I feel something break inside me. How does loving Finn make me miserable?
“Let me go, Knox,” I say, my voice trembling. “You might not be a good brother, but I’m a good friend. I’m not going to sit around and watch my friend be deceived again. I’m going out there.” Knox doesn’t budge. His grip on my waist remains firm, his body immovable. In a voice so calm it only fuels my rage, he says, “I can’t let you go out there, Kitten. I will physically restrain you if I have to.” “Who the hell do you think you are?” I snap. “You don’t get to control me, Knox. Let. Me. Go.” “I’m not controlling you. I’m preventing you from making a fool of yourself—again.” If my hands were free, I probably would have slapped him by now. “I’m beginning to see why Finn almost never mentioned you in the ten years I’ve known him. You're such an arrogant, infuriating douchebag who cares about nothing else but himself. You'd rather watch your own brother get his heart ripped out than actually do something about it.” Knox’s eyes darken, and for a moment, I swear I see something wicked flash through them. “That’s the thing, Sloane. Finn likes getting his heart ripped out by Delilah. He likes her toxicity. He's addicted to it. The only person seeing a problem between those two being together is you. Stop projecting your feelings onto Finn.” “You can't tell me what to do or feel, you brother hater.” Knox grins. “Think whatever you like. But I want what makes Finn happy. Unfortunately for you, that’s Delilah. Always has been. Always will be.” “You’re disgusting.” “What exactly can you do about it, Sloane? Wanna lock him in a maximum-security prison somewhere offshore? Chain him up in your basement? Finn will always go back to Delilah. You think you’re the first person obsessed with ending their silly little love story? Let. It. Go.” “I can’t.” The words slip out before I can stop them. My chest is heaving, my face burning, and I’m standing there like an idiot with my heart bleeding all over the floor for a man who’s out there chasing someone else. Knox tilts his head, studying me with the eyes of a predator who’s just found the weakest part of his prey. “How about we make a bet?” he says. I narrow my eyes. “A bet?” "If this wedding takes place between Delilah and Hunter, I'll let you be so you can chase Finn to the ends of the Earth if you feel like it. Follow him around like a devoted puppy. I won't lift a finger to stop you." "And if it doesn’t?" A slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. "If the wedding goes to shit—which it will—I will violently pursue you, Sloane Mercer. There's no place in this world you can hide from me that I won't find you. I will crawl inside your head, your body, your soul. I will ruin you for anyone else. You won’t be able to think, breathe, or sleep without feeling me everywhere. I’ll make you forget Finn Hartley ever existed. The things I could do to you. The things I want to do to you…” For some weird reason, I can't breathe anymore. I turn away from Knox, facing the window again, wondering why my body has gone live with electricity. It's hatred, I tell myself. Pure, undiluted hatred making my body react this way—not desire, never desire. Yet somehow I'm hyperaware of every inch of space between us, as though there's no clothing barrier separating his skin from mine. I try to pull away, but he holds me close, his lips brushing against my ear. The contact sends a jolt through my system. “All you need is something else to obsess over,” he says. “Something to channel all that obsessive energy of yours toward. Let me provide that for you. Let me give you a hobby, Kitten, a very pleasurable one.” I want him to do it. Good lord. What is wrong with me? This is Finn’s brother. I can't be in love with one man and then become a hot mess around his brother. Yet my body is betraying me, responding to him in ways I've never responded to anyone. "You can't do this,” I say, not recognizing my own voice. “You’re my best friend's brother. There's a code of conduct about these things." "A code? Screw your codes," he says. "I see what I want, I take it. Unlike you, pining away in silence, letting your life pass by. That is something I’m going to teach you, Sloane Mercer, how to bend the universe's will and take what you want." My breath hitches. "I don't need your lessons. Thank you very much.” He touches my hips, pulling me further into him, and I don't think I have a single bone left in my body to resist. "I always get what I want,” he says, his voice a dark promise. “And since what I want at the moment is you, you better hope that wedding takes place. There's nothing I want more than to tie you up and bury myself so deep inside you that you’d blackout.” I swear my legs are about to give out. My skin is