Page 69 of Tricked By Jack
Ned chuckles. “Listen, Jack, I have a favor to ask.”
“Shoot.”
“Shelby wants to see Eve,” he says, looking anywhere else but at me. “She feels terrible, and she misses—”
“Soon,” I agree. And judging by the double-take Nick does and the widening of Ned’s eyes, no one expected that reply. “I’m sure Eve will want to see her as well.”
“So… when?”
Running a hand down my face, I scoff, “I don’t fucking know. I’ll figure it out once I’m not about to fucking kill someone.”
Ned grimaces, probably realizing his terrible timing. “Right, I get it.” Just as I think he’s done, he continues. “It’s just that Shelby’s been acting weird without Eve around.”
“Weird how?” I demand.
“I don’t know, man. I barely see her anymore, and when I do, she’s on the phone with some guy.”
Nick chimes in. “Her Groom?”
“No.” Ned shakes his head. “That’s what I thought, but it’s not him. I don’t fucking know who. It might not even matter. I just know my sister’s acting off.”
“Can we discuss this shit later?” I bite. “Surely there are better times.”
With that, I step forward, moving toward the kneeling men. One of them lifts his head, a whimper caught in his throat. Wrong move. My hand fists in his hair, jerking his face up to mine.
“Playing house,” I sneer, repeating the words Nick said. Then, I drive my fist into his mouth, feeling the crunch of teeth give way. “Not fucking playing. I’m building one.”
Blood spatters my knuckles, warm and slick. For a heartbeat, I picture Eve’s gray eyes instead of this bastard’s. Her mouth instead of his broken teeth. My cock twitches, and I shove the thought down with violence, hitting him again.
Nick says something behind me—enough, focus, we don’t have all night—but I barely hear him. Every second I’m here is a second I’m not with her, not watching the way she pushes boundaries, not listening to the way she says my name when she’s breaking.
Knight business demands my time. But Eve Mortis owns my fucking mind.
Chapter 23
The Bride
For the next two mornings, I wake to the most delicious aroma curling through the air—bitter, rich, unmistakable. Coffee. Each morning, the hot beverage is placed on a note with just one word. Yesterday it wascareful,and today that word issoon.It’s the only sign Jack’s been here.
I don’t get why he didn’t wake me up. Just like I don’t understand why I care. I should be happy he left me alone. Right?
The chain pulls faintly at my ankle as I shift upright. I reach for the mug and take my first sip, moaning at the perfect blend. Damn, that is good.
Not wanting to waste time by staying in bed, I get up and go through my routine of showering and getting dressed. Unlike yesterday and the day before, I don’t dress in my own clothes. Instead, I pick the long sleeved shirt on the floor on Jack’s side of the bed.
I can’t explain why, but even while I’m hurt he left me after what we shared, and is now seemingly ignoring me, I like being surrounded by his scent.
The shirt makes me feel all small and dainty as it reaches my mid-thigh. And paired with a pair of knitted socks that almost reach my knees, it’s practically a complete outfit. Definitely fine for what I have in mind today.
Since Carolina hinted that I should consider exploring, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. She was here again yesterday, delivering more food and apparently placing some jack-o’-lanterns outside the front door. Not that I can see them.
Willow wasn’t with her that time, but she stayed a couple of hours, talking about how nice it was to be out of the house alone.
Where I thought maybe I’d be able to get some information out of her, she quickly proved that wasn’t happening. Not that I can complain. Not when she tried to reassure me that Jack’s absence was caused by duty. I’m not sure I believe her, but I want to. More than I ought to.
The chain allows me to reach the walk-in closet, a space I’ve glimpsed but never properly explored. I hesitate at the threshold, weighing risk against potential insight. Unable to help my curiosity, I step inside.
The closet is larger than expected, with custom built-in shelving that stretches from floor to ceiling. His clothes hang with military precision—suits on one side, casual wear on the other. Everything in black, grays, occasional navy. Nothing vibrant, nothing that bleeds emotion.
