Page 78 of Chaos Kills

His blue eyes lock on me, and he promptly closes the door with a soft click but remains close by it. My eyes flick down to black tattoos that I can’t make out from here, watching his fingers curl and extend in tandem. As if he’s contemplating whether to move deeper into my room or not.

If he’s welcome in here or not.

This is my sanctuary, and he’s in it, cloaking it with his standoffish vibes and lack of commentary.

It doesn’t bother me much anymore. I don’t need to know anything from him. It’s not like he’d tell me if he knew Torin’s next move.

However, I need to know the nature of this surprise visit so I can decide if I’m staying in it or not.

“Well?” I press. “Out with it.”

He tightens his fingers into fists, as though it’s giving him power to speak when he says, “What did he do?”

He.

Torin.

Huh.

To rat or not to rat, that is the question.

Though, I’ve never been one. If I tell Ozzy, he might run off to Levi, and I’ve decided against the idea. There’s no point in causing more planning or bullshit when all Levi and I have to do is sneak out of here and leave.

“Who?” I ask nonchalantly, rising to my feet and reaching for my sweatshirt at the end of the bed.

“Torin.”

I lift my shoulders. “Noth—” Ozzy glowers at me when I turn back to him and, I mean, really glowers.

Holy fuck.

There’s scorching heat behind those eyes, and while I know—or thought I did—how Torin and Reeve would react.

This guy…not so much.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I vouch simply, hoping my voice doesn’t crack. “We’re not in a good place.”

Ozzy vacantly looks at me some more, and I attempt not to fidget under his scrutiny.

“Can I get something to eat now?”

He moves from the door, and I slowly push myself forward. Midway, I smell frankincense and nicotine. His messy black hair drapes over most of his right eye, almost touching his full lips. It only creates a trail for me to notice the black ink on his neck and the picture-perfect edge of his jawline.

He’s beautiful.

Like a broken, hopeless beauty where he doesn’t know where he’s going, just taking it day by day and fighting the overcast thoughts in his head.

Ozzy appears tortured.

Except, I can’t help but wonder what Emilio had to do or threaten him with to get him to stand in my bedroom with me as my husband.

“Are you okay?” His brow knits slightly at my question, but he’s kind enough to give me a nod after a few seconds. “Are you going to come eat?”

He rocks his head back and forth, then lifts his chin.

“I want you to.”

He shifts his weight, all black jeans and tee, simple yet complicated underneath. I get the sense that he wants to ask me something else but doesn’t. He wants to inquire more aboutwhat happened yesterday at dinner and why he had to change spots with me.

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