Lust (The Elite Seven #1)(39)

“Are you drunk?” My dad grimaces.

“Nooope,” I slur.

“Is that really your solution to something not going the way you wanted? Do you care what happened with your mother’s car?”

“Noooope.”

“You’re being immature.”

“Ha, says the man twucking a woman half his age.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he narrows his gaze on me. His arms look bigger, straining his shirt. He must be working out more. The brush with death scared him. I grin despite myself, and his stare gets even more squinty.

“You done?” I ask, trying not to sway on my feet.

“When you’re done being a brat, you should give your best friend a talking to.”

God? What the fuck does he have to do with anything? He’s always had issue with God. Probably because he has more money than him.

I navigate the stairs and collapse into my room, missing the bed and landing with a thud on the floor. Motherfucker, that hurt, and it’s uncomfortable as all hell down here, but I don’t have the mobility skills to get up right now.




I’m on fire. Hell’s fire scolds me, and hard droplets pelt down on me, attempting to put me out. But it’s gasoline, not water.

My body rocks violently from the terror racing though me.

“Rhett, where are you?”

I hear Robbie’s voice calling through the roaring of the fire.

The tree appears through the orange licks of flames and then I’m slipping through the mud beneath my feet It’s consuming me, hands pulling from beneath.

“No, stop, no,” I choke out.

“Rhett?”

“I’m coming, Robbie,” I cry, scraping at the mud, ignoring the pain all over me.

“Rhett. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Robbie’s voice morphs. “Wake up.”

The rain turns cold—not acid rain, shower water.

Hard tiles against my skin. I’m panting heavily. Jerking awake, I try to stand, but slip back to my ass. I’m not being dragged into hell. I’m in my shower.

My eyes adjust, and Chastity fills my vision. She’s soaked, fully dressed, sitting with me in the shower. What the hell’s going on?

“Chastity?”

“Yes, oh god. Rhett, you scared me,” she sobs, wrapping her arms around me.

“What are you doing here?” I croak, my throat stinging, a sour taste coating my tongue.

“You texted me to come over.”

Had I?

“I found you facedown in your own vomit.”

That would be the gross taste on my tongue then.

“I had to have your dad help me get you in the shower. He got upset and left.”

“You mean mad?” I ask, a throb beginning in my skull.

Shivering, she stands to turn the blast of the shower off.

Her hair is stuck to her face, makeup streaks her eyes, and sorrow mars those precious features. “No, he wasn’t mad, he was distressed when you were…” she pauses.

“Were what?”

“You were calling out for your brother and crying.” She sniffs, taking my hand and interlocking our fingers.

Fuck. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re hurting, but it’s okay. I’ll face that pain with you. You’re not alone, Rhett. You think I can’t see the pain in your eyes, the sorrow soaking your body?” She grips my face, absorbing my agony with me.

“I won’t pretend that I know how you feel, but if I could take some of that pain, that burden from you, I would, because I’m falling for you.”

I drop my eyes from hers, too ashamed to look at her after allowing myself to get so reckless.

“Look at me. Look in my eyes. You’re not alone anymore. It’s you and me now, and I won’t let you drown. You can’t do this to yourself.”

She holds me while I come apart. It’s not a girl who’s falling for a boy, or a boy tasked to seduce a girl he fell for. It’s a human sharing another human’s pain when they know they can’t carry it on their own.




Getting dry and into dry clothes I admire Chastity wearing my tee, it drowns her but it’s all kinds of sexy. I know in my heart that I want to see her wearing my shit after staying the night. After I’ve been inside her body. Made love to her in a way I’ve never adored a woman’s body before.

“Do you want me to make you some coffee?” she asks brushing her hair back off her face with one of my mother’s old brushes.

“No,” I look her up and down. No way is my old man getting to see her in only a shirt.

“I’ll get us some hot drinks, make yourself at home.” I tell her noticing either her or my dad must have cleaned up the sick because the room smells of bleach and there’s no puddle.

My feet are still unsteady as I take the stairs down to the kitchen, which is plunged into darkness.

Switching the light on, my heart leaps. My old man nursing a mug of something sat at the breakfast bar.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” My voice is hoarse, and my body feels like it’s been through an intensive wash cycle.

“You have nightmares,” he states.

I stop to watch him from the other side of the counter.

“I hear you at night. They stopped for a while, but tonight…” He frowns, running a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands.