Lust (The Elite Seven #1)(45)

“You let someone film us and then shared it. With her, Rhett. Of all people,” she sobs.

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t…I would never…”

“Stop lying. You’ve been caught. The game is over. You won.”

“It’s not a fucking game. Please don’t do this. I need you.”

She studies me in silence for a few minutes, then shakes her head. Her eyes dart to something behind me, a passerby stopping with her dog to be a nosey cunt.

“Fuck off, you nosey bitch,” I bark, trying to find any place for my anger. Her jaw unhinges, and she scuttles off, pulling the poor dog along with her.

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that, right?”

“Chas, let me in. Let’s talk about this please.”

“There’s nothing you can say that will make this okay. You let me love you.” She chokes on the words, her hand coming to her mouth like she’s going to vomit.

“Don’t ever call me. When you see me in the corridor, pretend I don’t exist—because I don’t for you anymore.”

A knife would have been less painful. Defeat wraps me in a chokehold, and I struggle to fill my lungs with needed air. It’s over.

Love is more dangerous than lust. I knew it and played into the game unwillingly, until it was too late. I lost.

Dragging my ass back to the car, I grab the bottle from the backseat and drown in self-pity.

The price of loving someone is too much, too hard. I’m not going to make it through this.

Liquor warms my blood and gives me false hope, then dooming misery, when I try over and over for her to come to the door. Hours pass as I go between her house and the car.

My motor functions become less coordinated. She doesn’t even come to the window, and when I tried to climb the flower wall thingy, I fell in the bush—and I’m pretty sure cat shit.

My feet stumble as I throw my hands in the air, defeated. It’s really over. Tears burn my eyes, and I don’t care if I’m being a pussy. This shit hurts more than I ever thought possible.

Dousing my throat with the Jack Daniels, I find myself walking past the car and down the road, through the brush, until I find the hidden park.

I pull my cell phone out and drop it. Every time I try to pick it up, I stumble a little. It’s the worst game ever. Finally grasping it, I open it on God’s name and dial the number.

Two rings and he answers. It doesn’t matter what’s happened with us he will always be my brother.

“I’m in,” I slur.

“Rhett?”

“I’m in and I lost her.” I hiccup, then croak, “It cost me her. Someone recorded us. She saw it. Thinks it was me.” I’m crying, the words slurred and my heavy breathing making a weird sound into the phone.

“Where are you?”

“Nowhere. I’m lost at sea again. She was my lighthouse, my Juliet, my good girl.”

“Rhett, where the fuck are you?”

I end the call and go lay on the slide. It’s cold and damp, but I’m too drunk to give a shit.




The stars spin above me. When did the sun set?

Voices echo through the trees, and I must be dreaming because it sounds like God.

“There,” someone shouts. Is that Sloth?

I try to sit up and focus, but my eyesight blurs.

“Woah, this is cool,” Sloth says.

“It’s creepy,” God tells him.

“Rhett?”

“How did you find me?” I wheeze, my throat raw.

“Tracked your cell phone. You have GPS on.”

Well…shit.

“You should turn that off. Anyone can trace it.”

“It’s probably how someone caught him and the girl…”

Fuck.

“Thanks for coming for me, God, I know things are weird between us right now.” I hiccup.

Shaking his head he makes a pstt sound.

“Dude, I’m pissed I had to come traipsing through mud and forest and shit to save your drunken ass.”

“I’m dying,” I confess, scrubbing my hands over my face. I want to be left here to rot.

Let the land claim me back.

Gripping my arm, God tugs me up, slings my arm over his shoulder, and grips around my waist. “Not today you’re not,” he grumbles.

I can’t walk. My body feels too heavy and night keeps threatening to steal me away.

“I’m surprised he’s still breathing. He smells like a brewery.”

“Gone,” I mumble. “She’s gone, lost her.”

“Shhh. Like always, I’ll figure this shit out,” God tells me.





Toy soldiers dance over my scalp, banging their drums. Woozy sickness stirs in my gut, and thirst grips me. I crack an eye open and sigh when I see water on my bedside table.

I briefly remember God tossing me on the bed last night. How the fuck I ended up with him is a mystery.

And then the pain crashes into me, stealing my breath.

Chastity. As if my heart beckoned her, she appears in my line of vision. Am I dreaming?

“Am I dreaming?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.

“God came to me last night. He confessed it was him who filmed us and you didn’t know. Some task that was too important to fuck up or something that made no sense to me.” She shakes her head. “Point is, I know you didn’t film me…us…it…”