Page 62 of Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

“It is what I want. And you do it for the right price,” I whisper, clenching my fingers, wondering why he’d do such an old-fashioned thing, instead of texting me his number.

“Damn right,” he says cheerfully, but then his eyes meet mine, and I take a step back, because they’re at odds with his expression. They aren’t dark with desire anymore, but something else, something sharp, jagged, like a serrated blade.

Something like terrible pain.

Then he moves away, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, and the moment is broken. Did I see that? Did I imagine it?

Was it real?

Does it matter?

Nothing makes sense. He doesn’t make sense, and neither do my actions.

Clenching my hand with his number on it, I grab my purse and head to the door. I hesitate before I open it. He’s watching me, broad shoulders slightly hunched.

“Keep that wound clean,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, and I remember with sudden clarity myself screaming as I came from his mouth and fingers. Oh God. “Goodbye, Jarett.”

And without waiting for an answer, I open the door and spill out into the night.

Chapter Fourteen

Jarett

Too restless to go to bed, I grab my barbells from the corner of the room and stand by the window to do some curls, get rid of some adrenaline. Up and down, my muscles burning, my heart thumping hard.

She left.

I can still taste her.

Fuck.

I close my eyes, lower the barbells. The exercise normally calms me down, but tonight it’s not working. Nothing is working.

Everything’s broken.

Putting the weights down on the floor, I start to pace. I wanna kick and break things, smash the furniture, shatter the windows. Shoot the lightbulbs to let in the dark.

I’m just like Seb. Yeah, I’m a fucking addict, like him, craving my fix, sinking so low I can’t breathe because she was here.

And she left.

The sound of the apartment door opening registers, and heavy, unsteady footsteps lead into the apartment. The door never closes, and cursing to myself I march out of my room and predictably find it wide open, the landing outside dark and cold.

“Seb!” Shutting the door, I go looking for him, and find him in the kitchen, throwing what little is in the fridge out, onto the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he mutters, not turning around. “What’s all this shit?”

I start toward him, pissed as all hell, the events of the whole goddamn evening crashing down on me, and haul him away from the damn fridge. “Where the hell were you? I looked for you everywhere at the club.”

“Oh, so sorry, didn’t know you were my fucking nanny now.” He turns, shoves down his pants, showing me his skinny, ugly ass. “Here, change my diaper before I take a shit on the kitchen floor. Hurry.”

I look away, disgusted. “Goddammit, Seb. Pull your fucking pants up and go to bed.”

“Nah.” He pulls his pants up, and they hang loose around his hips. He’s lost too much weight, I think, my anger draining away. “Night ain’t over. Gonna party some more before I’m dead.”

A shiver racks me. “Don’t say that.”

“Or what?” He approaches me, eyes narrowed. He likes looming over me, though he’s thin like a scarecrow. “Or what, you’ll run to Mommy?”

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