Page 74 of Torched Spades

Just like it hasn’t for the last six goddamn hours.

“Where the hell are you, Becca?” I take a long swig from the bottle of whiskey, my mind filled with blind rage and something much more unnerving.

Concern.

I try to tell myself the unfamiliar feeling is out of regard for my own protection… That the rapid-fire interrogation she hit me with, moments after getting fucked within an inch of her life, is the reason I’ve sat here most of the night, staring at the image of an empty condo.

But I’ve never been one for self-deception. The truth, no matter how unpleasant and ugly, is that my growing alarm has nothing to do with me…

And everything to do with her.

I knew as soon as I left her office I’d set another fire, only this one is the most dangerous of all. Infernos of the mind are uncontainable and inextinguishable. I let my guard down, and Becca turned a spark into a flame.

Now we’re both fucked.

She has no idea.

“Fucking idiot.” Why the hell did I tell her about Victoria?Shining a light on the truth doesn’t set you free. It only shrinks the cage. Now, I’ve handed her the keys to my destruction—a fatalistic error that might as well have included my gun. Then she could’ve pulled the trigger right there and got the shit over with instead of dragging it out for three hundred and sixty goddamn minutes.

Clenching my teeth, I return my focus to the screen, but nothing’s changed. It’s still filled with the same empty rooms I’ve watched all night.

One hour and multiple swigs of whiskey later, that growing concern turns to suspicion. Then that suspicion turns to jealousy. No woman, especially one as rigid as Becca, stays out all night unless she has somewhere to go.

A pair of welcoming arms to fall into.

A stable calm in what she fears to be a chaotic storm.

Hitching my arm, I hurl the bottle across the room, the sound of glass shattering against drywall fueling my rage. Exiting out of the video footage, I pull up a search engine and type in one name.

Jack Ledger.

Within five minutes, I have his address typed into my GPS and my keys in my hand. As I storm through the living room toward the front door, I place a call to Alice’s office line and wait for the beep.

“It’s Johnny. Something came up, and I’m going to be a little late. I’ll explain later.” Disconnecting the call, I glance down at my phone one last time, a vicious smile parting my lips.

It’s four-sixteen a.m.

The Devil’s hour may be over, but Torch’s hour has just begun.

* * *

Jack Ledger’s house is a simple ranch-style pile of bricks located across the Seekonk River in East Providence. There are five potential exits at the front that include two windows sandwiched on either side of a double-deadbolt door.

I know because I’ve studied every inch for the last hour and a half.

In between memorizing every hidden corner and exit, I fantasize about what I’m going to do to Reese’s bitch boy when I get my hands on him. The torture would be brutal, drawn out for his pain and my pleasure. I want to see him bleed. I want to see him beg. And then, when he’s hovering between this world and the next, I want to send him to hell with one final thought.

Never touch what’s mine.

Becca can believe what she wants about Jack Ledger. She can sing his praises until her voice fucking breaks. I don’t care if he rescues abandoned kittens or slaughters them for fun. The moment Becca surrendered to me and let me inside her—she belonged to me.

That’s why I did a one-eighty on the referral. It’s why, after marking her, I threw all caution and rationality out the window, and said “fuck it” to the risk.

I once told Becca that sin is an irreversible stain on the soul. So is cum. Now that I’ve marked her with both, there’s no way out for either of us.

I protect what I claim.

Even when she walks out of her office, straight into another man’s arms.