Page 119 of Nest of Thieves
“Go on,” he whispers, voice like jagged glass.
“No. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He nods and shoves me away. “Get your head together, brother. Your past is going to ruin your present.”
“Oh, and what about you? Your past hasn’t come to haunt you lately?”
“It has”—he retrieves his knife from where it’s embedded on my wall—“but I was honest with Jo.”
My mouth drops open. “You told her?”
“Of course, I did.”
He never talks about what his father did.
“What did she say?”
A wicked smile cuts across his face. “That they all deserved to die.”
“They did,” I confirm.
He tosses the knife into the air and catches it by the hilt. “Stop being a little bitch and fix the problem you created.”
“I’ll fix it,” I swear, grabbing my phone and reviewing the cameras. Jo is sitting on her bed, texting whoever she texts. Her sister, most likely, based on her files. I got the impression she didn’t like her mom much. Mac leaves, and I collapse onto the bed, dropping the device and burying my fingers into my hair and pulling at it.
Why am I so fucked-up?
It shouldn’t be terrifying to be with someone. It should feel good, right? All I’ve ever wanted is to be loved, and here I am, so close to getting just that and I shut down? I scrub a hand over my face, glancing at the camera feed. Jo is still on her bed, any trace of anger gone as far as I can tell. The only positive is that I didn’t make her cry...but her sudden calm worries me.
What’s she going to do?
Better yet, what will Mac do if she won’t forgive me?
thirty
JO
Lark hasn’t talked to me for three days. Every hour that passes without talking to him only pisses me off and hurts my ego. I had thought I’d found a group of alphas who could accept me as I am, but is this Lark’s way of telling me he doesn’t accept me? Will Vette and Mac follow suit?
I drop my head against the wall and clench my hands, hating how much my confidence is shaken by what happened with Lark. I don’t even really understand. We were having a damn good time. He was more than happy to fuck me on the bed, and I was delighted to let him call me names, because in the moment, it didn’t feel wrong. Now? Now that he’s refusing to talk to me, I feel dirty.
My door opens and Vette tosses boxing gloves at my feet. I eye the bedside clock and then give him a pointed look. It’s almost one in the morning.
“Like that’s stopped us before. Come on, mami. I can smell your anger from my bedroom.”
“Oh,” I say, wrinkling my nose. I stopped taking my scent suppressors days ago but hadn’t really considered that would mean my emotions would be screaming at the guys.
If Vette can tell I’m mad, why hasn’t Lark come to talk to me?
Asshole.
I get mad all over and snatch the boxing gloves from the floor. Vette nods, and we head to the gym. I turn on the light while Vette puts on rock music for us. Screwing all courtesy, he cranks it up loud enough I have to cover my ears.
“Vette!”
He turns it down to a reasonable level and gives me a devious smirk. I narrow my eyes. Vette gestures to my gloves and grabs a pair of focus mitts, and I slip them on, not even needing him to tell me what he wants. Over the past week or so, I’ve fallen into a weird sort of sync with each of the guys. I can anticipate their words and thoughts and generally be right. It helps that we all view the world through the same lens. We’re all criminals, and none of us have any intent on changing that.
Meeting in the middle of the mat, we both fall into the proper stance. My skills are a far cry from these guys, but I know how to throw a few punches.
