Page 18 of Relentless

Would he really risk his life by breaking onto my property? And what was he expecting? To find his wife and walk hand in hand out the fucking front door.

Fucking idiot.

I always knew there was something fucking wrong with him. Now I have proof.

Without turning a light on, I open the bedroom door and march down the hallway toward the soft glow that filters up from below.

I turn the corner and almost fall over a lump of a man dressed only in a pair of boxers passed out on the carpet right outside my bedroom door.

“The fuck?” I hiss, catching myself on the wall before I go down on top of him.

He groans, shifting into what I can only assume is an equally uncomfortable position before his snore fills the hallway. The move reveals the almost empty bottle of whiskey behind him and my stomach knots as I reach down for it.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, combing my fingers through my hair.

The temptation to wake him is strong, but I don’t. If I do then he might not get any more sleep. And right now, he needs it.

Stepping over his sprawled-out legs, I continue down the stairs not bothering to miss the creaky steps, they won’t wake him.

I need him with me one hundred percent, and I’ll do anything I can to ensure that happens.

Caving to temptation, I twist the top of the bottle and lift it to my lips.

Just one shot. Something to settle the unease and dread that’s knotting up my stomach.

There might be some light down here, but it’s not enough to see everything. Just a sidelight in the hallway and soft decorative ones in the kitchen, illuminating what I need.

My coffee machine.

The rich scent of beans already permeates the air. It’s standard in this house and something I wouldn’t change for the world.

With my sights set on the liquid gold, I set about making myself a cup before turning toward the sofa. But I barely take a step when reality hits me.

“How long have you been there?” I bark, my heart pounding as I chastise myself for not being more aware of my surroundings.

If you got some sleep, you might have a fucking clue what’s happening around you, asshole.

“Long enough,” she says, sipping her own coffee as her eyes drop down my body. “Being up here sure has its benefits,” she muses.

“Why is JD sleeping outside my bedroom door like a hobo?”

She shrugs one shoulder dismissively.

“Seems like your boy doesn’t do so well with being told no.”

“What did he ask for?” It’s a stupid question, but it comes out anyway.

“Me.”

I shake my head, an unamused laugh punching from my chest.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have given yourself to him in the first place,” I suggest, dropping onto the couch opposite her, where she’s sitting cross-legged, still wearing my tank.

“Me?” she asks incredulously. “You’re blaming me for him acting like a toddler who’s had his stuffie taken away?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Do you not realize how not my fault all of this is?”

I stare at her.

“When did you figure that out? Before or after you claimed to be pregnant with Kane’s child?”

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