Page 11 of Tainted Truth

CHAPTER 3

SPENCER

My sexcapades with Zane have left me torn. Obviously, I enjoyed the hell out of it, but shouldn’t I be mad at him? Can I be mad and still want him at the same time? The back and forth is giving me a headache. To be fair, what was I supposed to do when he took my shorts off? My body had a mind of its own and then his tongue . . .

Oh God. His tongue.

Now I’m taking an extra-long shower, and I hope I use all the hot water.

Petty? Yes.

Do I care? No.

I’ve been handcuffed to a bed so they can deal with cold showers. I don’t care that the handcuffs may have been fun in the end. I stand by the principle that you don’t handcuff someone you claim is your girlfriend to your bed without her permission.

Once the water starts to decline from scorching hot to lukewarm, I deem my mission accomplished and towel myself off.

Before Zane left to give me privacy, he said my clothes were in the closet. Opening the doors, I first dig to find my duffle bagand check to make sure I still have Abuela’s urn. As my hand finds the cool ceramic, I’m able to breathe easily again.

Stepping back, I focus on getting dressed, but the plethora of women’s clothing pulls me up short. The clothes I packed are here and displayed on hangers, but there’s more than just my clothes.

There are women’s clothes that are most definitely not mine.

Am I expected to wear the clothes of their previous hook-ups? Are they fucking kidding? Is this another one of those times I think they’re joking but then it turns out they actually aren’t?

If I had matches, I’d set the lot on fire and watch it burn. They want it to be this way? Fine. I can play.

I refuse to touch the other clothes even though I’m tempted when I spot a tank top that looks soft—it would hang on my frame perfectly.

Fuck that perfect material. Not happening.

I reach for a pair of jeans and a simple scoop-neck tee that I know are mine. I don’t needthoseclothes to feel confident.

After a quick swipe of makeup and styling my hair, I’m ready to go.

We craminto Zane’s clown car, and thank God, I’m sans handcuffs. Although Zane made a show of putting them in his pocket, letting me know that he has them on hand if I misbehave.

His words, not mine.

Just seeing the handcuffs had my heartbeat picking up and an ache forming between my legs. But the feeling diminished as soon as Asher came into view.

Asher still isn’t speaking to me even while he’s jammed into the seat next to me. I guess we’re playing the quiet game again. The asshole didn’t even visit me in my prison cell—also known as Zane’s bedroom.

Rio is acting like this is a normal Sunday, as if we do this all the time.

Me? I’m freaking the fuck out.

It’s not like I found the men I’m falling for torturing a couple of guys in their basement.

Was.Wasfalling for.

Gotta keep that straight in my head.

But two of the three did give you the best orgasms of your life . . .

Ugh.

“You’ll love Carmen. Ignore Elena and Mariela when they start in on each other, and Solana may not talk much. My mom may seem like a lot at first, but you’ll get used to it. She likes to make sure we’re taken care of, so we’ll probably be taking half of the leftovers home with us.” You’d think it was his birthday or something with how he’s practically bouncing in his seat.

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