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Pushing to my feet, I pull the short skirt down as much as possible, though that does nothing about the dampness now soaking my panties or the warmth flooding my veins.

Thinking about Brix with anyone else really shouldn’t make me horny, but there’s something inadvertently sexy about a man so secure with himself that he doesn’t pigeonhole himself with one person or one gender.

Is that what Brix had done after I left, just fucked his way through Cedar Springs? He had every right, of course, but that doesn’t stop the jealousy from wriggling its way into my heart. I don’t have the right to feel jealous over anything any of the three have done since I disappeared.

Leading me through the same back entrance, Brix hits the key fob, unlocking the door and opening it before hoisting meinto my seat by my hips instead of waiting and watching me try to scramble my way up into this beast of a truck.

I crane my neck to watch him walk around the hood, his jaw working like he’s grinding his teeth. His hair lifts on the wind and blows away from his face and I’m struck by the time that has passed.

He was always hot. Anyone with two eyes could see that. But Brix as a man with his tattoos, square jaw peppered with whiskers, and that long, thick hair…he’s so fucking beautiful.

His eyes raise to mine a second before he pulls his door open, and I try to pretend I wasn’t staring at him, but the smirk on his stupid face tells me he definitely caught me.

Whatever. I can look at whoever I want.

At least until the wedding day.

Although…yeah, I’m pretty sure Brix covered my boobs with the sweater earlier to keep Nico from seeing all of me. So then why make me wear this getup if he doesn’t want other men checking me out? I’m one hundred percent sure it was some ploy to humiliate me, but Kato was none too happy about me leaving the house with so little on.

Now that he’s seen only the one man looking at me, we’ll see if he demands I wear shit like this out of the house again.

Or maybe I’ll intentionally start wearing even skimpier clothes simply to fuck with them if they insist on constantly making me feel like trash over what I had to do to survive out in the world on my own with no support, no money, nothing.

We’re back to silence as he pulls from the lot and out into the growing traffic. But he doesn’t take the usual roads home.

I frown at him as he pulls up to a high-rise building, pulling into a secured garage before parking in a spot near the elevator doors. I can only assume it’s a reserved spot to be so freaking close.

“Why aren’t we going back to the house?” I ask.

But he pushes his door open, rounds the hood, then lifts me from my seat, setting my feet onto the pavement before swinging my door shut.

There’s a chirp behind us as he locks the door on our way to the elevator.

“Brix, where are we? What is this place?”

“It’s mine,” he says.

“Your what? Your building?” Because it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he or the others owned various buildings and businesses. They don’t make all that money solely through illegal activities.

“Yes. And I have a place here, too.”

I’m not sure whether the nerves sending butterflies flapping like crazy in my belly are from fear or excitement. Either way, looks like Brix wants some one-on-one time with me.

I have a bad feeling he’s going to force me to spill everything, to tell him exactly what happened the night that changed everything, including me.

The ride up is silent other than the soft background music playing through a speaker in the ceiling of the elevator. The walls are so shiny they’re like mirrors and I stare at Brix while he stares straight ahead.

When the thing stops with a barely detectable lurch, I glance at the number on the screen. Of course, he has the penthouse. If he owns the building, he’d want the best unit.

“Why do you have a penthouse but live with Kato and Madd?” I ask his back as he steps through the doors and directly into an overly modern and severely impersonal apartment. I don’t think I would even call this a home with the sterility of the space.

“Privacy,” he grumbles as he moves into the kitchen, opens a cabinet, and pulls down a bottle of bourbon and two glasses.

He doesn’t bother asking whether I want some before pouring me two fingers and sliding it across the counter for me.

I take it and clutch it in both hands, then turn and survey the space. There are floor to ceiling windows that overlook downtown Cedar Springs. From up here, it’s almost pretty. It’s almost easy to forget the crime and darkness that festers down on those streets.

The kitchen and living room are an open concept deal with white walls and black and white tiled flooring. No rugs. It just adds to that impersonal feel and doesn’t mesh with the boy I knew who loved colors, textures and warmth.