“She called me,” Preston says. “Clearly, she’s not interested in going with you.”
“You mistake me for someone who cares about her interests.”
“As her fiancé, don’t you think you should?”
Slowly, Jonas turns his head, fixing his stoic look on Preston. “I care about what’s best for her. Your concern for my fiancée is noted, and not appreciated.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Jonas doesn’t answer. Just returns his focus to me, rolling his shoulders. “In the car, Lenny.”
Still, my natural temperament tells me to resist. Straightening my spine, I cross my arms over my chest and don’t move.
“Oh, bloody hell.” Jonas takes a step forward, and a flash of what transpired earlier stamps my vision, clouding my judgment.
The feel of his body against mine, of him holding me captive with that look in his eyes like he wanted to strip me bare and fuck me against the vehicle.
Then, the immediate bucket of cold water when he suggested I’d taken advantage, and every memory that came rushing back with the claim.
Dirty, rough hands stroking where they don’t belong, with no regard to my pleasure. Hands interested only in taking, in getting to experience Lenny Primrose at her most vulnerable.
Preston’s whiskey breath mixing with mine, equally as saturated, although I swear I didn’t have that much to drink.
“Either get in the car, or I’ll put you in myself.”
My eyes narrow. “You can try.”
His lips curve, the lights from behind him making the gesture seem a million times more sinister. “Think you can outrun me again? Consider it carefully. It’s not likely I’ll be bested twice, love.”
Preston moves forward, partially putting himself between Jonas and me, and a laugh burns in my throat.
Jonas stays still for a while, but eventually shoves his hands into his pockets and backs up. “Have it your way.”
With a one-fingered salute, he turns and walks to the driver’s side, getting into the car and slamming the door shut.
Clearing his throat, Preston looks at me. “Come on, bug. Let’s go.”
When he reaches for my hand, I recoil. Disgust flares in my stomach, tangling in my internal organs—with myself and him, for a multitude of reasons.
But I refuse to continue down a path of self-destruction by going with Preston.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snap, shoving him away when he tries again. Anger surges through my chest, and tears sting my eyes, but I clench my jaw to keep them at bay.
He blinks. Drops his hand. And for the first time in months, the first time since he hurt me and let others join in, he does something to acknowledge the truth.
He laughs.
It’s low and throaty, probably not audible to Jonas in the car, but it slaps me across the face regardless. Steals the air from my lungs, making me feel like I’m drowning all over again.
“Do you really think you can stop me? Nothing’s changed, except now you have a rabid guard dog. But you’re still mine, and if I want to touch you, I will.”
“Put your hands on me and I will bite them off.”
Another laugh, and this time he leans in, turning so Jonas can’t see him cup my jaw. I push him away, but his hand returns, fingers digging into my cheek.
“God, I miss your fire. Sure made holding you down while my friends made you their bitch a lot more fun.” Sighing, he releases me. “Mark my fucking words, you stupid slut. I am not letting you go.”
Bile teases the back of my throat as he walks away, getting into his truck and taking off. I cradle my stomach as I make my way to Jonas, yanking the door open and hiking my leg up over the threshold.
He takes off as soon as I’ve cleared the vehicle, before I’ve even closed myself fully inside. As I buckle, I stare at his knuckles, bleached white as he grips the steering wheel, whipping the Range Rover in a U-turn and heading away from Preston and town.
We don’t turn down the road to the beach house, though, instead continuing on when it forks and heading even deeper to the other side of the island. My cheeks are warm, hot with embarrassment, and the silence doesn’t help.
“I didn’t call him, you know.”
Jonas doesn’t look over at me or acknowledge my words. His tongue runs over his bottom lip, and I wonder how bad the cut is there, considering the small one on my forehead.
My eyes roll over his face, then up around the back of his head, and my heart sinks further into my body, like an anchor falling to the ocean floor.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but eventually he pulls up to an iron gate with a huge, Gothic-style house behind it. One I’ve only seen in pictures before.
With a frown, I glance at the Asphodel and back, my brows creasing in the middle.
Shutting off the ignition, Jonas steels me with a heavy, hooded gaze that I feel down to my toes. It burns so hot as it sears through me that it leaves me feeling cold, eliminating the oxygen from my body.
“The next time I find you alone with him,” Jonas rumbles, “he’s dead.”
26
“A babysitter? Are you serious?”
Elena juts her hip out to the side, adjusting the hold she has on her infant daughter, Noelle. The baby tugs at the ends of her mother’s hair, babbling softly before sucking on her fist.
Crossing his ankles, Kal leans back in his leather armchair, swirling the ice around in his tumbler. His four-year-old, Quincy, is snuggled into his side and sound asleep, her dark curls plastered to her head with sweat.
“You’ll have to excuse my wife,” he says, taking a drink. “She’s very passionate about being watched.”
Setting my old-fashioned aside, I drop my face into my hands and groan. “I feel like I’m way out of my element here.”
“Your element is murder for hire. Of course, you’re not comfortable supporting your fiancée,” Elena points out, walking over to her husband. She snatches the glass from his hand and deposits their baby in the free space on his lap, who immediately reaches for his face.
“I’m trying to support her, but she won’t tell me what’s going on. All I know is she has issues with her parents, and she hates her ex.”
“Preston Covington is an asshole.” Elena downs the rest of Kal’s alcohol, leaning against the stone fireplace.
Most of the Asphodel has been changed over the years, renovated to reflect a residence rather than the hotel it used to be, but certain aspects like the massive fireplace and the ancient Greek art hanging on the walls remain the same.
Since his marriage and subsequent children, the bloke’s put a bit more effort into making it homey, adding colorful throw pillows and toys neatly lining the corners of almost every room. I find it endlessly entertaining based on how staunchly against putting down roots he once was.
The man used to be worse about keeping personal effects than me, yet now there’s a family photo of them posing with puppies at the county fair sitting on the mantel.
Funny how everything changes so swiftly when you’re in love.
“How do you know Preston?” I ask, pausing to retrieve my phone from my pocket. A message from Alistair sits on the lock screen, right below one from Lenny, whom I haven’t spoken to in the days since the incident.