Page 103

“Hey, we’re going over to my suite to catch up on wedding stuff,” I lie to Mason without looking him in the eye. “I’ll see you later.”

He jerks straight from the cross-legged, cross-armed position he adopted while talking to Zach. I wonder whether he’ll stop me from leaving. I wonder what I’ll do if he does.

“Keely.”

Heart hammering, I turn. He comes to me and catches my face in his hands. His kiss is hard, but brief. Hazel eyes probe mine for a heart-stopping second before he releases me.

“Hurry back.”

I swallow and nod. “Okay.”

Bethany holds the door open, and I wheel the trolley through like a bank robber hightailing it out of a heist.

I don’t know why I’m in a hurry to hear what my best friend has to say.

Because I do know that whatever it is will bat my fucked-up-ness into the next century.

30

MASON

I stare at the door Keely just walked out of and calmly acknowledge that the feeling spreading its way through my bloodstream is panic.

Not the crash and burn type that leaves just as quickly as it arrives. This is the slow, insidious type that taunts you with its possibilities and ability to grow extra appendages to fuck you with.

It started with the left-field question about Hani. Then grew when I realized how the thought of her interaction with Morton made me feel.

The little shit doesn’t have a spine worth crushing, and I’m sure Keely can hold her own more than adequately. And yet none of that matters. The protectiveness that welled up in my chest, and which is still present, beacons a chaotic sequence that’s been building since I told her about Toby. Since she let me purge on her.

I recall a conversation with the tribal priest in Roraima. He told me I’ll never find peace for the chaos that reigns in my heart. I informed him that peace is the last thing I wish for, or want. He told me he would pray that my chaos never quietens.

My chaos isn’t quietening. It’s mutating into something less virulent and less murky, which makes me see through the dense jungles of pain and rage.

She’s looked into my eyes and witnessed what I’ve done. Or at least she suspects. She hasn’t called me a monster despite knowing what lives in my soul.

I’m not sure if the open acceptance is better or worse. All I know is I crave her beyond imagining, whether she’s trapped beneath me, giving me what I need, or out of my sight.

The Hani issue isn’t a problem.

The thought that it might keep Keely from me is. Keely is all I need.

“Have you heard a fucking word I’ve said since Keely walked out that door?”

I inhale my irritation and turn to Zach. “So besides bringing your fiancée to help clusterfuck my evening, and then soiling my eardrums with goddamnsmall talk, why are you here?” I ask Zach.

He lifts his beer and takes a long pull. “My staff alerted me that I have a Titus-Morton-shaped problem that needs to be dealt with. Know anything about that?”

“Yeah, the guy’s an asshole. He’ll be a lifeless asshole when I get my hands around his pussy neck.”

“You see, talk like that is why I thought I’d better come and check on my investment before you turn my yacht into a killing field or start throwing guests overboard.”

“Great, I suggest you go take care of your problems and let me deal with mine.”

“I think it might be too late, buddy,” he mutters.

I glance sharply at Zach. “Care to shed some light on that declaration?”

A hard, almost regretful smile twists his lips. “My soon-to-be wife—if she ever stops nitpicking every motherfucking detail of this damned wedding and gets round to actually marrying me—and your… What is she to you, exactly?”