Page 55 of Boy of Ruin
I step around him, headed to the door.
When I reach it, I stop. Without looking back, I say, “If that heart of yours keeps fucking growing, we’ll have to get rid of Ria sooner, rather than later.” Without another word, I walk out, steeling myself to break Sid Rain’s heart.
The wind blows through my hair from the warm morning, as me and Jeremiah sit at a red light. He came to get me from the backyard where I sat by the pool, my feet in the water as the sun tracked upward across the sky.
We skipped training this morning, and he said he wanted to take me on a trip. Behind us, following in his Mercedes SUV, is Nicolas, with Ria in his passenger seat. Jeremiah seemed surprised they were coming. A little hostile about it. But Ria was excited, no doubt craving time away from the fucking mansion.
I see the sadness in her eyes though, no matter what she might have found with Nicolas. She wants her family.
At least she’s got one worth wanting.
I glance over at Jeremiah, see the fit of his charcoal gray dress shirt complimenting his tan skin. I take in his sharp jawline, clean shaven and…
No.
I force those thoughts from my mind.
He refuses to tell me where we’re going, but these drives seem to be the only time we’re able to be around each other without our anger and sexual tension ruining the fucking moments.
But with Jeremiah’s hand on the gear shift, one clenched tight around the steering wheel, his veins visible beneath his black watch, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, I’m starting to rethink that sexual tension thing.
I like sex.
I always have.
Maybe that’s a result of my past. Perhaps I’m a product of men like Reverend Wilson. Men who touched me and licked me and fucked me before I was able to say yes or no or scream or cry.
It doesn’t matter.
I’ve long accepted that sex is a balm for me. A way to disappear. To tamper down on all those pesky fucking emotions that I want to avoid.
Since Jeremiah had me against the wall at that club, telling me a truth he’d kept from me for far too long, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. About him. Like that. Him and Lucifer are the sexiest men I’ve ever seen in my life.
Nothing has changed about that.
Still, I force myself to look straight ahead. To stare at the blazing sun as Jeremiah turns right, onto the highway, Nicolas following us.
Jeremiah looks distracted. He’s barely glanced at me once, and as Comedown by Bush plays in the AMG, he’s mouthing the words without actually singing.
Jeremiah does everything deliberately.
But this seems…like an absentminded type of thing.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, trying to keep it casual as he switches lanes, over to the fast lane, of course.
He stops singing under his breath, glances over at me, his pale green eyes meeting mine for a second, but then his eyes are back on the road.
We trail to a slow crawl, traffic jammed up from the morning commute I guess.
“Good talk,” I mutter when it becomes clear he isn’t going to answer me. I pick at a thread on my distressed jeans, a few sizes too big to accommodate my bump, my index finger running over the denim, then my skin. I’m still pale, but I’ve gained some color back in the four weeks I’ve been away from the fucking cult.
In the four weeks I’ve been with this moody boy behind the wheel. Moody, but I’m pretty sure he’d do anything in the world for me, so I try not to hold it against him.
“Smart ass,” he snarls back without looking at me as we coast along in traffic, red taillights as far as we can see. But his lips are pulling into a reluctant smile and I try to bite back my own, my hand turning into a fist on my thigh.
“You take me out to sit in traffic? This our trip? Very romantic,” I tell him, still looking dead ahead.
A beat of silence, then he yanks the wheel.
