Page 140 of Oblivion

“Forrest was a good man, but that’s still no fucking excuse to destroy my property.”

“He’s sorry, I know he is. Or will be. Please, just let us get him back to the hotel and we’ll pay for the damage tomorrow.”

Red and blue lights flashed along the street, and I begged the bald man—literallybeggedwith my hands pressed together—to let this misdemeanor slide.

His wife touched his arm and gave him a sad look; one that had him nodding.

“I’ll sort it out with the cops,” he murmured.

He made his way over to the two officers, and I turned to his wife. “I’m so sorry.”

She hugged herself and shivered. “It’s okay now. Everything has settled down. I was just so scared.”

“So was I,” I admitted. “I didn’t know what to do, and realistically, there was nothing either of us could have done to stop that fight.”

She hummed and shifted her gaze from her husband to Dante. I followed her line of sight, and immediately became a hostage to his unblinking stare.

Wolfish. Wild. Brimming with fierce passion that called to my soul.

“We’ll be in touch,” I mumbled, not breaking Dante’s eye contact.

I moved toward him as if pulled in by an invisible vortex. Unable to look away and unable to stop putting one foot in front of the other.

Jackson gave a quick nod to the neighbor standing vigil over Dante, then strode toward Alex and the cops.

Dante refused to speak. Instead, he stared hard, as if daring me to acknowledge this side of him. I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I lifted my chin and glared back with far more strength than I felt within, until our standoff was severed by Jackson.

“All right, we’re out of here. Thanks again for stepping in, brother.” He shook the guy’s hand, then looked at me. “You grab one side, I’ll grab the other and his bag.”

Between the two of us, we managed to lug Dante off the front lawn and back to the hotel. He’d become infinitely more intoxicated and drowsy than he was when we left Chen’s place. By the time Jackson dumped Dante’s heavy ass onto the only bed in my suite, I was well and truly out of breath.

“That waswayworse than carrying Vivi or Lydia home,” I panted.

Jackson chuckled while tossing Dante’s shoes aside. “He’s probably got a good seventy pounds on you. Lucky for him, he kept walking. Would have slung him over my shoulder otherwise.”

The visual reference brought back memories of Dante doing that to me—right before the hottest shower sex I’d ever had. And that included Vegas.

I shook off the memory and frowned at Dante passed out on my bed. “What do we do with him?”

Jackson smirked. “Let him sleep it off. I’ll wash the blood off first so it doesn’t get everywhere.”

“That would be great—I can’t do blood. What if he rolls off in the night?”

He snorted. “Leave him on the floor.”

“He sometimes sleepwalks…” I trailed off, and gnawed on my lower lip.

Understanding entered Jackson’s expression. “I’d be surprised if it happens tonight, given the state of him. But if he does become agitated, come and wake me. Or bang on the wall.”

“Okay. I’ll get something to clean him up.”

Hurrying to the bathroom for a washcloth, I returned and handed it over.

When Jackson finished, he washed his hands, then tapped my shoulder.

“Us men are assholes for making our women worry over shit like this.” He smiled softly. “If you need me, I’m through the wall.”

“Thanks again, Jackson.”

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