Page 23 of Watch Your Back (Devil’s Backbone #2)

Heath has had Ashley at our apartment all damn week.

Only ever during the day, when the two of them used to study in the campus library.

I was rarely home at the same time—thank fuck—but I could smell her shampoo when I came home in the evenings.

Shampoo…and sex. Fucking hell, just the lingering scent of her got me hard.

I need to sort shit out with my mother before Spark gives up on us.

Trouble is, Portia’s dodging my calls. Like she knows I plan on offering an ultimatum.

It’s so damn tempting to ignore the threats and do what I want, but it’s not just my future on the line.

Not just my freedom at stake. At this point, I’ll do just about anything to keep Spark safe, even if it breaks my own heart.

H eath’s fist connected with Carter’s face as my scream echoed through the bathroom and I scrambled to intervene before he could kill Carter. Because Carter wasn’t fighting back at all. He was just taking it, like he wanted the shit kicked out of him as penance for what had happened.

“What the fuck?” Royce exclaimed, skidding to a halt and smoothly blocking Heath’s next swing before it could meet Carter’s face.

“What just happened in—” He cut off with a sharp inhale as his gaze took in me on the floor, his focus shifting to my throat where I could feel the bruise of Carter’s hand already swelling up, and then snapped to the side.

I followed his line of sight and groaned when I saw what he’d spotted. My ripped panties.

“You motherfucker,” Royce breathed, one eye twitching in fury as he turned to face Carter full-on. A flash of light alerted me to the sudden appearance of a knife in his hand. Where the fuck had that come from? Was he serious?

“Stop it!” I shrieked, genuinely terrified of what might happen next.

Stumbling and tripping on my full skirt, I lurched up from the tiled floor and wrapped my arms around Carter to create a human shield.

I trembled all over, but nothing could make me move when both Royce and Heath looked like they were ready to castrate their friend on the spot.

Carter shuddered in my koala embrace and a low moan rolled out of him. “Spark…Ashley…let them. I deserve it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bassington,” I snapped back.

“We all need to calm the fuck down and discuss what just happened like rational adults.” I glared over my shoulder at Royce when I said that, and the stare he sent back sent a shiver down my spine.

I’d never seen him so dark before, and it tightened something in my chest.

“Ashes, he hurt you,” Heath croaked, utterly horrified with whatever he was seeing. I had a fair idea, since my eyes still burned with fresh tears spilling over and my throat ached from my near strangulation.

I shook my head firmly. “We need to get out of here. Now. All of us. Call Nate and get my car, Royce. We’ll meet you downstairs.”

Royce’s jaw tightened and he shook his head firmly. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I’m not alone,” I snapped back, frustrated and angry and downright scared. “Heath, get the claim ticket from my purse, please. Royce, I swear to fuck, if you don’t do what I am asking?—”

“What?” he barked back, pure fury radiating from his pores. “If I refuse to leave you alone with him right now, what the fuck are you going to do, Squirrel?”

“Ban you from sleepovers for starters,” I replied, unable to think of much else that would matter to him. “Never let you drive the Firebird again, perhaps?”

His brow dipped in a scowl, and I had to guess one of those two utterly empty threats had struck enough of a nerve because he snatched the valet ticket from Heath and stormed out. Not before casting one long, scathing glare Carter’s way, though.

“You too, Heath,” I said in a shaking voice. “Find Nate, please. We will meet you at your apartment.”

“No,” he replied, sounding like he was struggling to keep himself from falling apart. “I’m sorry, babe. I don’t care what you threaten me with. I won’t leave you alone with Carter right now. Please don’t ask that of me.”

“He’s right,” Carter said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ashley…not again.”

I clenched my teeth so hard, it hurt my jaw, and I released my human-shield hug to give us both a bit of breathing room.

“Carter Bassington Junior, if you call me Ashley one more time instead of Spark, I will use Royce’s little knife to cut the name into your arm so you never forget it. Am I clear?”

He blinked at me, stunned. Then he nodded slightly. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured. I narrowed my eyes in a warning glare, and he amended his response. “Yes, Spark. Understood.”

I gave a firm nod and glanced at the mirror to check my appearance before we left the restroom and caused a stir.

Or more of a stir than we’d probably already caused with the screaming.

“Fuck,” I muttered, seeing firsthand the mess my makeup was.

“Heath, can I trust you not to punch Carter again while I clean up my face?”

The scowling man in question just leaned his shoulders against the closed door, folding his arms over his chest in a clear message. No, he wouldn’t hit anyone, but he also wasn’t taking his eyes off me for even a second.

Good enough. I grabbed some toilet paper and tried my best to clean up the dark tracks of mascara and eyeshadow staining my cheeks, wincing at the red marks ringing my throat. Against my pale skin, they were hard to miss.

