"On the ground," Ace instructs, his voice steady and low. I gawk at him, my eyes bugging from their sockets.
"You're kidd-"
"Do as he says," Viper mutters into his glass. I catch a couple of glances from men across the table, their gazes assessing...
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Wren
"You have to eat something." Viper sits in the bed beside me, his weight dipping into the mattress with bed springs groaning in protest. I lay facing the wall, my fingers pulling at the loose threads in my shirt and eyes tracing the cracks. I don't reply; I just hold my breath and silently beg him to leave me alone. "I won't leave until you do," He states as if reading my mind. Solidifying his statement, he lays back into the mattress, his shoulder pressing into my back due to the limited room the bed allows us. I jerk my chin toward him briefly to see his body sprawled out behind me with his hands resting on his chest, his eyes staring like empty orbs toward the ceiling.
"I'm not hungry," I reply, turning my attention back to the wall, my voice barely loud enough for him to hear. But he does.
"Bullshit." He props himself up on his elbow and laughs softly, his breathy chuckle caressing my neck as he leans closer. "You know, I've said that in the past couple of days more times than I can count to you and Ace. What the fuck happened between you two?"
"Have you ever thought that maybe Ace has nothing to do with it, and it's about Jed who sexually assaulted me?" I sneer through my clenched teeth.
Jed, rightfully so, has a lot to do with it—I can still feel the ghost of his hands violating my body, feel his breath hot on my neck and smelling like decaying rodents, and it's enough to make me want to vomit.
But, ultimately, Ace's damning kiss, his wicked mouth forged for sin, haunts me even more.
I've imagined his mouth on mine more times than I can count.
I couldn't help but sneak frequent glances from the corner of my eye when he would sit at the back of my bar. I tried to make myself appear busy, wiping the counter with my eyes trained on him as he observed his surroundings, his face of a statue and back rim-rod straight. He would casually sip his water as if doing so only to keep up his appearance of an average patron when he was anything but.
I couldn't help but notice the curve of his lips every time I walked to his table, his gaze burning with such an intensity I craved a cold shower after every conversation.
Conversation wouldn't even be the right word to describe it. Interaction, maybe? He never spoke a word to me, but I imagined his voice was as beautiful as he was.
"Just water?" I would ask him every time, wondering if he would give in and order a beer.
No, not beer.
He dressed far too nicely for that: a nice black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and slacks, his watch on his wrist definitely worth thousands, and his gold necklace that hung just above his collar, probably genuine.
Maybe a neat single malt scotch or even a barrel-aged bourbon.
He would never speak, would just nod his head, his eyes never leaving mine.
