Page 82 of They Are Mine

Chocolate. Vanilla. Strawberry.

And red velvet.

Yes. He’ll love that.

I need to know his favorite.

The lights flick on inside, but his curtains stay closed.

A small irritation pricks at me.

I’m about to pull away when she pulls in.

I freeze.

Tammy.

What the actual fuck.

I warned her.

My nails dig into the steering wheel as she flounces out of her car, her little too-tight jeans hugging an ass Orion has already tossed aside.

She doesn’t get to come back.

But he lets her in.

My vision blurs.

My pulse pounds in my skull.

This isn’t happening.

This is not happening.

I force myself to breathe, to count backward from ten, to unclench my fingers before I crush the steering wheel in my grip.

Fine.

Fine.

She wants to play this game?

I leave, but not to go home.

Home is for good girls. Sweet girls. Patient girls.

But right now?

I am not feeling patient. Nor sweet.

So I go to her place instead.

The street is quiet.

A shitty neighborhood, barely lit, the kind where people mind their own business, where you can scream and the only thing your neighbor will do is turn up the TV.

I pick the lock in seconds.

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