Page 42 of Demon

He arches a brow but says nothing. Instead, he asks, “Do you want me to bring it back to the clubhouse?”

“Actually, could you take it to my rental? I don’t want Sammy to see it yet.”

“Nah. I don’t wanna go back there. I’ll ask Milly to pick it up here and keep it at her place.”

I nod, grateful. “Thanks.”

We leave the store, and he steers me toward the cafeteria. “You should eat before heading back to work,” he says.

As we walk to the cafeteria, I ask, “Is Sammy okay?” Even though he’d already sent me a message confirming it, I have to double-check.

He nods. “I went back and checked on her. She was inside playing hide-and-seek with Elena.”

We grab a ham roll and find a two-seater. It’s busy at lunchtime. I glance at him before taking a bite. “What’s your plan for today?”

“Seeing my sister,” he answers.

I straighten in my seat. “How’s she doing?” A pang of guilt settles in. I should’ve asked earlier.

“She’s fine,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

I snort. “Wow, you’re a man of so many words. Getting answers out of you is like squeezing blood from a stone.”

Amusement flickers in his eyes.

I reach over and rest my hand on his, my fingers tracing the wordsoulinked across his knuckles. His eyes are glued to them. “About last night...” My voice softens. “I’d like to spend more time together. And before you say anything,” I rush on before he can reply, “I still have questions about what you said last night.”

His gaze locks on to mine with an intensity that sends a shiver through me. When his gaze travels over me, appraising and deliberate, warmth pools low in my stomach. My toxic trait? I’m hopelessly in love with a sociopath. Maybe I’m just as messed up as he is. Everyone has demons; he just isn’t the monster inmystory.

I check the time on my phone and sigh. “I must get back to work, but we’ll finish this conversation later.” I stand and grab my bag. Leaning down, I kiss his cheek, lingering just long enough to notice the faint flicker of emotions across his face. “See you after work,” I say, throwing a smile over my shoulder as I sway my hips on my way out. It seems he’s letting me in, and that thought alone makes me giddy. Internally, I do a happy dance and count down the hours until work finishes and I’ll see him again.

* * *

Work consumes my time,but the hours drag endlessly. My thoughts keep drifting to Jett. His hands on my waist, his mouth on mine... The fantasy is overwhelming. I need to know what it feels like—to know him in every way possible. Butterflies erupt.

When my shift ends, I take my bag and head to the elevator. My nerves flare. My mind is in turmoil... What if I spook him? Will I be pushing him to his limit? But then I remember the way he looked at me earlier. His eyes softened, like maybe he saw the part of me that was willing to accept his past, his pain. But I still have so many questions. I make a mental note to ask them before I completely give in to this craving for him.

I step out of the elevator and spot a man in a dark shirt sitting in the lounge, staring at me. My stomach tightens when he turns to whisper something to the man beside him, and now both their eyes are on me. Dread settles low in my gut.

“Are you ready?”

Jett’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I look up to see him standing in front of me, his presence instantly calming. “Yeah,” I murmur, trying to brush off the unease as I glance back, but the men are gone. Shaking my head, I hate that my ex still has this grip on me. They could’ve been anyone here to visit loved ones.

I concentrate on Jett instead; his presence comforts me. I reach out and lace my fingers through his, letting a small smile tug at my lips. He holds my hand lightly, but he doesn’t pull away. The night air cools my flushed face as we walk to his truck in silence. My mind races, cycling through all the questions I have. I don’t know where to start.

Once we’re in the truck, I turn toward him, my heart pounding. “So...” I gulp. “You said you’ve killed people,” I say bluntly, the words tumbling out before I can sugarcoat them.

His lips twitch, a devilish glint in his eyes as though my awkwardness amuses him. “I have,” he says, his voice calm and steady.

I clasp my hands in my lap, trying to still their trembling. “Who were they?”

“Club business. I can’t tell you.” His tone is flat, emotionless.

My pulse thrums against my veins. “Were they women? Children?”

“No,” he says, sharp and whiplike, leaving no room for doubt.

I release a shaky breath. “Did the people you kill hurt people?”

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