burning, my pulse hammering in my throat. I've never felt this kind of animal attraction before—this raw, primal need that overpowers reason, morality, loyalty. It's nothing like the sweet ache I feel for Finn. This is something darker, more dangerous, and infinitely more terrifying. "Get away from me," I whisper. "Take the deal, Sloane." I'm trembling. My brain is screaming run, but my body is leaning into him like a traitorous little bitch. In this moment, I hate myself more than I hate him, because despite everything—despite my feelings for Finn—part of me wants to see what would happen if I surrendered. I swallow hard, desperate to put distance between us, to regain some semblance of control. "Fine,” I say, turning to meet his eyes. “We have a deal. Wedding happens, I never hear from you again. If it doesn't... give it your best shot." Knox's grin is pure sin. "Oh, Kitten. You have no idea what you've just done." I’m pretty sure I’ve just signed my soul over to the devil in exchange for nothing. “You know what this means, right,” he says. “I have a wedding to sabotage.” “What? No. No. No. You said you were not going to sabotage the wedding.” “That was before you took my deal. You think you can win by playing fair?” “You're not sabotaging this wedding, Knox.” “Wanna bet?” “I'm done with you and your stupid bets. If you so much as breathe the wrong way throughout this event, I’m taking you down.” He laughs. “Oh, it's on, Kitten. Let the strongest man win.” Before I can reply, the front door bursts open, and Finn walks in, looking like he's been through hell. His hair is disheveled, his eyes red-rimmed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The sight of him—broken, vulnerable, so clearly hurting—snaps me back to reality, reminding me why I'm here, what matters. We both turn toward him, and the way Finn's eyes move between Knox and me—noting our proximity—makes my stomach drop. Oh God. "What are you two doing?" Finn asks, suspicion dripping from every word. I step away from Knox like I've been burned. "Nothing." Finn narrows his eyes. "Were you two... oh my God. Were you two making out?"*** ~~KNOX~~ *** I’d be lying if I said I’m surprised Finn walked in on me holding Sloane. I’d anticipated it. Hell, I orchestrated it. He’d been out there crying over his toxic little temptress, and I’d seen him coming back. I’d seen Delilah storm off like the walking soap opera she is. But Sloane had been too caught up in our argument—too riled up and flushed and breathless—to notice any of these. Right now, she looks like she wants to dissolve into the floor. I almost feel guilty. “Making out?” she says. “Did you drink the pool water or something, Finn? We were just talking.” She tries to play it off with a smile, but it comes out looking like she's undergoing an electrocution. “Talking,” Finn repeats. “With his hands around your waist?” “That was my fault,” she blurts, stepping forward. “I saw you running after Delilah in a hurry and had this funny feeling you wanted to drown her. So I tripped while running to the window to watch and interfere if I had to. Knox caught
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** “All we have to do is go to the wedding, give Delilah enough time to think she's happy, and then destroy it,” Finn says. “Simple as that.” I and Finn are in one of his parents’ guest rooms—one Finn announced as my room. I’m sitting on the edge of a plush, overstuffed bed with way too many pillows, while Finn paces in circles. I just watch him. It’s not even the pacing that annoys me. It’s the delusion. “Have you thought about how she'd hate you afterward?” I ask, folding my hands in my lap to keep them from fidgeting. “Hate? That’s a strong word,” he scoffs. “Delilah can’t hate me. She’ll be angry at me for a couple of days, and then we’ll be back together.” God. The worst part? He’s probably right. Of course she won’t hate him. She’ll scream and cry and maybe toss a vase, but she’ll let him back in. She always does. It’s like a sick game of emotional fetch—he throws himself at her, she walks away, then whistles, and back he goes. I grind my molars. “I
An hour later, we're at the club. Finn’s hand grips mine as we squeeze past red velvet curtains and into a room soaked in neon and sin. The music is so loud, I feel it in my ribs. Bass thrumming like a second heartbeat. “Here,” Finn says, tugging me to a booth near the edge of the stage. We drop onto a red couch, and I glance up just in time to watch a woman flip upside down on a pole, ass in the air, hair skimming the stage. She twirls like gravity doesn’t exist, her boobs free and proud and bouncing to the rhythm. “Oh my god,” I blurt. “The strippers are naked.” Finn turns to me, smirking. “You expected them to be clothed? Where’s the fun in that?” I stare. Everywhere I look, it’s a carnival of debauchery. Lingerie and skin. Glitter and curves. Bodies grinding on laps, men tipping bills with trembling fingers. Moans lost in bass. Champagne flutes clinking beside thighs in fishnets. It’s chaos. Glorious, naked chaos. And I don’t know why I feel so… alive. “This is way bette
