Rage and Ruin by Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,101

it was him and it was us, but whatever it was, I tipped over an edge and fell into pulsing waves that seemed to come from everywhere.

At some point I became aware of Zayne’s forehead resting against mine and that his hand was now at my hip, his grip tight but not painful in the least.

My eyes fluttered open, and again, I wished I could see him. I finally eased my grip off the poor shirt and touched his cheek. His head lifted the scantest of inches. Everything about him seemed incredibly rigid, and then his head tilted in a way that I knew what was coming next.

“No kissing,” I reminded him. “Kissing makes this mean more than it does.”

Zayne lifted his head, and I reached for him, my fingers brushing the band on his pants. He caught my wrist.

I stilled, lifting my gaze and wishing I could see his face. “I want to—”

“I know. I want you to do whatever you want to me, but no.”

“No?” I repeated dumbly. My senses were too all over the place to even begin to decipher what was coming or going through the bond.

“No,” he said. “Because that would make this mean more than it can to me.”

Hearing my own words from him was jarring. What he was saying didn’t sound fair. He could do that to me, but I couldn’t give him the same? And there was more left. I was ready, even after all I’d just experienced. I knew there was more, and I wanted him to feel what I felt.

“Zayne,” I started, but he shifted onto his back. A moment passed, and then he rose from the bed. I sat up. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” He stepped away from the bed and then stopped. “Good night, Trinity.”

My mouth dropped open in confusion as he walked out of the bedroom. With the brief flash of light from the living room, he was gone, closing the door behind him, and I was left sitting there, wondering what in the world had just happened.

Had I done something wrong? I must have, considering he’d gone from full throttle to not just pumping the brakes, but getting out of the car and walking away. But I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I hadn’t even initiated this.

Pulling my legs from where they were tangled in the blanket, I scrambled off the bed. I started toward the door, realized I was shirtless and then went back to the nightstand and smacked around until I found the switch. Golden light flooded the bedroom. I found my top at the end of the bed, tugged it on and then hurried to the door and yanked it open. Zayne was standing at the island, downing a bottle of water like he’d been dying of thirst.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded.

Zayne glanced at me as he lowered the bottle. “You forgot your pants.”

“I almost forgot my shirt,” I replied. “That you took off me. What just happened in there? Everything was fine. Great, actually. Perfect, and then you just walked out—”

“Figured that’s what you’d prefer.”

“What?” I stared at him. “Why would you think that? Makes no sense.”

“Makes no sense?” Zayne laughed, but it sounded wrong. He took another drink. “You got what you needed, right? I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

Now my jaw was on the floor. “Excuse me?”

“You’re right. It was great and perfect. Then it wasn’t.” He started toward the couch. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Oh, Hell no. I don’t even know why you’d say something like that. Got what I needed? Buddy, I’m not the one who started this. That was you.” My heart thumped heavily as something dark and oily seeped through my chest. “I don’t understand. You’re the one who wanted to get me out of your system!”

Zayne huffed, shaking his head. “I didn’t say that.”

“And I didn’t say—”

Peanut appeared suddenly, drifting out of the interior wall. He took one look at me, standing there in my tank and undies, and then at Zayne glowering.

“Nope.” The ghost wheeled right around and disappeared back into the wall.

Zayne followed my gaze to the wall. “Is that ghost here?”

“That ghost has a name,” I snapped. “And no. Not anymore.” Crossing my arms, I met his stare and tried to rein back my anger. “This sounds like a terrible miscommunication of sorts. I don’t know why you’d get the impression that—”

“That this means more to me than just getting off?” He jumped in, and my eyes widened.