Page 140 of Chaos Kills

And stupid.

“Many have tried, and none have succeeded,” I emit. “But I’m assuming the daughter card was something you were going to use to your advantage against Emilio.”

“Something like that.”

“So, you never liked Torin?”

“I didn’t want to like Torin,” she retorts lightly. “And now I don’t.”

“That’s a lie.”

“If you experienced what I did, you wouldn’t either.”

“You’re the female version of him, minus the hair. You are two peas in a pod.”

“Almost,” she mutters. “But not quite.”

“And you still want to prove your innocence to him.”

She peers up at me again, and I see a bit of sadness in her eyes. “Consider it my lastfuck youfor the trouble.”

She’s hurt, there’s no mistaking that. And I’m not going to sit here and tell her she doesn’t have a right to be.

She does.

If it wasn’t for Matteo, they’d still be fucking everywhere and staring at each other like a couple of love-sick fucking morons.

“Alright, Little T, your wish is my command. I’ll get that over to you as quickly as I can find it. However, if you’re right, Torin will be broken with grief about it.”

“Boo-hoo,” she deadpans, tearing savagely into the burrito with her teeth as if it’s his head.

“Make him pay, Bay, but don’t let him drown in it.”

I swear to God, she almost chokes before swallowing what she had in her mouth whole then abandons the burrito and quickly removes herself from bed.

“Thanks for stopping by,” she dismisses me, walking over to her dresser in nothing but booty shorts that cup her fucking ass and have me staring for a second too long. “But you should follow your own advice and not enter places that may kill you.”

“I hate using this card, but Ozzy is my free pass.”

Bay slowly glimpses over her shoulder at me and narrows her eyes. “He doesn’t even have a free pass.”

“He’s your husband.”

Pushing her cheek out with her tongue, she spins on her heels and strides toward me. Her hips swaying ever-so-sexily, not even needing to try—Bay Astor just is.

South Shore born and bred.

She’s the equivalent of untouchable as if she were royalty herself.

You don’t touch.

You don’t look.

And you definitely don’t fuck.

“I don’t like that word,” she remarks, stopping until her thigh brushes against my knee. “And do you wanna know why, King of Wharf Bay?”

I can gather several reasons in my head, but I have a feeling she’s going to surprise me. “Why?”

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