Page 47 of Ashes of Saints

“Goodbye Chloe,” I reply pointedly.

“You are boring now that you’re rich.” She pouts, then winks and disappears.

I snort into the empty room.

There was no chance of us not being friends the day we met at college. She chose me and I had no choice. Thank goodness.

Chuckling, I glance back outside at the million-dollar view and then spin around, taking in all the luxury furnishings.

I’ve been here many times, but somehow I’m now seeing it through a different lens. Seeing my mother’s life in a new way. There are no photos—not even of me, her daughter—and the home is perfect, as if staged for a photoshoot.

I walk through the house slowly, taking in all the expensive décor, paintings, and fittings before dropping my bag into one of the large guest rooms. Then I wander down to the master.

Resting against the doorjamb, I stare at the space she slept in. The housekeeper has been here, so the bed is made and the room spotless.

“Who were you Mom? Who were you really?” I say out loud.

My phone beeps in my pocket, making me jump. Ridiculously, I felt like Mom had caught me and was messaging me from the other side. She always hated me being in her room.

When I glance at the screen, my heart thuds even harder.

Parker.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

PARKER

Six days. That’s how long it’s been since I tasted Aurora Whitlock’s pussy. Since my mouth was on her clit, and since my cock stopped talking to me.

I left her glowing from multiple orgasms while my own body shook with the need to fuck her so damn hard we’d crack the wall of her apartment. I fooled myself into thinking that stroking myself in the shower would solve the problem.

It didn’t.

Twice.

Now I’m standing in my office pacing, waiting for the results to come through. It’s worse than watching paint dry.

Much worse, given the consequences.

Saturday night, I went to the club, drank far too much, watched my buddies get ridden like ponies while I talked stocks with Maddox.

He was thrilled.

Almost a married man, he isn’t participating in the spicier side of what the Alliance Club offers.

“What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?” I slurred.

I never slur.

But, fun fact, when you add Dali limoncello shots while drinking twenty-five-year-old Macallan, not only do you start feeling incredibly happy, but you end up with an extremely large bill at the end of the night.

Even if the owner is one of your best friends.

“Having a drink. The fuck does it look like?” Maddox stared at me like I had two heads.

“You should be home with your wife.”

“Fiancé. Remember. You’re going to be my best man in a few months.”

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