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With a shout, I unload, hot jets of cum erupting from my dick like a volcano. I paint her little cunt with it, stroking myself all the while, until I’m spent.
I pry open my eyes to see the spray from the shower washing the evidence of my orgasm down the tiled wall and into the drain. My mind is tormented. Torn between the girl I thought she was and the one she’s proved herself to be.
I finish washing up and, with a towel wrapped around my waist, go immediately back to the window. She’s no longer in her room. My teeth grind down hard, making the muscles in my jaw pop and twitch. Anger at my inability to get her off my mind crashes through me, and I tear myself from the window and head for the bedroom to throw on some clothes before I go see Wilder.
Wilder… who wants to talk about Echo.
Fuck. Me.
Before I can get to my dresser, I stop, mouth going absolutely dry. My eyes land on a black envelope propped against my pillow.
Oh, what the fresh fucking hell is this?I take a few careful breaths. It can only really be one thing. I haven’t gotten a Sin Keeper card since the very first one. Ever since I accepted his terms, I’ve been dangling in the balance, waiting for the other shoe to drop. My first one arrived while I was still in prison. If I accepted the scholarship to KU and the space that’d been reserved for me in SIN, I’d be released but should expect to pay down the road. The agreement came at a price, but I accepted, eager to fly free of the cage I’d been locked away in.
But I never dreamed it’d be more than a year before finding out exactly what the Sin Keeper had in store for me. I close my eyes, resting my hands on my hips. There’s probably a good chance I don’t want anything to do with whatever is in this envelope. And it shows up right when my life is set to detonate again.
There’s no sense in putting it off. I pick it up, turning it over in my hands for a moment before I slide my finger under the flap. Inhaling deeply, I pull a black piece of card stock out and allow my eyes to skim over the silver writing, taking in what it says.
My brows draw sharply together. Well, what the fuck does that even mean? I chew on the inside of my cheek for several seconds while I contemplate each line and word. How they connect. What they might be trying to tell me—or, rather, what the Sin Keeper is trying to tell me.
I might have to sit with this for a bit. I don’t even want to hazard a guess as to who “they” are. Home. A hard drive. Seriously. I’m supposed to be able to figure this out? What is he trying to tell me?
I run a hand through my damp hair. The kicker is I can’t talk to anyone about it because that’s one of the rules we have to abide by. Everyone deals with their own shitty tasks. My teeth grind together as I ponder the card again. Not sharing information is what we all agreed to—but I don’t have to fucking like it. With a sigh, I tuck the card into the drawer at my bedside before moving to the dresser to pull out a pair of athletic shorts.
A moment later, I stop, one leg in my shorts and one out as it hits me what the card could be telling me to do. It’s the only thing that makes sense. My insides twist like a wicked beast is in there clutching at my organs. Fuck, I think I have to go back. And the very thought of it puts me on edge.
As I approach Wilder’s room, Beckham’s voice drifts out to me.Good.I want his take on last night, too. I’ve been messed up about it all day and haven’t gotten a chance to talk to either of them. Not while sober, anyway. There’d been a lot of fucked-up, angry slamming around the dressing room back at the warehouse that Beckham had witnessed, but no real discussion of anything. I was too fucking mad to talk, even though he’d tried to calm me enough to have a rational discussion. That’s all I remember before the tequila had taken hold of me and made me its bitch.
The door is open, and I could swear their words are a little heated, but when I walk in, the conversation stops. My brows go up.
Wilder sits on the edge of his bed and Beckham has sprawled himself across a leather chair with his leg thrown over the arm. A glass with a few fingers of an amber-colored liquid dangles from his hand. Wilder’s gaze wrenches from Beckham at my appearance.
“Am I interrupting?” The air is thick with something I can’t quite put my finger on.
Wilder clears his throat, shaking his head. “Never, Kaplan. Come on in.”
The eye roll from Beckham as he takes a large swallow of his drink tells me I’ve absolutely interrupted something, but it’s none of my fucking business. They have a unique friendship. Or is it a relationship? I’ve wondered a time or two lately whether or not they’re fucking, but they haven’t said as much to me, so I’m not uttering a word.
I wander in, bracing my elbow on the dresser beside the door. “So…”
Beckham’s brow quirks up. “I wondered how long it’d take you to talk to us about last night.” He chuckles. “Seems like the hangover is pretty nasty.”
My head still throbs, reminding me with each vicious beat of the sheer insanity the night had brought. “Yeah. It was all I could do to get my ass to class. Fuckin’ tequila almost did me in.” I smirk, my gaze first landing on Wilder before it shifts to Beckham. “Glad to see you shifted away from the evil tequila.”
“Wilder’s good bourbon has been my hair of the dog today.” Beckham shoots me a wink at the same time a disgruntled groan falls from Wilder’s lips. “Nurse Wilder believes alcohol will not cure a hangover.”
Wilder’s words come out on a growl. “It fucking doesn’t. It’s a myth.”
Ignoring the strain between them, I mutter, “How did I even get home? Or into my fucking bed?”
“I Ubered us home, then our resident nursing student hauled your ass upstairs—quite impressive, by the way.” Beckham’s eyes travel to Wilder for a moment, boldly roaming his body, before coming back to study me. “You weren’t on the bed hardly a minute before you were out for the count.”
Wilder huffs out a laugh from behind his hand as he eyes me. “Bear didn’t knock you out, but that tequila sure as fuck did.”
“Cute.” I exhale hard, running a hand over my jaw. “What did you want to talk about before I decide you need my fist in your face?”
He smirks for a second before his expression gets serious. “So, first… I guess your lack of sharing about whatever happened with Echo in the dressing room means that’s off-limits.”
I huff out a breath. “She— I—” My jaw tightens. “Let’s just say I made sure she understood me.”
