Page 71 of Under the Lies

“That’s the plan.”

Another deep sigh.

Thea doesn’t get it though.

I don’t want to break Sayer as a person. I want to break her in another way. It involves her naked and withering beneath me. I want to break her down sexually, stripping her bare.

“I like her, Noah. I’ve always liked her. She’s not like Harlow. You can’t play the same games you do with her. She’s too sweet for that.”

The more Thea lectures me, the more my teeth grind. By the time I’m able to push out words they’re a rumble in my chest. “I know.”

Thea’s quiet on the other end, no doubt able to feel my anger from across town. “Just—just be careful with her.”

My hand tightens around the steering wheel and I rev the engine around a slow ass fucker, the tires tattooing the asphalt as I weave through traffic. “I’ll treat her how I fucking want, Thea.”

Click.

I end the call and toss the phone in the passenger seat with a growl. I don’t take kindly to others telling me how I should act. Never have. But when it comes from a person who knows me as well as Thea does, who has seen me at my absolute lowest and isn’t afraid to call me out on any bullshit, it sets me off even more.

If I wasn’t a stubborn ass, I’d probably admit it’s because they’re right. But I am, so I won’t. Sayer is mine to deal with and no one else gets a say in shit.

I’ve waited for years to have her. I’m not letting her go now.

“You bastard!”

I’m barely out of the elevator that leads into the foyer of my penthouse when a plate crashes into the wall next to me.

I fix my glare on the five-seven angry blonde standing a few feet in front of me with one of my expensive as shit bottles of wine dangling from her dainty fingers and one of my plates in her other.

Murder blazes in her eyes.

“Honey, I’m home.” My voice deadpan.

“You bastard,” she shouts again, winding up the plate. I lunge forward and grab her wrist before she lets it go.

“So you say.” I keep my voice low, lethal in deliverance, and she shivers against me, the heat in her eyes shifting to another kind. “But what, pray tell, did I do this time?”

“Where are all my clothes?”

“In your room.”

“No.” She grits her teeth. “They are not.”

My lips curl up. “All the pieces that matter are.”

She moves to whack me, but I’m still holding her wrist captive, so she just leans closer into me. I can smell the wine on her skin. Drunk. Sayer’s drunk. An angry one at that.

Why does that appeal to me so much?

“It’s the middle of winter, Noah, and all that’s there are gowns and dresses that barely cover my butt!”

“I know.”

Her face pinches and a soft thud connects with my shin.

My lips curl even higher. “That was cute, Baby Brooks.”

Her lips snarl and it looks like she’s constipated. “It was supposed to hurt.”

---