“What are you doing here, Knox?” I ask. “This is the women's room.” "Which I made sure would be out of bounds for a while.” Of course he did. Probably bribed someone important. I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the way his shirt clings to his torso, hinting at the tattoos that snake down his arms. "Are you stalking me now?” I say. He chuckles, the sound low and throaty. "You look ravishing in that dress. I wanted to see it up close." "You've seen it. Now leave." Pushing off the door, he strides toward me. Instinctively, I take a step back. Then another. Until the cold, tiled wall presses against my back. "Leave, Knox." He stops mere inches away, his breath warm against my skin. "You know what would make the dress even better, Kitten? Seeing it raised and sitting atop your pretty waist as I take you." "If you touch me, I'm going to scream." He tilts his head. "Do it. I’ve imagined what that would sound like. How loudly do you scream, Sloane? Think the club's noise will dro
“Of course I have to think about him,” I say, more to myself than Knox. “It's what any normal person would do.” I hastily adjust my glasses, the frames askew from our passionate, mind-blowing, and reckless escapade. My fingers tremble as they push the lenses up the bridge of my nose. I’m acutely aware of the mascara streaking down my cheeks, painting me as the very picture of post-coital disarray. I rake my hands through my hair, attempting to tame the wild strands, and smooth down my dress. In the mirror’s reflection, Knox watches me. His expression is unreadable. His dark eyes track my every movement, and even though I try not to look at him directly, I can feel the heat of his stare. “Your post-nut clarity is annoying,” he says. “I feel used right now, Kitten.” “Then you've got it better. I feel stupid.” I turn around to finally face him, and his eyes zero in on me. “Because you fucked me and liked it?” he asks. I avert my eyes, shame curling in my gut. I’ve just had sex wi
*** ~~KNOX~~ *** “What do you expect me to say, Sloane?” I ask. The club’s bass thrums through my veins, a reminder that there's chaos all around us, not just the one I started. Sloane stands in front of me, her eyes burning with fury. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. “The truth,” she demands. “Tell me the truth! Was this a game to you? You slept with me to get to your brother?” I find my eyes drifting toward her lips, lips that are still slightly swollen from our kisses. That lustful need is stirring deep within me again. This wasn’t the plan. I came here for a leisurely evening with Hunter, perhaps to plant a seed of doubt about Delilah. But then I saw her in that damn dress, and all rational thought evaporated. I hadn’t intended to devour her against the restroom wall or bend her over the countertop. Yet, here we are. And I’m still thinking about it. I avert my eyes, focusing on the condensation sliding down my drinking glass, the one currently abandoned on my table. “The
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** Knox rolls his eyes and starts the car, turning up the heater as well. Warm air washes over my wet skin as we drive in silence. No music. No snarky one-liners. At some point, it becomes unsettling. Knox is just… driving. At a normal pace. Like a normal person. No engine revving. No cutting corners like he’s in Fast & Furious. He doesn’t floor it. He just drives. And I hate how uneasy that makes me. I turn to him. His eyes are on the road, focused. His lower lip is caught between his teeth, and I suddenly remember where those lips have been. What they did. My face flames. “You’re driving at a normal pace,” I say, trying to distract myself. “Finally doing something right for the first time in your life?” He doesn’t look at me. “Doing the right thing is overrated.” “Only you would say a thing like that.” “I just want to live long enough to do the wrong things with the wrong people.” When he says this, his face turns in my direction. I look a
