The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,66

smiled viciously, standing up. “Here. You got it off of your chest, and even got a little bonus with my sob story. Now get the fuck out, Nix. And don’t come back.”

“But I—”

She started, but I turned away, taking a drag from my cigarette and looking in the other direction.

Through the floor-to-ceiling window, I could see her standing up, dignified. She made her way to the door, her chin held high, her back straight. The minute she closed the door behind her, I let out a breath, dropping the cigarette into the half-empty whiskey bottle.

Charging to the bathroom, I all but kicked my slacks down my knees, turning on the shower spray and stumbling inside before the water turned from cold to hot.

I braced one arm over the tiles, let the water pound over my body, and started jerking off—with my dress shirt still on.

“Shit …” I hissed as I rubbed my cock mercilessly, pumping fast. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Her mere presence in my apartment made my balls tighten.

I came and I came and I came inside my fist. Liquid, white gel coated my fingers, and I wondered when was the last time I masturbated.

Probably when I was sixteen.

No, maybe fifteen.

Fuck you, Aisling.

I plastered my forehead against the tiles, groaning as the red-hot needles of water kept lashing my face and hair. I wasn’t her savior, I was her monster. These late-night calls, me following her, her seeking me out … they had to stop.

Before I did to her what I did to that painting.

Because I didn’t tell her the whole story.

Years after I’d moved out of Cat’s apartment, I came back. Paid the owner a large sum of money to get a tour around the place. I found the painting. The new tenants hadn’t gotten rid of it. I stole it, burned it, and tossed the ashes in the Charles River.

I didn’t know how to keep things.

I only knew how to break them.

It was time to break Aisling once and for all and ensure she would never, ever seek me out again.

Stop choosing what isn’t choosing you, mon cheri, Ms. B’s voice rang between my ears as I burst out of the door of Sam’s building on wobbly legs, the harsh whip of the wind slapping my cheeks.

I gasped for air, but no amount of air could satisfy my lungs.

Sam, Sam, Sam.

Broken, scarred, marred, imperfect Sam. Molded in the hands of an abusive mother, a mobster adoptive father, and a ghost of a biological dad he knew tried to kill his adoptive mother.

I wrapped my coat around my waist and jogged to the Aston Martin waiting around the corner from Sam’s building, slipping into the passenger seat. The minute I slid in, I grabbed the thermos waiting for me there and took a greedy gulp of coffee.

“Well?” Cillian asked from the driver’s seat, raising a skeptic eyebrow.

He didn’t believe Sam had anything to do with Athair. Neither did Hunter. I could tell Cillian was now looking at me, trying to see if I had sex with Sam. Any telltale sign to find out if we did something sordid. Puffy lips. Flushed cheeks.

My brother didn’t trust me not to throw myself at Sam.

I shook my head. “Couldn’t find anything, and he didn’t volunteer any information.”

“Of course you couldn’t. Because Sam has better things to do with his time than to mess with Athair for no apparent reason.”

“He was the only person at the table capable of poisoning one of the guests.”

“Athair had an oopsie visit to the hospital. Give that pretty head of yours a rest, Ash. Sam is innocent—in this case, of course. In general, he is probably responsible for every other bad thing that happened in Massachusetts since 1998. Case closed.”

When I said nothing, he groaned, lowering his head on his headrest, closing his eyes.

“Tell me you’ll drop it. I have enough on my plate as it is. I don’t need to extinguish another fire.”

“Fine,” I bit out. “I won’t sniff around him anymore.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“Promise.”

It was stupid. Childish, really, but old habits died hard, and I found myself crossing my fingers in my lap like a kid, between the creases and folds of my dress.

It was far from over.

Sam might be playing me, but now I was playing him, too.

I was going to find out the truth about what happened with my parents.

If it was the last thing I did.

A week had passed since I’d visited Sam’s apartment.

A week of radio silence from his end, and my brothers