Page 43 of Bear

“I know, honey. I know.”

He sobs into the mouthpiece, and normally, I’m not one to tolerate this kind of bullshit. If he were caught by the Tennessee charter, he’d be dead already, but I can’t help but feel bad for the poor bastard. It can’t be easy knowing you’ve disappointed Jupiter Jones. “I’m sorry, sis. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“Just don’t do anything else stupid, okay? Promise me you’ll stay put and wait for the Kings to sort this out.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I got plans, sis. I’m gonna fix this.”

“Bobby Ray, don’t you dare. Your hairbrained plans are what got us into this mess in the first place. Your little friends came after me tonight.”

“No,” he says in disbelief. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I delt with it. I’m safe. You are, too, with the Kings. Just make sure it stays that way. Keep your goddamn mouth shut unless Chaos asks you a question, and for the love of all things holy, please, please don’t do anything to make them want to shoot you.”

“I love you, Jupiter.” His voice turns softer. “I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

“I know. I love you too, dumbass. Just be good.”

“Time’s up,” Saint says. I take the phone from Jupiter and turn off the speaker so she won’t hear whatever my brother says next. “See you bright and early for my—”

“Nice try, asshole. I’m not doing shit for you.”

“What the fuck?” Saint asks.

I end the call and toss my phone on the couch. Jupiter swigs whiskey straight from the bottle. A lock of her lavender hair shivers as her body trembles. The pale strands are tinged with red, and there’s a little bit of dead guy in it still. “Maybe you should take a shower.”

“Why?”

“Because you have biker in your hair.”

Her mouth drops open and she raises a hand as if to feel it.

I shake my head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She jumps off the couch and heads across the room to the tiny bathroom. It’s blocked off by a low, wooden partition that still lets me see everything from the couch.

“I swear I won’t look.”

“Like I believe that,” she shoots back. But as she takes off her clothes, she looks slowly over her shoulder, those gorgeous blue eyes meeting mine. “I know how you like to watch,” she says, all sultry like, and my blood surges right to my dick. It takes everything I have in me not to bolt across the room and fuck her up against the shower wall, but she’s been through some shit tonight. She’s vulnerable—even if she don’t fucking know it yet—and when I bury myself inside her again, I want her focused solely on me and my big cock filling her up, and not on some dead guy on her shop floor with his head caved in. So I lean back against the couch, and like a fucking saint, all I do is watch.

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