Page 88 of Beautiful Exile

Each morning, I woke with my face pressed to his throat and more turned on than ever. Linc would mutter something about needing a cold shower and then disappear. If this studio destroyer didn’t take me out, my blue lady balls would.

Pulling out the paint tray, I filled it with baking soda and then poured a little hydrogen peroxide in. I swirled it together to form the paste my research had told me was good for removing blood fromsurfaces—research I was certain had gotten me on some sort of watch list. I was just glad it hadn’t been human blood.

Trace had sent a sample off for testing and it had come back as pig’s blood. They were now canvassing butchers in the area to get a list of people who had purchased the stuff. The thought made my stomach churn.

They weren’t going to win.

Flipping on my music to some mind-numbing decibel, I got to work. I lost myself in the rage-filled riffs and angry refrains of song after song. It helped. It bled out all I wanted to but wasn’t quite ready for.

I started with the walls and worked in a circle, leaving the paste to sit. Then I got out the industrial trash bags Fallon had picked up for me. I threw away ruined tools and paints and countless other supplies. But when I got to the statue in the center of the room, the real heartbreak set in.

The woman reaching out wasn’t a picture of hope now. She looked as if she’d fought a battle and lost. The metal was covered in blood, pieces of her face were smashed in, and the hand was broken. As I studied her more closely, I saw that it looked like someone had taken a bat or some other solid object to her.Bastard.

My music switched off, and I whirled, automatically assuming a defensive stance. Instead of some hired hitman, I found Trace glaring at me with Anson and Linc behind him. My brother prowled forward, carefully restrained rage coursing through him. “Someone breaks into your studio, leaves what is very clearly a threat, and you think it’s a great time to blast your music with all the doors and windows open?”

“Trace,” Linc warned, his jaw going hard.

“I know she’s been through a lot, but I’m not about to let her be an idiot about her safety,” Trace shot back.

Linc moved then, getting in Trace’s face. “I know you’re tweaked and scared as hell something’s going to happen to her. But youdo notget to speak to her like that. Not ever. But especially not in front of me.”

Trace’s eyes flared in surprise as he took in Linc with new eyes. “This serious?”

“If Vicious wanted to share that information, she would.”

My heart stutter-stepped as a wave of fear hit me hard.Serious.We hadn’t even slept together. As if that would keep Linc out of my goddamned heart. He was like a ninja, sneaking into places without me even noticing he was there.

Trace looked from Linc to me and back again. “Fuck,” he muttered.

His use of the curse word meant he was at the end of his rope. He generally tried to avoid anything that could accidentally get passed on to Keely. He scrubbed his hand over his face, and I noticed the stubble on his jaw was a little thicker now.

That had guilt settling in. Trace had been working around the clock to find something—anything—that would point us toward the culprit. “Sorry, T-money. I figured I’d be safe to rage-clean with someone out front. I’ll be more mindful.”

Trace blinked at me a few times before speaking. “One, did you just call me T-money?”

My lips twitched. “Maybe.”

“Am I a rapper now?”

“I’m fairly certain you are far too much of a rule follower to be a rapper.”

Anson choked on a laugh, knowing I was right.

Trace sent him a scathing look. “Hey. I’ll have you know I drove five miles over the speed limit on my way here.”

“Shit,” Anson muttered. “Someone call his second-in-command. He needs to be relieved of duty.”

“I hate you all,” Trace muttered.

“No, you love us. But we give you gray hair.” I ditched my cleaning gloves and moved into his space, swiping at the tiny flecks of silver at his temples.

“The insults keep pouring in.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist and gave him a tight hug. “Sorry, T-money.”

He hesitated for a moment and then hugged me back, hard. “I just worry about you.”

“I know. And I don’t handle that well.”

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