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Declan
I wake up hard.
Her taste in my mouth.
The smell of her on my skin. When I flex my fingers, I can still feel her pussy.
Soft and desperate.
Slick and hot.
Tess.
Declan… please. I need—
I know, baby. I know… I’m going to take care of you. Let me take care of you.
Fuck.
I sit up. Swipe the bottle of Jameson off my nightstand and take a drink. Try to wash her away.
It doesn’t work.
It never does.
I need to get up. Take a shower. Move. Get myself together. Back on track.
I cut a look at my dresser. The drawer with her clothes in it is still hanging open. I didn’t steal all of them. I found the Sox shirt under my bed when I was moving out of my parents’ house. She left one of the tanks at the cottage. I meant to give them back—at least that’s what I told myself. The truth is, I put them in a drawer and kept adding to the pile. I take her things because I can’t take her.
I know there’s something wrong with me. She didn’t have to say it.
I know.
Trust me, I know.
The really fucked-up part about it is I don’t even feel bad about it.
Like I said before, my brother isn’t the only Gilroy who was put together wrong.
My phone goes off.
It’s been going off.
Buzzing and rattling next to the half empty bottle for hours now.
I finally give in and look at it.
I expect a dozen I’m going to kill you, motherfucker texts from Con.
Tess will tell him what happened.
She tells him everything.
And he’ll come at me. He won’t care where I am or who’s watching. He’ll come for me because he knows what I really am. How dangerous I am to Tess. How badly I hurt her. That I’ll do it again, given half the chance.
Good.
I tap the screen with my thumb and get ready to scroll through his death threats but stop short.