Stunning rage seethed beneath my skin. Every piece of me felt like it was gonna crack, fall to the ground in jagged pieces, as I stumbled out the door and to my truck. I turned the ignition and the engine roared. Slammed it into gear and peeled from the driveway and onto the street.
I blinked and blinked, squeezing my eyes closed then opening them wide. Tryin’ to see through her storm.
Dark, dark, dark.
Promise me.
Her words filtered through me like wisps of smoke, and I pressed the heel of my hand into my eye, my mouth dropping open on a silent cry as I tried to focus through the streaks of blinding light.
How could I just turn away with what I knew and with what still needed to be learned? Sit back and hold tight?
That wasn’t me.
And Shea…
Shea had always seen me. Recognized who I was beneath all the hard and scarred.
And this was me.
Guess she’d known it all along.
Promised I would do whatever it took, give up everything to set it right.
And I would.
On pure instinct, I sped down the narrow roads out of the Hills. When I hit the congested West Hollywood streets, I accelerated, weaving through traffic and jumping lanes. Everything around me was a blur except for the focus of my destination.
Tires squealed as I took a sharp right turn into the pretentious Beverly Hills neighborhood. My truck careened to a stop in the drive in front of his house.
Inhale. Exhale. I struggled for composure. For some measure of reason in this fucked-up situation.
Seemed I always found myself in these positions.
Trouble.
It followed me wherever I went.
But this time the fight was ending on my side.
I stepped from the truck, pulled out my phone, and set the recorder before I slipped it back in my pocket. If the fucker was here, I was going to capture every word.
Inhale. Exhale.
Promise me.
Fuck. I can’t, Shea. I can’t let this go.
Inhale. Exhale.
I slipped over the low wrought iron fence and dropped into the courtyard.
Shaking.
Fucking shaking.
Water lapped at the fountain and birds rustled through the trees.
Peaceful.
The calm before the storm.
But the storm was there, gathering force, igniting the madness that propelled me forward.
My hand went for the ornate latch of the double doors. I was surprised when one side gave.
Through pursed lips, I pushed out a stifled breath. Every muscle in my body was rigid with restraint, my movements guarded and subdued as I slipped unseen into the quiet of the massive house.
The peace, the quiet, the calm was at odds with the rapid-fire sensations gutting my insides. Hate and vengeance and revenge.
White walls and floors everywhere, the ceilings high and color the starkest white.
I’d heard it said it was cold in hell.
I inched through the foyer, shoulder up against the wall, as I rounded the corner and eased along the edge of the formal living room, drawn deeper into the house. I emerged at a tall, wide entryway. Pillars flanked it like some kind of Greek god’s castle, precisely like the bastard thought he ruled.
It opened to a large space that boasted the kitchen and another sitting area that looked out over the lawn and pool.
But none of that held my attention.
Jennings. Casually sitting sideways at the high granite bar, rocked back in a stool with his ankle hooked over his knee. Smug bastard. His fingers drummed on the counter like the asshole was bored, not a fucking care in his warped, perverted world. In his other hand, a tumbler rolled with amber liquid.
Eyeing me, he took a sip before his head cocked to the side, snide and spite taking over his filthy expression. “I wondered when you’d come. Always have to be the hero, don’t you?”
The walls closed in.
Motherfucker.
He knew I’d show.
Just like Shea.
He might as well have laid out the welcome mat.
My fists curled, trying for once in my fucking life to maintain control.