my stomach in my feet.
Nothing is where it should be, not now that he knows I’ve been up to something.
Reaching out, he tangles his fingertip with the ends of my hair and tugs. Not hard, but enough that I flinch at the small movement, my throat struggling to swallow around a jackhammer pulse.
“I’ve been waiting for you to admit you were over there on your own, but fuck if I’m not that patient.”
Ezra grins, and it’s one of those looks that means he’s not only planned how he intends to brutally murder you, but has also picked out a nice location to bury your body.
Many people have claimed to be scared shitless of this man, and I’ve never understood it.
Until now.
Ezra is looking at me like I’m a stranger. There’s distance between us now, this cold, lonely place where I’ve never kissed his bruises and he never asked me to be his alone.
The past six weeks have done nothing but dig this chasm, hopelessly burying us both. He’s known about William and me this entire time, and rather than saying anything he’s struck out at me with angry words and painful insults.
He’s hurt me because my silence was hurting him.
“I’m not sure this is the best place to discuss it. Gabriel is asleep in the living room and might wake up-“
His thumb brushes the line of my jaw, the gentleness of that touch at odds with the fury in his eyes.
“He’s had enough to drink that he’ll sleep through anything at this point.”
I almost wish that wasn’t the case. Gabriel will never be my friend, but he would step between us if Ezra crossed the line.
When Ezra ducks his head and traps my eyes with his, I can’t help the shiver that courses through my body.
He’s so close. Too close. His heat mingling with mine until a bead of sweat rolls down my temple.
I can smell the whiskey on his breath, and I worry that he might not have complete control of his thoughts and actions.
Much like how it feels around Damon, Ezra’s energy is chaos around me, a cold bite of wind, a frenetic pulse of violence that stings and sparks like electricity against my skin.
I don’t fight when his hands lock over my waist and he lifts me to the counter, my knees parting to accommodate him as he presses even closer.
If anything, I’d prefer this conversation be had over the phone, with me in a different country and an entire ocean between us.
“Tell me,” he says with a soft voice that terrifies me.
I can’t tell him.
Not the truth anyway.
Because if I say something to him, I’m in a world of shit with someone else.
Why did I answer that fucking text?
Here I am again.
Lying.
But only because I have no choice.
“I wanted to know the truth. And since you weren’t giving it to me, I decided to try and find out on my own.”
His shoulders shake with a bark of incredulous laughter, his mouth stretching into a grin so wide that the dimple in his cheek indents.
It’s a lie, that dimple. It says boy next door when, in reality, Ezra is a force all on his own.
Not safe.
Not ordinary.
Not someone I want between my legs right now. And yet the only person I want there.
I’m back to questioning my love of toxic men.
Not men.
Man.
One.
Him.
Fingers tangling in my hair again, Ezra asks, “What did he tell you?”
My voice comes out on a weak croak. “Nothing.”
A flick of his dark lashes as he glances up at me.
“Why?”
That I can answer truthfully. “Probably because he was beat to shit.”
“Wait. What?”
Confusion rolls across his expression, but that doesn’t stop one of his palms from stroking up my thigh, his thumb sweeping out when he reaches the apex of my legs, a tease along the edge of my panties.
It takes effort to speak around how dizzy that tease makes me.
“His face was bruised. Lip busted. Someone beat the crap out of him. I thought it was you. Or Damon.”
Silently praying that Ezra has had enough to drink that he’ll forget this conversation in the morning, I close my eyes when he leans down to kiss a trail up to where his hand rests on my upper thigh.
I need to stop him, need to toss it in his face that he’s done with me. But he’s not exactly in the mood to be denied.
His hand clamps down, fingers a bruising grip, my body turning that pain into wet heat between my legs.
“Wasn’t me,” he whispers