Page 159 of Did They Break You

Cortland’s arm comes around me, his thumbs brushing my bare shoulders. He tosses his empty bag of chips on the table and pulls me into his chest. My fingers splay along the hard muscle as he kisses me, and I taste alcohol and chocolate and salt on his mouth.

“You good?” he asks me, pulling back, his gray eyes searching mine. He’s so fucking hot, his hair a mess, slight circles beneath his eyes, one hand on my face as he stares at me like he treasures me. Like we can forget that night ever happened.

At least for right now.

“She’s good,” Storm answers for me. Cortland looks over at him, arching a brow.

Slowly, I turn my head, and Cortland drops his hand from my face.

“Aren’t you, little wolf?” Storm whispers, parting his knees wider, his thigh brushing mine.

I swallow, hard. “Yeah,” I answer him. “I am.”

“Try it again,” he says, reaching into the bag of Reese’s in his lap, unwrapping an orange square.

“Try what again?” I ask him, feeling Cortland pulling me closer to his warm body.

“This movie.” Storm dips his head. “Same one from the last time you… panicked.”

I take a breath, my chest heaving, and I’m painfully aware of my pebbled nipples beneath my cami as I turn my head to the movie.

There’s a priest on his knees at an altar, and I watch as the cross slowly slides along the wall, turning upside down while his eyes are closed.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

I turn my head to grab a Reese’s from the bag, then notice again that it’s in Storm’s lap.

He glances at me, hands on his thighs, black basketball shorts past his knees, the crumpled-up wrapper from the Reese’s he ate on the arm of the couch.

At my side, I feel Cortland tense. I feel a sudden flush of warmth as I realize I’m staring at Storm.

And he’s staring at me.

“Go ahead, little wolf. I don’t bite.”

I swallow, hard, near silence from the TV. I know what that means.

Something is coming.

I turn to stare at the screen. The priest is gone.

There’s a room with only a bed. A door flung wide open. No one in the frame. Silence.

My skin crawls and I reach for a Reese’s.

My hand finds the bag, and I dive in, fingers curling around a small square.

A creak of floorboards sound from the television.

I tense, feel Cortland’s fingers brush against my neck, the little hairs there standing on end beneath my sleep tank.

A man’s voice from the TV. “Damien?

Silence.

I start to pull out my candy, the plastic crinkling and feathering over my skin.

“Damien?” The man’s words are edged with fear.

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