Page 45 of Pink Poison

Stone

Bending over, I grunt my discomfort as I lace my boots. The cheap shot that Mack took last night is now a well-rounded bruise in the shape of his kneecap. I’d say it was worth taking a few hits to mend the bridge between us, but I’m seriously reconsidering that line of thought now that the ache of being hit has set in.

“You sound like you’re dying,” Graves snorts from my doorway.

“Ah, you fuckin’ prick,” I startle, wrapping my arm around my torso.

He laughs. “How’s your side feeling?”

I flip him the bird with my free hand before returning to the grueling task of lacing my boot. “Hurts like a bitch. Not that you had to ask since you already know how hard Mack hits.”

“Ain't that a fucking fact.”

The conversation between us stalls quickly. Out of the guys, Graves and I are the least likely to talk our shit out. Mack will drink himself stupid until truths spill from his lips. Kash is an open book, always talking about how he feels. We may give him shit for being a few screws short of a toolbox, but he is the most emotionally intact one out of us. I prefer to work my shit out at the gym. There's no risk of killing someone when I'm busy beating the shit out of a punching bag instead of a face. Graves, however. That fucker will bottle it all and cork it until he explodes. Which he will, sooner than fucking later at this rate. I know him well enough to say that he has some sort of twisted idea that because he’s our president, he can’t talk about his problems because he shouldn’t have them.

Not personal ones, anyway.

“So,” I cough, breaking the awkward tension between us. “Mack jizzed on my phone.”

That's not quite how I wanted to break the ice, but it seemingly does the trick. “Run that by me one more time,” he chokes out.

“Yeah,” I drawl. “I came lookin’ for my phone after all the bullshit. He said he had it on his bed and I almost grabbed a handful of jizz.”

His expression changes, rapid firing from shock, disgust, and concern, to biting the inside of his cheek to rein in his smile. I huff a laugh, triggering him to do the same until we’re both struggling to breathe. It's enough to make me forget why what comes out of my mouth next is a terrible fucking move. “Best part? He was definitely getting off to that picture of Stevie.”

And just like that, his laugh is replaced with a silent, deadly rage.Fuck my life.

Groaning, I swipe my palm over my chin, feeling the coarse stubble scratch across it. “Sorry, man.”

“It’s fine.” His words are terse, strained to the point he's about to snap, like he's barely clinging onto his sanity. “Whoand what Max uses to get his rocks off isn't any of my business.”

"Are you sure about that?" I ask.

We both know that it's eating at him to know that Stevie is backandthat we all have our eyes on her. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he's more pissed that Mack touched her last night than he was to hear that I fucked her or that Kash marked her as his. His and Mack's strife with that woman goes beyond anything that me or Kash could do.

I wasn’t lying when I told her that she was poison. She's in all of our veins, in our lungs with every breath that she allows us to take.Fuck.She altered my damn DNA with a sexy dance, her wicked smile, and the venom that laced her tongue.

Stevie Waters is dangerous—more than we give her credit for.

His stare hardens, clearly pissed that I questioned him. "I said it's fine."

"It doesn'tsoundfine," I counter.

Jaw tense, his nostrils flare as he speaks. "Why are you pushing me on this?”

I shrug. “No reason.”

Uncrossing his arms, he slowly steps past the threshold before closing my door behind him. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Pot meet kettle, fucker.

“Fuck off,” I snort.

“Shawn!” he barks, using the tone he reserves for when one of us is fucking up.

I stand from the edge of my bed and limp towards my ensuite before I say something that I'll regret. He can deny it all he wants, but nothing aboutthisis fine. Opening my medicine cabinet, I glance over the vast collection of orange bottles I've acquired over the years.Painkillers. Muscle relaxers. Hypnotics.I grasp the first one I see that won’t dull my senses and pop the lid. Shaking out two of the familiar, white pills, I toss them in my mouth and swallow them down dry. It’s not much, but it’s a step above any over-the-counter pain relief.

Blowing a breath, I limp my ass back into my room. Graves sits on my bed with his jaw set tight, making the veins in his neck bulge. "You have thirty seconds to spit out why you're being a punk ass bitch before I give you a matching bruise on the other side of your ribs, brother," he grits.

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