I can feel Knox’s hands gripping my waist tightly, eyes fixed on mine in the mirror as he rams into me from behind. “Let go for me, Kitten,” he says. And I do. My whole body trembles like a violin string being pulled taut. His breath is hot on my neck, and my moans echo in the restroom. There’s a knock at the door. A voice. It's Finn yelling my name, telling me not to do this. ‘I don't want you screwing my brother, Sloane.’ But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. I— My eyes snap open. My head is pounding. My mouth tastes like regret and bourbon. And the sounds from that terrible dream are reverberating inside my skull. I groan and throw an arm over my eyes. God, I hate alcohol. I’m also starving. I glance at the nightstand clock. It's almost eleven. How did I sleep this long? I could have sworn I was just a little bit tipsy last night. Of all the things my brain could’ve rehashed from last night—the fight, Finn's anger, my shame—it chose the part where I had sex with Knox. I
These feelings Finn has are obviously not the casual kind. Not the she’s-my-best-friend kind. No. It’s deeper. It’s in the way his voice cracks when he says her name. The way his hands won’t stay still. The way his panic takes on an edge that looks a hell of a lot like heartbreak. And maybe he hasn’t figured it out yet. Maybe he’s too fixated on Delilah to see what’s been right next to him all along. But I see it. I see it, and it’s pissing me the fuck off. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and taste copper. It’s a habit I picked up in combat—quiet pain over loud reaction. Keeps the thoughts steady. Sharp. Contained. But nothing about this scene in front of me feels contained. Finn’s pacing. Mom’s posturing. I step closer before I can talk myself out of it, and they both look up. Mom smooths her expression into a smile. Finn wipes his eyes. “Knox,” Mom says. “I thought you left.” “I didn’t. It’s my friend’s wedding rehearsal.” “Right. I keep forgetting you're the best man.
*** ~~KNOX~~ *** I have spent years building a habit of not getting involved in people’s business. Especially Finn’s. Especially anything remotely connected to the circus that is Finn and Delilah. It's not that I don’t care—I just learned the hard way that sticking your nose into other people’s messes has a way of turning you into the villain, even when you were trying to mop up their blood. So I stopped trying. Stopped caring. Let people make their own choices and eat the consequences. It’s cleaner that way. Simpler. But the truth is, Hunter’s going to find out eventually—about Delilah, about me, about all of it. And it’s better if the truth comes from me than from someone with an agenda or an axe to grind. I’m not exactly known for being friendly. I’m not the kind of guy Hunter usually surrounds himself with—he’s the suit, the smile, the shining damn example of a man people want to follow. But somehow, despite all our differences, we’ve managed to build something that goes bey
My orgasm rips through me like a storm. I shatter around him, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream. My body trembles. Clenches. Milks him as I ride every last pulse of pleasure out of myself. But he’s not done. He wraps one strong arm around my waist and flips me with almost no effort, laying me back on the chair and spreading my legs. My panties are shoved to the side, the toy still buzzing against me, the mess between my thighs shameless and dripping. Then he’s inside me again. All of him. Deep and brutal. The stretch is dizzying. He pins my legs up, bending me in half, and drives into me like he’s trying to ruin my soul. “Fuck, Sloane,” he grits out. “You feel like heaven. So tight. So goddamn wet.” His hips piston into me, again and again, each thrust dragging a raw moan from my throat. I’m still sensitive from the orgasm, the vibrator still humming against my clit, and it’s all too much. Too good. Too deep. His hand moves to my throat, gripping. I gasp, eyes
My body obeys before my mind can catch up. I part my lips, tongue darting out to taste the tip of his dick. Salty. Warm. Metallic from the piercing. My fingers curl around his shaft, and when I close my lips around him, his hips jolt forward. "Fuck," he hisses, hand gripping my hair tighter. I take him deeper, inch by inch, until I gag slightly—and he groans again, a low sound that makes my thighs clench. I pull back, saliva trailing down my chin, and do it again. This time slower. My hand works what I can't take, twisting slightly. "Just like that, Kitten. Just like that." He pulses in my mouth, and when I look up at him through my lashes, his eyes have gone dark. His fingers are tangled so deeply in my hair that I can feel the sting on my scalp—and then he starts to move. His hips thrust forward, driving himself deeper. My throat stretches, gags, spasms. “Take it,” he says, the words punched out through clenched teeth. “Take what you came for.” I moan around him, the sound
