Page 73 of Without a Trace
“Truth,” he said smoothly. “Let’s see what game the queen wants to play now.”
I leaned forward, tequila heat crawling up my throat. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
The fire cracked louder.
Zeke took a slow sip from his drink. “I followed a girl. For six months. Watched her eat, sleep, shower. Watched her fall in love with someone who didn’t deserve her.”
Everyone froze.
Even I didn’t know how to respond.
Then Zeke smiled wider. “And I didn’t stop it. That was the worst part.”
The silence was deafening.
I smiled back, slow. “Your turn to spin.”
Scarlett
The bottle spun again.
We were past the point of no return—drunk on tequila, tension, and the raw ache of everything no one was saying. The room felt like it might split open if someone so much as breathed wrong.
It landed on me.
Of course it did.
I looked up. Smiled slow. “Dare.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sloane muttered.
Rhett leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes already glinting with chaos. “I dare you to sit on someone’s lap and kiss them like you’re trying to break them.”
The silence could’ve shattered the glass on the table.
Then Lena gasped.
Alden knuckles went white where they gripped his drink.
Trace didn’t move. But I couldfeelhim—tight, seething, seconds from detonation.
I stood. Smooth. Calm. Power in every step.
Then I walked straight over to Rhett.
I straddled his lap like I fucking meant it, my hands sliding into his hair before he could even process what was happening.
And I kissed him.
Hard.
Deep.
Messy.
Open-mouthed and filthy and long enough that I forgot who was watching.
His hands gripped my thighs. I didn’t stop.
