Page 52 of Arranged Addiction

“Wait.” I hesitate, not following. He holds my hand but doesn’t pull.

I needed this. I needed him. The sex seems to have cleared something in me. Or at least it eased some of my pain for a while. But do I want to cross this line? Do I want to let him fuck me and go sleep in his bed after?

That means more than just something physical.

Sex is one thing. But I’m not ready for anything else. I’m afraid that if I cross the line, there’s no turning back.

Slowly, he releases my hand. “You don’t want to come with me.”

“It’s not that.”

“We’re married. You can sleep in my bed.”

“I know. I just—” The disappointment in his gaze hurts me. But I don’t let what he wants change what I need. “It’s better this way.” I turn and start gathering my clothes. I finally feel naked, even though I’ve been stripped for a while.

He watches me, not bothering to cover up. After a long moment, he silently turns away and walks off. I watch him go, a pit opening in my stomach.

Once he’s gone, I retreat into my own room again, closing the door behind me.

Why did I turn him down? What does it matter if we share a bed?

But for some reason, that feels more intimate than letting him fuck me and eat me from behind.

Back under the sheets, in my cold and empty bed, I try closing my eyes.

And immediately regret not going with him.

Chapter 16

Declan

My boots crunch over gravel. I follow Seamus down a short embankment toward a storm drain runoff. Our flashlight beams skirt over scrubby brush, tossed aside potato chip bags, and smashed bottles. Choking weeds grow between old concrete.

Down at the bottom, more men stand in a loose circle, talking quietly. Their cigarettes glow pink in the midnight darkness.

“He’s down there,” Seamus says, picking his way over puddles and garbage.

“Who found him?”

“We got lucky, actually. It was a homeless guy who buys from the family. We heard him talking about a body out here, and when I sent someone to check it out—” He shakes his head, looking grim.

We join Seamus’s men. They nod at me respectfully. I shine my flashlight on the wrecked body lying in the weeds a few feet away, the neck turned sideways, the chest ripped apart like a wild animal was trying to root for its heart.

Patrick Doyle’s mouth is open in a silent scream.

Nobody speaks. I stare at the dead man. He was in my office only a couple of days earlier. I think back to the photos of my name scrawled on his business’s walls.

He’s dead because of me.

I let that sink in. Patrick Doyle was a family man. He took care of his children, loved his wife, and ran his business with some honor. He was associated with our crime organization, but only because of the protection we offered. Patrick was a good person.

Now he’s gone.

I move around the body slowly. He didn’t deserve to be butchered like this. I frown, pausing to nudge at his right wrist with the toe of my boot. “Where’s the hand?”

“Not sure,” Seamus admits. “We looked around, but there’s nothing.”

I move my flashlight across the surrounding area and check in the weeds. “Bring more guys here in the morning. I want every inch thoroughly checked.”