If I learned to trust him, I would get used to having him around. But no one ever stuck around. I’d lost Brinley, and I couldn’t risk my heart again by loving someone and watching them walk away from me.
She never fucking called, she never found me again.
I still cared, I still wanted to find her and demand to know why she fucking left me, but I had no idea where to start.
And that is the endless circle that I have lived in since the day she left.
Because of all that, Cabe would be a risk. He was in love with a girl that didn’t exist. He wanted me to open up, to let him in, but if he really knew me, then he’d know that I’d never willingly let that happen. I did it once—I let someone love me, I even loved him back, and it bit me in the ass.
Lanier was a different issue entirely. He was my perfect match.
Move for move, steel for steel, power for power, we matched. He was angry, so was I. He wanted out of this, so did I.
He wanted me, I wanted him.
The shitty part was that he didn’t want to want me, and I wished that he did.
If I were honest with myself—which I always tried to be—I already knew that the root of my issue was the fact that the person I felt the strongest for…wanted me the least.
His approval was something that I needed, that Bestia needed. She bowed to him.
I refused.
Now he was out somewhere, and I was here struggling with a jealousy that felt so foreign I wished a doctor could prescribe me an antibiotic.
This feeling was toxic and heavy, the bloodlust lingering in the back of mind. The bond between us felt achy and angry with him gone.
But there were more pressing issues to deal with first. I could deal with Lanier’s moody ass later.
First things first: Buck up, buttercup.
I stepped out of the shower, clean and feeling ready to tackle whatever came next.
I was an Angel. I was also something else.
Own it. Live it.
Figure it out.
I threw on Lanier’s clothes after braiding my wet hair, happy with my choices—I was comfortable and ready for my blunt. I paused at the door, looking at my gun on the end table next to Lanier’s bed. I didn’t think I would need it downstairs, but it felt like a lifeline now that I had it.
Cabe wanted to earn my trust, and something about him called to me, different than the bond, different than his visions of me—this feeling was all my own.
I left the gun in the room, closing the door behind me.
My stomach growled loudly as I headed out of the room and toward the stairs. The sweet scent of marijuana drifted up the hallway, making me smile.
Cabe listened.
I hit the last step with a thud, making sure that my presence was known before heading for the living room.
Quint was lying on the couch, facing the gigantic TV that was mounted to the wall, in a deep green hoodie and black joggers, his feet bare. I focused in on them and fought the urge to laugh—even his feet were sexy.
I couldn’t see his face, just the top of his head, but even still, he looked like a more lethal version of Machine Gun Kelly. Tall and tortured, sexy as hell and just a little past psycho.
His muscles though were entirely unique to him. I could see the hard body beneath his clothes, wishing I knew him well enough to touch him without it being awkward. I wanted to—Bestia wanted me to. In fact, she was pushing me toward curling up on the couch with him wrapped around me, but I held her back, trying not to complicate the situation by adding fuel to our fire.
Bedtime was coming soon, and I had no idea what to expect.
“Your blunt, Minx.” Quint held up a hand, waving the blunt in my general direction without knowing where I was.
“Thanks.” I snagged it and put it to my mouth, walking around the edge of the couch to the loveseat that sat on the opposite side. Sitting down, I pulled the smoke deep into my lungs and held it there for a few seconds before blowing it out in a cloud dense enough to rival Snoop Dogg.
I coughed, relished the burn, and brought it back for another hit.
After the second cloud disappeared, I handed it to Cabe who met my eyes when our fingers touched.
Holy hell.
His blue eyes flared, seeing right through me as he licked his lips and placed the blunt delicately against his bottom one. I felt myself slip, watching the curve of his lips, the swipe of his tongue.
As he closed his mouth around the blunt, I fought for control. He was milking this moment so hard, but I was helpless to his intentions.
I could handle his seduction, any day, anywhere, any time. But what I couldn’t handle was not being able to do anything about it. I sat frozen in his hot gaze, wishing like fuck that I could throw caution to the wind and fuck him right here, right now.
I couldn’t.
I was too fucking scared of him.
Of his lust, his love, his entire presence was enough to send me spiraling. If I wasn’t careful, he would open me up to emotions that I told myself I’d never feel again.
See, loving someone meant a slow death.
Every time they hurt, you hurt. Every argument ate away at your core, every missed call and late text caused panic and fear. Every day, you woke up not knowing if you’d go to bed with them that night or if they’d never come home.
Or maybe that was just me.
Either way, those were real fears, real feelings, harsh truths. I couldn’t do it.
I wouldn’t do it.
“Smoke the blunt and keep the sexy eyes to yourself, Cabe.” I winked, playing the part I needed to play.
“I like this version too, you know,” he replied, his voice like soft silk.
“Oh, you do, do you?” I questioned, gesturing for him to hand me back the blunt. He took two quick hits, one after another, and then handed it to me.
“I do.” Smoke curled out of his nostrils as he closed his mouth and watched me.
“Which version of what?” Quint asked, his eyes hooded with the high.
“The version that bites,” Cabe replied, eyes blazing.
Not caring that Quint was still confused, I tilted my head and smiled, a plan formulating. “Then kiss me.”
Cabe paused, eyes narrowing. “Kiss you?”
“Kiss you?” Quint echoed.
“Sure, why not? If you like this version of me so much, then you can handle kissing me without making a big deal out of it, right?” I knew this would fuck things up, I fucking knew it, but I was helpless against the urge.
I wanted to fuck him over, I wanted him to give up on me, I wanted him to stand. Fucking. Down.
This was the only way to do that.
“Fine.” And then he was up out of his seat and on me.
His lips slammed onto mine, stealing my breath, my soul, my resolve, my fear. He sucked it from me, pulling every ounce of trepidation right out of my reach as I fell face first into the kiss. I moaned, unable to stop myself, and placed my hands on the sides of his face, standing on my tippy toes to get as close as possible.
His lips were fucking pillows, soft and gentle while still demanding my all. I gave as good as I got it, letting my mouth fall open for his tongue to explore. He tasted like the ocean, clean and pure. Home.
He tasted like home.
The kiss changed as I realized it, going from forced and challenge-driven to soft and explorative. Then he was kissing the girl he knew, the girl he spent the last eleven years falling for.
He relaxed with relief as I let the kiss continue. I felt his hands wrap around my waist, locking me in his arms with no hope for escape.