Page 68 of The Boy I Loved (Eternal Hell #1)

Just because Hazel got to spend the weekend with me, it didn’t mean she was free. She couldn’t roam around, and the other workers couldn’t see her. Which meant that she was still a prisoner, just confined to another room.

I pushed myself to my feet and spun on my heels, not bothering to spare that asshole another glance, or another second of my time.

When I reached the elevator, I released a heavy breath and slipped inside, jamming my finger into the button leading to the second floor where the lounge resided.

That was where we spent the majority of our time, even when we weren’t on guard duty.

Kent was on the sofa with Adrian sucking his dick again when I approached. His hand was tangled through her hair, guiding her up and down. His eyes were pinched closed, his jaw slack.

Across from him was Azrael and Rodney. Their gazes were locked on Adrian, her bare ass resting on her heels with only a string of red fabric between her cheeks.

Striding over to the bar, I fixed myself a glass of bourbon and made my way toward the guys, sinking into the chair beside Rodney. He barely spared me a glance, his attention snagged by Adrian again moments later.

“Congrats on winning the contest,” Azrael said from Rodney’s other side. “Have you given any thought to what girl you’re going to choose?”

This caught Rodney’s attention, and he snorted. “He’s going to pick Hazel.”

He wasn’t wrong, but the way in which he said it grated on my nerves.

Despite his condescending remark, anticipation bubbled up inside of me.

For once, I had something to look forward to.

For an entire weekend, nothing else would matter.

Not Tristan, not the compound, not Clay, not keeping her alive, not Stacy’s death, nothing.

Kent’s groan snapped me out of my thoughts, his grip tightening around her hair as his legs trembled.

She gagged when he shoved her down farther before she was ready, her nails digging into his thighs.

After a few seconds, he was spilling down her throat and releasing her.

Adrian fell back on her heels, swiping a hand over her mouth and rose to stand.

Kent tucked himself back in his jeans, giving her a look of admiration, his eyes glazed over with desire.

Sad bastard.

If Clay knew how he felt for Adrian, he’d use her against Kent without a doubt. That was what he did with me regarding Hazel.

“Anything else?” she asked him, her voice coming out strained due to the onslaught her throat had just taken.

“That’s all, Doll. Thank you.”

She gave him a slight nod of her head before turning on her heels and stalking away. This was a daily occurrence for the two of them. She’d suck him off and then would leave as if nothing had happened. I was sure they were fucking, too. Though if they were, Kent did it in private.

A stitch formed between Azrael’s brows as he watched the interaction, his mind working overtime to put the pieces together. Kent wasn’t exactly subtle.

Movement to my right caught my attention, my gaze sliding to Tristan, who was making his way the back door.

The urge to follow him was strong, mostly because I wanted to get under his skin as he’d done with me. But it was pointless. Instead, I narrowed my eyes, watching as he slipped through the door.

Tristan had been a part of Clay’s crew before me.

Hell, he grew up working for the bastard.

I didn’t know all of the details, just that his father was close with my uncle, and they worked closely together.

Tristan’s dad was currently stationed at one of the whore houses, running that while Clay took care of the compound.

Bringing my glass to my lips, I took a steady drink of the bourbon, breathing through the fire it lit in my chest. And then I took another drink, needing the burn a little more than I’d initially thought.

The days were beginning to bleed together, even for me.

It was always the same bullshit—guard duty, basement duty, training, day off, repeat.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine what my mother must be thinking.

I never even told her I was leaving, nor did I speak to her.

She was another person I’d been avoiding.

Checking my phone felt like a chore at this point and I rarely ever did anymore.

Once my whiskey had been drained, I stood and deposited the glass over in the rack near the bar before taking the elevator up to my floor.

Slipping into my bedroom, I gathered a change of clothes and made a beeline for my ensuite.

Bright light bled onto the tile floor as soon as I flicked the switch.

Placing my clothes on the bathroom counter, I turned toward the bath and twisted the knobs until water poured out.

I sloppily stripped out of my clothing as the water warmed and then stepped into the tub, lowering myself into it. Steam billowed out into the air, attacking my airway .

My head thumped against the back of the tub and I allowed my eyes to flutter closed. Memories attacked the forefront of my mind, reminding me how simple things used to be.

My father had always been an active parent.

He worked long hours but did what he could when he was home.

He was obsessed with hunting, and it was through him that I initially learned how to shoot a gun in the first place.

When Clay brought me to the compound, he was pleased to know that I already had experience in that department.

“Hunting deer is similar to women,” he said when I was sixteen years old. “Except women are louder and easier to catch. They’re also more fun.”

I still remembered the cocky smirk he gave me as if we were in on some kind of inside joke.

Reflecting on it now, I still didn’t fully understand it.

Women were never meant to be prey. Sometimes, on the days I was less myself, it was easy to get lost in the exhilaration of it all.

It would be a bold face lie if I claimed having Stacy at my mercy didn’t appeal to me.

It did, more than I’d like to admit. She wasn’t the first either.

Hell, there were too many instances to count.

Before I knew it, the water surrounding me had cooled to a lukewarm temperature.

Pushing myself to stand, I pulled the plug to let the water drain and then turned on the shower.

Ice cold water shot from the showerhead above, pelting my skin with ferocity.

Once it warmed, I lathered shampoo through my hair and rinsed.

I repeated the process with conditioner before moving onto my body.

Once I was clean, I grabbed the towel, dried off, and got dressed.

My skin was tight with anxiety as I navigated the way to my bed, tugging the comforter back and slipping beneath it. I might have won the contest, but at what cost? Hazel was mad at me, and the thought of her hating me as much as she hated them didn’t sit right.

But I did what I had to do. She’d understand. Right?