Page 16 of Pretty Vengeance

So, she’s adopted Jamie’s nickname for me… Inexplicably, that makes me feel closer to her. And I can’t deny that her breeziness is like breathing fresh air.

Still seems risky to be around her, though.

Get out of the car and start walking, I tell myself.

My movements are robotic as I open the car door, shut it and shuffle toward the sidewalk. Toward the bus stop that will take me back to the dorms, and away from thugs and high-speed chases.

And yet,like a lunatic, I bypass the oncoming bus and the line waiting to get on. Instead, I join my new friend, and possible criminal associate, in line for a much needed dose of caffeine. “Hey, I don’t like pumpkin spice.”

“So,you’rethe one.”

Unbidden, a small smirk emerges on my face. She really might be a fucking faery. In books, they’re always irresistible.

Pointing at the chalkboard menu, she wiggles her finger. “How about a peppermint mocha?”

I nod.

“Sorted.” She links her arm around mine companionably. “After this, let’s go get our nails done.”

Since losing Mom, I haven’t had anyone to get manicures with. A warm wave of nostalgia washes over me. And just like that, I’m glad I didn’t get on the bus.

8

JAMIE

At two in the afternoon, I drag myself out of bed and head to the training center. Three other rowers meet me at the pool. The guys are loud and rowdy. A late night, a hangover, and the Jude anniversary slow me down, but muscle memory kicks in once I get moving.

Growing up, the water was always the best place for me. When you’re in the Irish Sea—or even seaside as a lifeguard—you have to be vigilant. It was then that I was most free of my guilt. The times I had to focus attention elsewhere were the only thing that kept me from beating my head against the wall in my teens when my anger unhinged me.

Later, I learned to harness and channel my rage into violence, and things improved. It’s ironic that, as I became more of a menace, I must’ve seemed calmer to the outside world.

Ten laps in, I begin to dominate and win our races. The others are just as strong and fit, but I’m more efficient. My experience fighting currents was a training like no other. Nature never wears out. I learned to make the most of every stroke and how to recover quickly during moments of rest. In a rip current, there’s no place for doubt. Pain and fatigue are things to be managed. So you can keep fucking going.

A good metaphor for a troubled life.

I find my rhythm and swim so long I’m the last one in the pool. Counting strokes drops me into a meditative zone where I’m dissociated from the burn in my muscles or lungs.

When someone calls my name and draws me out, I wonder again if what I feel in the water is anything like what submissives feel when they reach subspace. From things some have explained about it, I think it might be.

After a shower, we emerge from the center as a group. There’s talk of going for food and one of the guys’ girlfriends is bringing a friend.

I’m always in the mood for company, if only to help drown out dangerous thoughts, but there’s a text from War. He has to go to Boston for work and plans to stop in a dungeon on the way back. I’m tempted to go along. Wild sex is another great way to distract myself, and I was already celibate yesterday in observance of Jude’s loss.

Before I can reply, someone steps into my personal space. A cloying perfume overwhelms my senses, and I look up. Clare Duffy’s standing a few inches away.

“Ride with me to Bruno’s, Jamie. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Oh, hell. Clare’s the friend. Hard pass.

One of my teammates gives me a wave as he and his girlfriend head toward the parking lot, probably thinking he’s done a good deed by leaving me with the clever girl whose family has Irish roots. It’s a shame I’m not attracted to Clare because she’s after me like a queen bee looking to colonize her hive.

My tone is less than pleased when I respond. “What are you doing here, Clare?”

Her thin brows rise over green eyes that are set a fraction too far forward. She studies me in cool assessment with her bug eyes. “My friend and I were working on club business, and she mentioned dinner with her boyfriend and some of his teammates. Is my being here a problem?”

The challenge in her voice is a mistake. Not that she had a chance of getting anywhere with me anyway. Razor sharp banter is fun during a poker game, but it doesn’t get my dick hard.

“The Briar Club business you were working on, was that to do with incoming members?”