Page 76 of Thirst Trap
Chapter 39
The Wall
Penny slammed her apartment door shut, tossed her bag on the floor, and went straight for the wall.
The wall of him.
Files stacked knee-high. Screenshots pinned in crooked lines. Red string crisscrossing names, dates, CCTV stills. Logan Creams stared back at her from ten different angles , nightclub cameras, grainy security leaks, a blurry profile in a rain-slick alley.
Her hands shook as she yanked a folder down and dropped it open.
Subject: Logan Creams.
Alias: Fixer. Enforcer. Ghost.
Rumors: disappearances, torture, blood in every shadow.
She’d been gathering it for years. Enough to ruin him. Enough to watch him fall. And tonight, when he grabbed her on the Tower steps and accused her like she was nothing, she wanted to. God, she wanted to throw every scrap into the fire and watch him burn.
Her throat ached. Her eyes stung.
“Why do I still love you?” she whispered to the files.
Because she did. Even now. Even after he pushed her away, crawled back, pushed again. Even after he broke her heart on repeat. She sank into her chair, pressing her palms to her face.
The island had been different. He’d called her. Answered. Let her voice unravel him. Let her control him. And for a stupid, fragile moment, she thought the monster wanted to be tamed.
Her gaze lifted to the photos , his jaw sharp, eyes dead to the camera. She traced the outline of his cheek with her fingertip.
“I could end you,” she whispered. “But I won’t. Not yet.”
Her chest tightened.
“Because even monsters deserve someone who sees them.”
She closed the file gently, stacking it back on the pile. And in that choice , not to publish, not to destroy , Penny realized just how trapped she was.
Not by his secrets.
By her love.
Chapter 40
Drunk Brother
Maddison curled up on the sofa, hair damp from her shower, laptop balanced on her knees. The apartment smelled like cinnamon and sandalwood, Lucas’s scent woven into the walls. The hum of running water upstairs marked him in the shower.
The knock at the door wasn’t polite. It was heavy. Sloppy.
“Lucas?” she called.
No answer.
Barefoot, she crossed the hardwood and opened it.
Logan. Shirt half unbuttoned, whiskey on his breath, eyes red-rimmed.
“Mads.” His voice was gravel, loose. “Your doorman sucks. I just walked in.”
