Page 72 of House Rules
My head tips back. I let myself feel it. The music. The alcohol. The freedom.
For once, I don’t think about what comes next.
When I open my eyes, the Titans aren’t watching.
Atticus is stroking the hair of a girl kneeling at his feet.
Maverick’s being straddled by someone who looks like she wants to swallow him whole.
Storm’s tracing a blade down a woman’s chest, slicing through fabric like it’s nothing.
They don’t see me at all.
My eyes slide closed as I tip my head back and enjoy the way the girl’s touching me. The way it feels to move and sway to the music and just dowhatever I want to do without worrying about judgment or repercussions.
I think I can feel the men’s eyes on my body, but when I open them again, none of them are paying attention.
Atticus is focused on the girl kneeling at his feet, petting her head while she nuzzles his crotch and begs to blow him.
Maverick is focused on the woman dry humping him in the couch, her hands everywhere and looks like her tongue is shoved so far down his throat he might choke.
Storm is focused on the girl in his arms as he traces one of the smaller knives from the dip in her clavicle down her sternum between her breasts, cutting the shirt she was wearing completely off.
“Oh well, honey, it looks like the boys are otherwise engaged,” the other girl whispers in my ear. “and unfortunately, although you are absolutely edible in that tiny little dress, I do prefer men.”
“I do, too,” I say, giving her a polite smile. “But thanks for playing.”
She winks. “Anytime.”
My head is buzzing. My limbs are loose. Giving up on trying to seduce them, I head toward my room, wanting to get out of this ridiculous dress before I’m too drunk to figure out how to get it off without making it one massive tangled mess.
I don’t want to fall apart in front of them, so I slip into my room and shut the door behind me.
The dress snags in my hair as I strip it off. I curse softly, untangling the links. I want a bath. I want to soak in silence. I want to forget how pathetic I must look—throwing myself into their world only to be left behind.
The tequila has gone to my head, and I need to sleep it off.
Or maybe I will finally take that bath, I promised myself earlier. Relive the way Maverick’s tongue explored my pussy and made me come with my fingers rubbing my clit.
As I walk into my room, though, I realize something is very wrong. The air feels off.
I don’t know how I know it. The room looks untouched. But there’s a stillness that wasn’t here before. A chill in the air. Like someone breathedsecrets into the space and left them hanging there, invisible and undeniable.
I step onto the bed and reach up into the ceiling panel. My papers are there—but not where I left them. They’ve been shuffled. Shifted.
Someone’s been here.
While I was on the boat with Maverick, in broad daylight, surrounded by staff and strangers, someone got into this room.
The mobsters are watching. Waiting.
And I have nothing to give them.
They went through my notes, so they know I don’t have anything concrete. And if they know that—if they know I’ve been pretending—I can’t imagine they’ll wait much longer.
Their patience is running out.
And so is my time.