I force myself to walk in a straight line. Back tall. Shoulders squared. Like I’m not being held hostage by a vibrator currently pulsing in-between my legs. It's only after reaching the foot of the stairs that I realize how stupid I’m being. There's literally an elevator leading to the top floor. I stare at it for a second, then turn, walk to it, and press the button. The doors slide open, and I can't say how grateful I am that no one’s inside. Once I’m in the elevator, I suck in air through my nose and hold it while the numbers climb. Each ding vibrates against my spine. I adjust the collar of my coat and try not to squirm, but the heat crawling between my thighs makes that a losing battle. The doors open. I don’t wait—I dart out, make a sharp right, and head toward the rooftop access. I come face-to-face with a bouncer standing by the heavy glass door, arms crossed, face set as stone. Now I feel self-conscious. Could he hear it? He squints at me. “This area is private, ma
My mind is numb. Everything around me is still spinning from what just happened. From the kiss. From the nerve. From the audacity. I don’t know how long Finn’s lips stayed on mine, or if they were even moving against mine, but the moment he let go of my coat, I knew it was over. Whatever moment he thought we were having—it had expired. He’s smiling. "You have very soft lips," he says. "What's that flavor? Strawberry?" My heart races with fury. I’m about to rain hellfire on him when someone clears their throat into the mic. The emcee. Standing with a grin that’s far too amused. All eyes are on us. Victoria Hartley, smiling like she’s just seen her fantasy come to life. Knox—expression unreadable. Hunter’s eyes are wide. And Delilah… frowning. “Looks like we’ve got a wedding rehearsal and a love story unfolding at the same time,” the emcee says, beaming. Laughter ripples through the crowd. Finn chuckles too. “I think that’s a sign of great things to come tomorrow,” the e
*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** I’m trying so hard not to steal glances at Knox from across the room. At first, everything was a blur—Myopia doing what she does best. I eventually caved and put my glasses back on. Squinting wasn’t doing me any favors, and I need a clear view of my target. Knox is the only person not dressed like he’s about to attend a Gatsby-themed funeral. No tux. No tie. Just his signature black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, paired with black pants that somehow make him the sexiest man in the room. He’s lounging in his chair, and his fingers are idly stroking his neatly trimmed beard. The movement makes me remember how the strands felt on a very sensitive place, one that’s currently tingling in anticipation of him turning on the device between my legs. "She doesn’t look happy," Finn says beside me. I blink, forcing my eyes away from Knox. "What?" "Delilah. She doesn’t look happy. Which can only mean she doesn’t want to get married, and
I don’t smile. I can’t even bring myself to. Nothing would have pleased me more than to have Delilah this cornered. But when I think about the implications of Hunter’s statement, my lunch suddenly doesn’t sit right in my stomach. I never told him. How’s it possible that I never did? I walk across the hotel lobby without a word. Hunter says something behind me, but I keep going. I don’t want to see him or Delilah right now, though I can feel her gaze burning through my shoulder blades. She’s probably wondering when I plan to attack. This is not about you, Delilah. Chill. Once we’re outside, I cross to where my car is parked at the curb, open the driver’s door, slip into the seat, and turn just enough to toss a sharp look over my shoulder. “Let’s go, lovebirds,” I say, voice flat. They shuffle in, the two of them sliding into the backseat. As Hunter fusses with his coat, Delilah’s eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror. There’s a pleading expression there. I look away. Engine
*** ~~KNOX~~ *** It’s approximately twenty minutes before Hunter and Delilah’s rehearsal dinner. I’m in their hotel suite watching Delilah complain about her outfit to Hunter. “I look like a balloon in this dress,” she says, blinking so many times that you’d think actual tears would be falling by now. “Honey, you look as glamorous as ever. Absolutely breathtaking.” “You’re only saying that to make me happy. You know it’s not the truth.” This is me wondering why I ever agreed to drive them to the venue. Hunter and I had both shipped our cars here from New York last week—air-freighted. But Hunter, in all his matrimonial perfectionism, insists his car has to remain untouched until tomorrow. "Ceremonial reasons," he said. Whatever that means. So I’m the designated chauffeur. Which means I have to sit here, on this goddamn couch, watching Delilah glide out from behind the sliding bedroom door, then listen to her complain about her dress like I wouldn’t rather be driving my skull in