Page 81 of Choices

His long strides eat up the space to a counter with canters of whiskey. Pouring the liquid into two glasses, he holds one out to me, summoning me to him. “There’s something profound about the female form. I like to celebrate it when and where I can.” Nodding at the painting, he says, “A very famous artist created that. It took her over twelve months. The model lived here for the duration of the time.”

“Impressive.” I know nothing about art, and although it’s pretty, it’s nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times over. Though, maybe not to this scale.

“Would you ever let someone paint you?” he asks, eyes watching me over the lip of his glass.

“Are you propositioning me, Mr. Carnell?”

Chuckling, his teeth scrape over his bottom lip, and my eyes home in on the action. “Depends on your answer.”

“Would you hang it on the wall if I did?” I raise a brow.

Rounding the counter, he takes the glass from my hand and places it down. His thumb strokes down my cheek. “No, I’d keep it just for my eyes.” Butterflies dance in my stomach. This is a bad idea. I already learned I can’t fuck Cutter out of my system, but pain eclipses rational thought and alcohol leaves me fearless and horny. Gripping a fistful of his shirt, I drag his mouth to mine.

Hungry lips devour and explore. In the next breath, he raises my dress over my head and lifts me onto the counter, the cold marble shocking against the warm flesh of my ass. Breaking ourkiss, he runs a palm down the valley of my tits and across my abdomen. “You’re sexy as sin, but you know that, don’t you?” My stomach quivers when he leans in and kisses over my tattoo. “I like these,” he murmurs.

Memories of when I got the two aces assault my mind, and I stiffen. “Stop.”

“What’s wrong?” He lifts his eyes, looking up at me through his lashes. I cup his face and move him back.

“Your brother.”

“What.” He stands, confusion contorting his features.

“Your brother was there when I got this tattoo.” I nibble nervously at my lip. It’s weird being with him and not mentioning I know his brother…knew…kind of.

His eyes appear to darken, darting from side to side before narrowing on me. “You knew my brother?”

Exhaling, I jump down from the counter and pick up my dress, the mood shifting. “No, not really.” Turning away from me, he runs his hands through his hair, pacing the shiny floor. “I met him once, and we partied at the clubhouse.”

Whipping around to face me, he grabs my wrist before I can slip into the dress. “Your dad’s clubhouse?”Shit. Shit. Shit.Loose lips sink ships, Kitty.

His grip tightens, causing pain. “You’re hurting me,” I bite out, attempting to free myself. “Michael,” I warn. Yanking harder as the skin pinches.

“Answer me,” he demands.

“Yes. He was only there a couple hours. My brother reamed me out about it.”

“When was this?”

“I don’t know.” I grit through clenched teeth. “Let fucking go of me. Now.”

Instead of letting go, he grabs my other wrist and pulls me into his body. “Where did you meet him?”

Usually, I like it rough, but this isn’t sexual anymore. “At a card game,” I whine, trying to twist free. My bones protest the pressure he applies. It feels like my wrists are going to snap.

“When?” He shakes me, demanding an answer. Fear rips through my body. Terror descends over me like frost in winter as realization dawns. No one knows where I am or who I’m with. Only the new Tim, and I sent him away.

“WHEN!” he roars, shoving my back against the counter, ripping a cry from my lungs. That’s going to leave a mark. Releasing one of my wrists, he grasps my face, painful fingers digging into my jawline. The charming man from earlier has been replaced by the devil breathing fire down on me.

“Years ago, before he went missing,” I cry through my scrunched up face. How is he this strong? He knows a street gang killed him. I don’t understand the monster looking back at me.

“Wait.” He moves off me like an invisible entity pulled him away. “Are you the girl he left Matt’s game with?” Taking the opportunity his reprieve gives me, I dart for the elevator, dragging my dress over my head, and jab the button anxiously. It pings open, and I clamper in. Michael’s there in an instant, pushing against the doors, preventing them from closing. He shoves me hard, and I stumble back into the table they put in here for decoration. I catch the vase that wobbles and launch it at his head, knocking him back into the apartment. Punching the button for the foyer, the doors shift, closing. I squeeze my eyes closed, releasing a breath I’d been holding.

The elevator starts descending without needing the key card. As soon as there’s a sliver big enough for me to fit through, I dart out into the foyer. The woman at the desk gasps, her wide eyes tracing my movements. “Is everything okay?”

The doorman doesn’t get a chance to open the door before I crash through it and spill out into the street. Looking from left toright, I take off down the road, turning the corner into an alley, and race to hide behind a dumpster. Reaching into my boot for my phone, I hammer out a text, allowing the tears to fall from my eyes.

Me: I’m pinging you my location. I need you!

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