name again, because she hasn’t seen me. She’s running a hand through her long blond hair, wearing nothing but short shorts and a hot pink bra, barely containing her tits.
I feel sick.
“Lucifer? I’ve been waiting for—” She stops short as she flicks on the light at the top of the stairs, and her eyes find mine.
I clench my fingers around the railing of the stairs.
Her blue eyes are wide, her lips parted, and I take in the curves of her body, full and round and better than mine.
I see her bare feet, golden skin, her nipples hard beneath the thin fabric of her bra.
Her shorts are more like underwear.
And she came from the direction of my bedroom.
I take a step back, letting go of the bannister.
It was one thing for him to check on Julie with her. To ride in a car with her. But here? At my fucking house?
I’m still in my bare feet, and the cold floor is the only thing I really feel as I take another step backward, toward the door. I need to go.
I have to run.
I’m going to vomit.
I can get in the truck. Maybe Maverick left the keys. I can drive me and J out of here, but I don’t want to stay in this house a second longer. I already didn’t want to. I didn’t want to think about why I left. What happened after Lucifer went with his brothers to Noctem.
I didn’t want to think about the danger our baby is in, even now.
But at this moment, there are more visceral things I don’t want to think about. Like Ophelia fucking my husband. In my house. Our bed.
Her hand is on the bannister at the top as she glares down at me, her expression morphing from surprise to anger, as if she has a right to be angry. As if she fucking has a right to be here at all.
I imagine what it would be like to kill her. Slit her fucking throat and spill her blood down these stairs.
She’s fucking my husband in my house.
Her eyes dart to my throat, and at first, I don’t know why, until she opens her mouth and hisses, “I see you didn’t waste any time.”
Anger and shame both wash over me in an uncomfortable wave, and I want nothing more than to run up these stairs two at a fucking time and bash her head against the wall of my house, but before I can move an inch, the door opens at my back, the security alarm chiming someone’s entrance as it does.
Ophelia’s eyes dart past me, but I don’t dare turn around even as I hear multiple people crowding at my back.
The door closes softly.
Someone mutters, “Not this shit,” and I tense. That’s Ezra’s deep rumble.
I still don’t look. I just keep staring at Ophelia, who’s staring at the people behind me. The Unsaints, I’m sure.
After a tense moment of silence, my husband finally breaks it. “Welcome home, baby girl,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his words.
She turns to run, because that’s what she fucking does. Whipping around in a blur, she’s shooting straight for the door, but there are five of us and my wife is tiny.
She’s not fucking going anywhere.
Maverick gets to her first.
It’s like watching a wild animal caught in a net, the way she twists and kicks and tries to hit him. She might be small, but she’s full of rage.
I glance up at Ophelia, see her watching me with a scowl. Whatever. Cain obviously beat us here.
He was at Ezra’s when I jogged down there.
I turn back to Mav, watch him grab Lilith from behind, pin her arms down to her sides. Her chest is heaving beneath his arms and I don’t like it. I don’t like what she’s wearing—a skintight top and short shorts—and that she’s flush against him, but I don’t move.
Her eyes are wide, but it’s like she’s not seeing. She’s still twisting in his grip, trying to kick her foot back, trying to hit his groin. But he puts a leg around hers, squeezes her so tight I see her eyes widen as he does, and she stills in his arms.
“Calm down, Angel,” he whispers.
I shove my way toward them, coming to stand in front of them both. I hear Ezra’s deep laugh, bitter and low, and resist the urge to break his fucking nose. He’s got bigger problems to worry about, so he should shut the fuck up.
Cain strolls