Series: Series by Ker Dukey
Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I inhale air into my starved lungs, a warm sensation trickling into my bones and spreading awareness to the dormant corners of my heart that’s been shrouded in ice for two fucking years. Z’s hand slips into mine, his touch burning like the faint lick of a flame.
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but what the fuck do I say to that? She’s left me speechless. She loves us too. It wasn’t just us feeling that way.
Suddenly, her phone shrills loudly through the room, cutting the tension. I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. “Leave it,” I urge, feeling the fragility of this moment.
Taking a deep breath, she inhales shakily, her eyes glistening as she wipes the tears from her cheeks. “It might be important,” she says, her voice trembling. I reach out and clasp her wrist, trying to keep her from slipping away, but I struggle to respond, and she tugs free and walks away.
This conversation is not over.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alyona
My confession has created an undeniable atmosphere, yet I stand by my words without regret. They needed to hear the truth—to understand that it broke me just as much as it did them when I left. This morning in the shower was nothing short of extraordinary, perhaps the most intense experience I’ve ever had, and I didn’t actively partake in it. However, the sensations and emotions it evoked only deepened my heartache.
“It’s just pleasure, Alyona,” Z had said flippantly, but it’s never been that straightforward for me. They perceive pleasure differently. For them, sharing their bodies is a simple release, a fleeting moment of elation devoid of emotional ties. Viktor is the same way, treating intimacy like a friendly offering, a comforting gesture, akin to offering me a steaming cup of soup when I’m feeling under the weather.
But I love these men and crossing that line terrifies me—I nearly did cross it this morning in a moment of weakness. Fuck, I wanted to. But if they were to continue their lives as if it meant nothing afterwards, it would shatter the carefully constructed façade I’ve put in place. I’m desperately trying to maintain the illusion that everything is okay—that living with them, sharing the same bed, and parenting Roza doesn’t feel excruciating when I don’t get the rest with them. That when they leave this house, the gut punch of what they’re doing and who they could be doing it with, steals my breath and leaves me in a chokehold.
It feels utterly pathetic.
I know they don’t owe me anything, and I have no claim over their hearts. Yet, everything we’ve been through in this brief time since they’ve reentered my life only amplifies the yearning that lived in my chest the entire two years, we were apart. It’s only because of Roza that I can put one foot in front of the other.
My phone begins ringing again after I missed the call the first time. I grab it hesitantly when I see that it's an unknown caller. Adam has been calling every day and I’ve been hanging up.
"Hello?"
"Miss Dior, it's Detective Scott." I mouth his name to Z and Rodion as they walk into the kitchen. Taking the phone from me, Z hits the loudspeaker button, and places the phone on the counter. "I've tried coming to the house, but you don't seem to be home when I stop by."
"I'm staying with some friends at the moment. It's difficult being there without Jeremiah," I say, shrugging as the twins give me a questioning look. The lie comes easily.
"Understandably. I wanted to inform you that we have notified the next of kin, but I also wanted to make sure you knew that we received confirmation that the remains found in the crashed car were those of Jeremiah Cunningham. And we’re ruling the incident a suicide. If you need any support at this time, I can offer you a few avenues."
It worked.
Thank God.
"I appreciate you letting me know, but I’m fine. Like I said, I'm staying with friends," I reply meekly, ignoring the tensing of both Rodion’s and Z’s jaw muscles at the word “friends.”
They are so much more than “friends.”
They’re everything to me.
"Regarding the Jane Doe discovered in Adam Cunningham's car,” Detective Scott continues on, “we are still working on identifying her. It would be helpful if I could speak with you in person to ask a few more questions."
“I told you everything I know,” I say, my eyes widening at the twins.
“Sometimes it’s the smallest details that can prove most useful,” Detective Scott insists. “If you could come down to the station, that would be ever so helpful.”
“I really don’t have any information that could help you,” I respond, a prickle of apprehension runs up my spine.
He’s fishing and I’m not falling for the bait.
“If you can let me know where you’re staying, perhaps I could pay you a visit.” His tone is trying to remain persuasive, but it’s edged with impatience.