s convenient, right?”

I shunt the phone into my back pocket, snatch the mug from her hands, set it aside, and then pull the woman to her feet. “Quit this shit.”

“What shit?” The spark in her eyes tells me she enjoys the banter.

“Degrading yourself. Acting as though I don’t want this.” I palm her ass, squeezing hard. “Or this.” Move my hands to cradle her head. “I read your words, Ness. I read them, judged you, and found you fucking worthy. So quit it, okay?”

She rolls her lips, looking away. “I’ll try.”

I smack her butt. “You won’t try—you will.” She gasps when I tug her face around and steal a kiss. “Gotta go, babe. Do me a favor and try out the camera on your new phone.”

She frowns as I back away toward her room to retrieve the rest of my clothes. “Why? So you can hack into that to watch me, too?”

“Nope.”Although, that’s not a bad idea.I duck out of sight, snatch up my T-shirt and cut, then continue once I’m back in the living room. “Because I’ve got a feeling the only thing that’s gonna get through this day is if you send me a titty pic.”

My girl laughs. Her beautiful eyes crinkle at the outer corners, lips curling up with her throaty chuckle. She snatches my shirt out of my hand, using it to whip me playfully.

And this girl thinks I can’t save her.Maybe not, but I can sure as fuck help her heal.

“You’d be so lucky.”

I thread my arms through my cut and nod toward my T-shirt as I head for the door. “Keep it.”

“Are you sure?” She follows, intent on handing it back.

“Positive. You look better in it anyway.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

VANESSA

How the fuckdo I explain this? The phone weighs heavy in my hand, six missed messages from Marianna detailing the timeline of her frustration. And I get it: I’d be just as pissed if I’d dropped somebody home after a mini menty-B to have them ghost me for close to twenty-four hours.

Would I have answered her even if I was alone? I don’t know.

I could spin some story about how I looked at the wrong phone and didn’t see her messages. But then she’d pick that bullshit within seconds. I was caught up in my shit, not ignorant.

Put myself in her shoes: I’d want answers to reassure myself that my friend was still alive.

As though on cue, Marianna barges through my back door, face a contorted mask of fury. “The hell, bitch?” Her bag hits the counter with a clatter. “I was worried sick about what I’d find when I got here. What have you been doing?”

I eye where her brushed leather sits on the marble and squirm in my seat. “Sleeping.” It’s not a total lie. It’s just not the whole truth either.

“For eighteen hours?” She hitches an eyebrow. “You couldn’t send me oneteensymessage to assure me you were okay?” She squints and holds her forefinger and thumb an inch apart.

“I left the phone out here.” Again, not a lie. “I’m sorry.”

“So you should be,” she mutters, dropping her ass into the seat opposite mine.

I note her unusual attire. “What’s with the sweats?”

“I was stressed, okay?” She flops against the back of the seat, arms laid out on the sides of the chair. “How are you, though?”

“Evelyn got away okay?”

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