Page 6 of Havoc

Because I don’t.

Screw Levi Colson. Or better yet, screwHavoc. The man I always knew he’d become, whether he once promised me he wouldn’t or not.

“Okay, I just thought I’d keep you in the loop. I know you’re used to seeing Jesse around here now, but with Havoc back, he’ll be taking over again with checking in on the safe house.”

“You can tell him not to bother. Things are fine here. I don’t needhandling.” I roll my eyes.

“Some things never change.” Levi’s voice coming from behind me has my blood running hot.

I glance over my shoulder and hate that my eyes immediately snag his. I hate that I can’t look away once I’ve caught sight of him.

Levi’s skin is somehow tanner than it was a few weeks ago. Like he’s been soaking up the California sun in the middle of November. His posture is just as stiff and guarded as ever, but a cocky smile makes light of his shadowed expression.

I hate how his amusement makes him even more handsome. Eighteen-year-old Levi was hard to resist, but at thirty-two, he’s grown nicely into his age. Doubled in size on muscle alone. And while I’ve always been tall, Leviseems to have never stopped growing because he’s at least a foot taller than me.

Men that gorgeous are nothing but trouble.

I hate it.

I hate him.

It’s a mantra I repeat as my gaze falls to his cut. To that Twisted Kings patch on his chest.

I hate Levi Colson.

I have to.Otherwise, I’ll be stuck admitting to myself how much it hurts to see what he’s become.

My legs ache from how long I’ve been crouched in the same position, waiting for the moment when the clouds part and sunlight hits the sculpture at just the right angle. When it does, the cupid’s wings become sharp lines of highlights and shadows. Every feather is perfectly defined.

I shift until I’m at the perfect angle for a picture, but just as I’m about to take it, the roar of an engine and a flash of metal cuts through my shot.

Lowering my camera, I frown at the motorcycle that stops directly in front of the subject of my senior photography project.

Thick thighs straddle the bike, and as irritated as I am that this guy decided to park directly in my line of sight, it’s impossible not to notice how every inch of his jeans and dark T-shirt hugs his body as he climbs off.

I push myself to standing as he slips off his helmet, and I’m surprised that his face doesn’t appear to look much older than mine. He’s got to be seventeen, eighteen at most.Even if he’s already well on his way to filling out the hard planes of muscle that sculpt his entire body.

Only his face gives away his age. It’s softer, and his eyes are as playful as they are wicked. But if we are the same age, he must go to a different school because I don’t recognize him.

I suppose this is Vegas. There’s no shortage of people in this city.

“Like what you see?” He grins, standing between me and the sculpture I was photographing.

“You’re in my shot.” I narrow my eyes as he rests his helmet on his bike.

But he doesn’t move. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and leans a hip against his bike, watching me. His brown hair is short on the sides and longer on top, covering one of his eyes until he brushes it back.

“And here I thought you were trying to take my picture.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you trying to get me to call you pretty?”

“You’re the one memorializing this moment.”

“Only because you parked in front of the subject of my senior project.” I jut my chin at the sculpture behind him.

But he doesn’t so much as turn to look at what I’m referring to. His eyes stay fixed on me with such intensity that it takes all my effort not to fidget.

There’s no shortage of guys at my school, but something about this one is… different.