Neither Heath nor Carter said a damn word as I pulled the pins out of my up-do and arranged my hair down over my shoulders in an attempt to mask the signs of assault so we didn’t become the talk of the society before making it out of the hotel.

“Good enough,” I murmured, swiping on a fresh coat of lipstick and grimacing at my reflection. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” I tried to ignore the persistent tremor in my hands as I clipped my purse closed and tossed all my used tissues.

Heath held open the door for me, and I grasped Carter’s arm firmly in mine to ensure he came with us and didn’t try to slink off and play in traffic. Or hang himself. Guilt did crazy things to someone’s mind, as Heath had already proven.

We made a brisk line to the elevators, not making eye contact with anyone and thankfully making it without running into Paige or Jade…or Nate’s mom. Fucking hell, I’d hate to try to explain that.

To my relief, Royce already had my car waiting in front of the lobby door with the engine running. I gave Carter a firm push to the back seat, waiting for him to climb inside before pushing the seat back into position.

“Are you coming with us?” I asked Heath as I placed my hand on the passenger side door.

He nodded, jaw tight and brow furrowed. “I’ll bring Carter’s car and meet you there.”

“Good thinking,” I murmured, then hesitated. “It wasn’t him, Heath. He wasn’t?—”

“I know,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “I figured as much when you literally put your body between him and Royce. Be careful, Ashes. If it can happen to Carter…”

I swallowed hard, nodding my understanding. If it could happen to Carter, it could happen to anyone. “Drive safe, okay?” Because all I could think about was Daniel Mahoney and the implication that he’d deliberately crashed while hypnotized.

Heath leaned in and brushed a kiss over my lips, which I leaned into with a small moan. I was hurt, yes. But I wasn’t broken.

I slid into the passenger seat, too tired and shaken to argue with Royce about who was driving, and Heath leaned down to glare at him through my window. “Keep our girl safe, D’Arenberg,” he ordered without even the slightest hint of teasing.

I expected Royce to shoot back a snarky remark or flip Heath off or something, but he just gave a grim nod and shifted the car into drive, pulling us out of the valet zone at speed.

No one spoke for the entire drive back to the apartment, and Royce parked my car in the guest spot beside Heath’s Ducati like it was my permanent space.

I knew we needed to discuss what had happened and clear the air that Carter hadn’t hurt me, that he hadn’t been in control of his actions.

But I was exhausted and barely found the energy to stand upright as we rode the elevator up to their floor.

Royce unlocked the front door, and I forced my feet to carry me over to the kitchen to retrieve two ice packs from their freezer—one for Carter’s face and one for my throat. Fucking hell, what a night.

Carter accepted the ice pack, staring at it in genuine confusion before heading outside to their extensive balcony area, where Lady had a doggy paradise set up.

Royce stared at me for a long moment, his brow dipped in what seemed like a permanent scowl. Then he swiped a hand through his blond hair, messing it up as he muttered a curse. He jerked the freezer open again and pulled out a bottle of liquor to pour us both a heavy-handed shot.

I didn’t even sniff it or question what we were drinking. Just accepted the glass from him and knocked it back in one swallow. It burned on the way down, and I gagged a little, but then it spread that fiery warmth through my belly, and I held my glass out for a refill.

Royce obliged, watching me intensely as I swallowed the second shot and coughed with the afterburn.

“Are you okay, Squirrel?” he finally asked in a rough voice.

I wet my lips, tasting the sweet alcohol lingering there. He watched me do it, his expression tight and troubled. “I’m okay,” I murmured finally, testing the truth of that statement aloud. “It wasn’t him.”

The deeper meaning of that statement seemed to strike Royce like a hammer and he flinched. “Fuck.”

I nodded my agreement. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Royce glanced toward the balcony, where we could just make out the curve of Carter’s hunched shoulders as his head hung low. Pained sympathy and guilt tracked across Royce’s face as he considered the implications of that statement. “Fuck.”

In response, I grabbed the bottle of booze—spiced rum, I saw on the label—and refilled both our glasses. “Yup.” Because what the fuck else could I say?

Royce groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face like he wanted to erase all the murderous thoughts he’d been having about his friend. I handed him his glass and we took the shots together.

When the front door opened a minute later, I was already starting to feel myself relax into the fuzzy warmth of intoxication.

Obviously, that wouldn’t fix the problems at hand, but for right now, for facing the guys and explaining everything that’d happened?

I’d take the liquid courage and alcohol blanket.

Nate’s wide eyes landed on us in the kitchen, then snapped down to my throat where I held the ice pack. Then back to my undoubtedly puffy, tear-stained face.

“Who the fuck hurt you, Layne?” he demanded, oozing violence and rage.

Here we went again. This was getting old.