Page 128 of Scavenger's Oath
I've always been the one who wanted too much, too fast, too loud. It came out in the way I touched her, pushed her before she was ready.
I’ll never be her first choice. Why would I? They can treat her like she deserves… not like my fucked-up version of love.
The worst part? I don’t just want her—Ineedher. Every piece. Even if I have to split her with men I’d kill for. Maybe that makes me weak, or selfish. But I don’t care.
But the chance that she still wants me… that maybe she’ll choose me, despite everything? That’s the only thing keeping the jealousy from burning me alive.
The door creaks and I glance up to see Phoenix leaning against the frame, arms crossed like he’s been there a while.
“Need a hand boarding up the front windows,” he says, tilting his head toward the hall.
Grunting, I set the knife aside and follow him.
The front lounge smells like sawdust and fresh paint. The midday sun cuts through the dusty panes, warming the room.
Zane’s crouched by a stack of timber, screwdriver in hand, wearingthat easy grin that makes women stupid.
Ivy’s next to him, cross-legged on the floor, painting over bloodstains on the skirting board like she’s erasing the ghosts from these walls. Loose strands of her golden hair cling to her flushed cheeks, little streaks of white paint tangled in them. She blows them away and laughs at something Zane said.
That sound—light, free—does something to me. Something dangerous. My jaw unclenches for the first time today. My breathing slows.
Until Zane brushes her hair back and tucks it behind her ear.
The plank of wood in Phoenix’s hand slams into my chest, jerking me out of the fixation.
“You hold them, I’ll get the nails in,” he orders, eyes sharp like he can see every thought I’m choking on.
I grip the board like it’s Zane’s neck and pin it against the window frame while Phoenix lines up the nails. The hammer rings out, steady and methodical, but my gaze keeps drifting.
Laughter drifts around the room but I can’t hold onto any of it. I just keep watching her. The way she throws her head back when she laughs. Her lips, so full and soft—fucking sinful—stretch across her perfect teeth when she smiles that wide.
And her eyes… bright as the sky on a cloudless day.
Something in this moment touches a raw nerve I didn’t know I had left.
Sunlight on happy faces, laughter bouncing off walls. Shit like this didn’t exist in the foster homes I grew up in. Back then, “home” was a locked door and a plate you ate fast before someone took it.
This… this feels like the thing I spent my whole life starving for.
A home.A family.
“Pass me another screw, sweetheart,” Zane says, grinning at her as he screws a new deadbolt to the door.
“I’m painting, Zane. Ask Myles. He’s not doing anything important,” she fires back, winking at me.
Heat punches low in my gut. Butterflies?That’s what people call this shit, right?
But then the words register.
“What?!” I bark, laughing as I check the plank for nails and let go. “This is more important than painting rotten boards, you little brat. Where the hell did you even get paint?” Grabbing a handful of screws, I toss them in Zane’s direction, hearing them scatter on the ground, and stalk toward Ivy.
“Zane found it in the loading dock,” she says proudly, tipping her head back to look at me. The bruise on her cheek is turning green but there’s still dark purple underneath her eye. My chest tightens at the sight. “Said this place could use a woman’s touch. And I completely agree.”
Crouching behind her, I slide my hand into her hair, and steal a kiss from those lips I’ve been obsessing over for the last thirty goddamn minutes.
“I could use a little of that touch too… if you’re done fucking around here,” I rasp against her mouth.
“You mean an ‘Ivy touch’. No other woman will ever be touching you,” she bites, brow creasing.
