Lust (The Elite Seven #1)(28)

“Are you even listening to me?”

No.

“I give respect to people I R.E.S.P.E.C.T.” My tone is grinding, blood rushes through my veins like a raging current.

I see it coming, but it’s too fast on impact for me to prevent it. The fist hits my jaw, sending my head snapping to the side.

It’s not the first time he’s hit me, just the first time since I’ve been as big as him, and the first time with a closed fist.

My muscles coil as my mind explodes like a ticking time bomb reaching zero. I charge him.

Shock registers in his eyes before my shoulder collides with his midsection, taking him down.

We hit the wood floor hard, making the air whoosh out of him. I rise to rain down a flurry of blows, but stop short when his body doesn’t move.

His eyes closed…and just fucking nothing.

What the fuck is this shit?

Pushing myself off him, I back away, searching his form for life.

What the hell happened? My pulse gallops uncontrollably, and then my stomach rolls.

A red liquid pool seeps from under his head like spilled wine.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

This can’t be happening.

How? I didn’t even hit him.

The blood oozes, and the image of it evokes fear deep in my soul. I killed him.

Stirring in my gut intensifies, and I rush to the toilet to expel my lunch.

I killed him.

I killed him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

With shaky hands, I pull out my cell phone and call the only person I can rely on.

“I’m not late. You said nine,” he shouts out before I can say anything.

“I need you to come now.” My voice sounds hoarse to my own ears.

“What? You sound weird.”

“Come now. Something happened. I need you to come now.”

Voices chatter through the receiver. He’s not alone.

Panic washes over me like a damp mist.

“Who are you with?”

“Rush.”

“Who?”

“Sloth, dumbass,” he says, irritation in his response. He hates me calling everyone by their sin name in favor of their given names.

“We’re on our way.” He ends the call before I can tell him to come alone.

Fuck.

Scenarios of the consequences pulse through my head.

Accidental death. My life goes on.

Self-defense. My life goes on.

Murder charges. I go to prison until I’m decrepit, forgotten about, and left to rot.




I’m pacing the floor of the foyer when God and Sloth arrive. They waltz straight in, and I berate myself for not locking the damn door. Anyone could have walked in here, and then my choices would be out of my control.

“Lock the door,” I urge, receiving frowns from them both.

“I called the others. They’re all on the way,” God tells me without moving to lock the door.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” I bark in alarm.

Walking toward me, God places his hands on my shoulders, making me stare at him.

“You’re freaking me out. You having a bad trip?”

I’m not high. Fuck, I wish I was.

“I killed him,” I vomit out.

Silence. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“I’m sorry?” Sloth says, stepping forward and turning his face to hear me better. “What did he just say?”

A knuckle tap sounds at the front door, and Pride joins us, followed by the others a few seconds later.

Not even a full week we’ve been bonded, and now they all stand in my house, witnesses to murder.

I murdered my dad.

My throat seizes, and I choke, coughing into a frenzy.

“What’s going on?” I recognize Pride’s baritone.

God holds me up, patting my back. “Are you all right?”

Typical of him to be concerned with my wellbeing and not the fact that I told him I killed someone.

“Oh fuck,” someone barks, and all attention slides to whoever ventured into the living room.

I follow them as they descend into the space where my dad lays dead on the floor.

“Okay,” God says, nodding his head and looking between the body and me.

Pride points to my chin, then down to my dad. “He do that to you?”

Why aren’t any of them freaking out? I reach up to the bruise blossoming there.

Sloth looks to be the only one taking this for what it is. They’re all involved with murder. He’s solemn, his legs giving out and all but falling on to the couch.

“This is bad,” he mumbles.

“He hit me, and I just took him down. I didn’t…I don’t…”

“Breathe,” Greed tells me, nodding. “You’re not alone in this.”

“We’ll get rid of the body.” Envy shrugs a shoulder, like he’s talking about moving a couch. “The swamp. Gators will take care of it.”

“It’s not an it. It’s a fucking person. Christ,” Wrath grinds out, sifting a hand through his hair.

“No, Envy is right. We protect our brother. We get rid of the evidence,” Pride pipes up.

“What about when someone asks where the fuck he is?” Wrath demands.

“He’s fucking every floosy in this town. Rhett says he went off with some woman. No one will think otherwise,” God snorts.