Snorting, I shake my head. “Fine,” I grumble, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “I need to talk to Rowan anyway.” I glance at Emma once more before crossing the room and heading to the basement.
When I find him, Rowan is cleaning his ink in one of the back rooms.
“How’s everything going upstairs?” he asks, applying the ointment to the half-sleeve tattoo.
I study the amazing design Karl created. The primarily grayscale piece masterfully displays an intricate pattern, creating the illusion of smoke before it morphs into the profile of the woman we love. Haunting silver eyes stare a hole through your soul as embers fall, illuminating a hand partially covered with half a lioness-the jaw drops, exposing razor-sharp teeth as she roars. The symbolism is not lost on me.
“Has she seen it yet?” I probe, earning me his pointed glare.
“Has she seen yours?” Rowan fires back.
Absentmindedly, I reach for my left rib. It’s not time to reveal mine.
“Point taken.”
We each got personalized tattoos last week when
Allinah and her team from Hel’s Ink came. Liam had to be sedated. He’s getting better, but it’s still the only way he can endure being touched.
“I’m sure we’ll all reveal them to her soon enough.” He pauses, pumping hand soap into his palm. “I don’t want her to think it’s a ploy for her to forgive me. I won’t tell her until we’ve talked.”
I nod. I’ve never seen Rowan like this with anyone. Not even his mother, who is the only other person he’s not a complete dick to.
“You know she’ll forgive you, right?” I have to ask him.
“I’m not as sure about that as you all seem to be.”
Sighing, I rub the back of my neck. Rowan has been the hardest on himself for not seeing Samantha for the threat she is. She was supposed to be a gnat that would disappear once we made our final pick. He underestimated her- we all did. A mistake we’ll never repeat.
“Rowan. She’s read the journal. I’m sure she understands why.”
“Do you know the fucked up part of this?” Rowan growls, whipping around to face me-his chest heaving as his nostrils flare. “I’m not letting her go. Even if she never forgives me. Even when I told her I would-I wouldn’t-
I couldn’t. There isn’t a fiber of my being or an alternative universe where Emma Bradford isn’t mine.
She’s my forever girl.”
He pulls up the cameras. An image of Emma still talking with Shay appears on the screen mounted to the jet-black wall. I stand, watching the woman who restarted my heart, pushing me to deal with my demons, from across the room, laughing with Shay.
My gaze flits toward his before returning to Emma. “She’s our missing link,” I profess as he stands beside me.
“No,” Rowan exclaims, causing my attention to snap in his direction. He sighs, turning to walk away.
I’m preparing to argue when he stops in the doorway, peering over his shoulder, and declares, “She’s the gold filling our broken pieces, reminding us that there is beauty in our damaged parts.” Then, he exits the room, leaving me with the weight of his words.
EMMA
“Please tell me you have a copy of the video of Samantha flicking the bean with Mr. Ed’s nut?” Shay pleads.
My lip curls at the mention of Samantha’s name. “Absolutely not. I have no interest in seeing that cunt. Literally.”
Shay groans. “All traces of that video have been scrubbed. There isn’t a site you can find it on. Even the articles about it have disappeared.”
I’m not one for revenge porn, but I can’t say I was upset about Liam leaking it. Samantha gloated that night, taunting me with the news she fucked both of my guys. My jaw tenses at the reminder. It’s what made seeing her on top of Karl harder.
“That’s unfortunate but not surprising. Her slimeball husband is running for president. I can’t imagine having your wife’s face plastered all over the media while they accuse her of bestiality makes for a great campaign ad,” I grumble.
We’ve been sitting in the living room while the guys handle the movers. Rowan caught me trying to carry a box of my books upstairs. After taking it away from me, he told me in no uncertain terms that I’d be punished if they found out I was lifting anything heavy. Then he personally escorted me in here, kissed my forehead, and headed for the basement. That was almost two hours ago.
Shay’s been here with me for the last forty-five minutes, and outside of Sebastian’s visit, I haven’t seen any of the guys. I think back to our earlier conversation, and she’s right. I am excited to stay here. I’ve missed them. Seeing them around campus and being on the receiving end of their icy behavior cracked a part of me. I know it will take time to heal.
“Presidential race or not, I wouldn’t want anyone to believe I had a fetish for having sex with animals,” Shay quips, pulling me from my thoughts. Then she stands, absentmindedly brushing the invisible dust from her plum-colored pants before focusing on me. “I’m going to head upstairs and check on how the movers are doing before I head out to visit my family. Are you coming?”
Shaking my head, I lay back. “Nope,” I state, popping the ‘p.’ “This couch is nirvana, and I don’t plan on ever leaving.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Shay chuckles. We chat for another few minutes, then she turns and exits the room.
Exhaling, I try to expel all the bullshit, allowing the stillness to settle me. So much is changing in such a short amount of time. I remember moving here and thinking this was the fresh start my family needed. That notion lasted for the five-minute drive to Calloway Academy.
I snort, picturing Rowan, my broody asshole, attempting to intimidate me when he carried me out of the lunch room. My mood quickly shifts. Fall break ends in three days, which means having to see the sewer rat and not punching her.
“What has your face frowning so hard?”
My eyes snap open to see Karl leaning on the bluish-gray wall.
“I’m trying to remind myself I can’t stab your ex-fianc?e,” I mutter, knowing I’m being a brat. The entire engagement was a farce. None of them wanted her. However, that doesn’t change the hurt that reverberated through me each time they chose her over me.
Quirking a brow, Karl moves away from the wall and lifts his shirt, displaying two different chestnut-brown leather knife holsters. “Which one do you want? We can live out my Mickey and Mallory Knox fantasies,” he gleams. Any other time, the beautifully crafted blades would mesmerize me. This time, it’s the sliver of his ink-covered skin enthralling me. More specifically, my name scrawled across his throat.
“When did you. . .” I point to his neck. “Get this?” I murmur, awe-struck by its beauty. Intricately designed angel wings bracket my name written in some form of calligraphy.
“I need you with me always,” he replies. “Plus, it’s a great annoying chick repellent.”
Snorting, I retort, “I don’t know. Some may see it as a challenge.”
Then he raises his shirt further, exposing even more of his chiseled abs as he reveals another knife. “Not if they want to live.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.