Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He squints through the smoke. “He’s going to kill you.”
I widen my eyes. “He can try, but I’m better at it than he is.”
Thirty minutes slip by. The music climbs higher, bodies pressing over each other. I’m done pretending I’ve got boundaries, because I fucking don’t. Not with him, not ever with him.
Shit. How drunk am I?
A bottle lands in my hand. Someone tugs me toward the stairs, and I grin, following. Burning my own life down feels good as long as his goes up with it.
At some point between my fourth bottle of champagne and losing count, I end up on Asher’s bed with three strangers. Silk shifts under my feet as I move with the music.
Taking a deep drag, I let the weed crackle between my lips, watching smoke wind toward the ceiling as my phone keeps flaring beside me.
A heavy thud shakes the room, and Sinead fills the doorway.
“You’re back.” I throw my arms up like a kid who just got candy. I can’t tell if I’m drunk on alcohol, high on weed, or snorting lines of that chaos…
“Ah.” Their brows dip, shoulders tight as they step into the room.
“Or are you a ghost? A figment of my fucked-up imagination?” I sway with the music and giggle.
Fucking. Giggle.
Sinead’s eyes shift past me before snapping back. They’re closer now, standing right beside the bed.
“No, but you might be.” Their hand locks around my arm, pulling me up.
I wriggle free and wag a finger. “Nah uh. You go tell your boss that he wanted to marry me.” I back toward the pillows. “So he gets to keep me.”
One of the men behind me hooks an arm around my waist, hauling me back onto the mattress before covering me with his body. Another catches my wrists and pins them above my head, grinning as if he’s just claimed a prize.
Mmm. Maybe this is what I should’ve been doing all along…orgies with men ten years younger.
My phone lights up again.
I shove the man off and reach for it. Instagram opens to a photo of me taking body shots from a guy’s chest.
First comment: Whatever he did we’re on her side.
Second: It could have been cocaine. You do you, boo.
Third: I liked her better when she didn’t talk.
I snap a screenshot, sending it to the group chat with three laughing emojis. The room sways as I sink farther into the bed, silk gathering beneath my thighs.
One man traces slow circles over my hip while another leans on his elbow, watching the smoke curl upward. The third scrolls through his phone, laughing against my ear.
“Ivy!” Punk rushes in gasping, one hand on the frame. She glances from Sinead to the mess sprawled across the bed. “We have a problem.”
The mess being me.
I lift my head, squinting at her. “What kind of problem?”
Everything’s too heavy, and I drop back down onto the pillow.
She steps toward me. “The husband kind!”
The door bursts inward with a splintering crack, revealing Asher in the doorway, shirtless and streaked with blood.
My lips curve upward into a smirk. Jackpot—he’s fucking pissed.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
ASHER
I wipe blood from my mouth, sneering at my fucking wife. Beating the piece of shit who let her take tequila off him does jack shit to ease the rage burning through me.
She gives a short laugh, lifting her chin.
My jaw tightens. “You think this is funny, Venom?”
Nothing outside of her exists in this moment, and I almost trip when I notice what she’s wearing.
Black lace clings to her tits, leaving nothing to the imagination. That paired with underwear so sheer I see the shadow of what’s mine beneath it, turns my vision fucking red.
Here she is, lounging in a bed like a queen holding court, surrounded by men who have no idea how close they are to dying.
She props herself on her elbows. “You look like you murdered someone.” Her gaze drags down my chest. “Did you murder someone, husband?”
I step over the threshold, glass crunching beneath my boots. “Not yet.”
My lip twitches. “But the night’s still young.”
One of the idiots lifts his hands and inches off the mattress. “Hey, man, I’m…”
I move before he finishes.
My fist closes around his collar, hauling him off the mattress. His feet catch and skid across the concrete as I drag him toward the glass doors.
His mouth opens on a weak plea, swallowed by the static screaming in my ears.
Glass explodes when his body goes through it, rolling twice, before he stays down with a groan, clutching his stomach.
I turn back to the bed. Ivy hasn’t moved. Those green eyes find me through a veil of smoke curling around her, the joint burning down to a roach.
Amusement crawls across her face. “Feel better?”
My mouth pulls to one side as I close the distance. “Not even close.”
The other two scramble off the mattress, tripping into each other on their way out.