Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)(26)

“No, I'm off today.”

“Enjoy!” she sing-songs before hanging up.

I fall against my pillows, Zeek and his defined jaw outlined in perfect scruff coming to mind once again.

Stepping off my bed, I stride to my desk, waking up my computer. I type in 'Sin City Outlaws', and Zeek’s mugshot is the first thing that pops up. Just seeing his face makes my heart beat faster. His hair has fallen in his eyes, a villainous grin fitting his face. Those eyes of danger and temptation are looking right back at me.

God, he’s so bad, but it fits him so well.





ZEEK


“Zeek! Zeek!” My arm is shoved, waking me up. Giving a sideways glance, I find a naked blonde chick sitting on the bed.

“What?” I croak, sitting up. Grabbing the sheet, I wad it around my dick, trying to jog my memory of who the hell she is. I remember dropping of the rookie, that f*cking kiss, the way her tit fell into my hand like she was made for me—all of it strings in my mind. I was f*cking horny as hell, and angry as a beast with blue balls.

My forehead wrinkles, my lips pressed into a straight line. That dumb bitch. She thinks she knows me based on shit she was told and trained to know in her job, but if only she really knew anything about me, she’d never have kissed me.

My head aches, my mouth dry.

I came back to the club, drank way too much—not enough, though, because I swore to God I could still smell her on me. So I grabbed the closest bitch and brought her back here, proving to myself that I'm an *.

An animal without emotions.

“Hey, so I gotta go soon. I was curious if you wanna...” She bats her lashes, her eyes skimming my torso. Her face looks like someone left crayons out in the sun, with her makeup running down it. Man, I must have been wasted to bring that back here.

“No,” I snap, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“No?” she asks with disbelief. “But we had sex last—”

“No, we f*cked. Big difference.”

Her face scrunches, her mouth popped open like I just dismantled her honor.

“Excuse me, but you came on my face! Look at my—”

“Look...” I stop, her name not coming to mind. Did she even tell me her name? “Whatever happened last night, it didn’t mean anything.” I should just get this shit printed on business cards or something, hand them out after every f*ck. It would save a lot of hassle.

Shaking her head, she looks at the door. “Right. I get it. I’m used to this routine by now. Anyway, I put my name and number in your phone.” Her eyes dart to the dresser, my phone sitting on the side. My brows furrow. For f*cking real?

“You wasted your time.”

Bending down, she grabs a pink dress and slides it over her head. It looks like a night gown.

“We’ll see.” She smirks, grabbing some pink heels off the floor before leaving.

Tangling my hands in my hair, I fall back on the bed.

“What the f*ck!” I yell, my mind flying back and forth. I tell every chick I take to bed not to expect anything the next morning, and they go to bed with me thinking what? That they’re the one who is going to fix me?

Something sweet wafts from my wrist, something unfamiliar.

I smell her, the rookie.

Her scent lingers on my skin.

It’s annoying me.

Making me f*cking furious, even.

I thought drinking and f*cking would erase the smell, the feel of Rookie’s soft skin, the softness of her hair between my fingers, from my mind. It didn’t. So I put my cards on just sobering up, blaming it on the booze and wanting what I can’t have, what I shouldn’t have… But I still want her. I f*cking want a deputy sheriff. I’m losing my goddamn mind.

Ever since the day I saw her, she’s been on my mind, and I can’t f*cking escape her. From her brave tone to her rippling weak stance. The way she looked at me and I suddenly felt like I was kicked in the balls. I was raised to be a killer; I don’t have time to deal with bitches.

I still smell her on me, taste her innocence in my mouth. She smelled clean, like fresh laundry.

Shower. I need a shower. A cold one.

Throwing the blankets off me, I high-tail it the adjoining bathroom, turn the water on cold and step in. The water feels like razors, pelting into my back, but my dick is as painfully hard as it was last night. Grabbing the nearest shampoo, I dump a bunch in my palm and lather it up in hopes to wash her from my skin, and mind.

She’s a sheriff, f*cktard, one who wants to put you behind bars. She is one of them, and would step on you in a heartbeat. In the end, I just want to f*ck her, my dick is just tired of the same ol' * around here. It wants a challenge. That has to be it.

After jerking off in cold-ass water, and with the thought of Deputy Jillian Adams still lodged in my memory, I give up and get out.

I wrap a towel around my lower half, and open a drawer for a pair of clean clothes. My rosary beads shift in the back of the drawer as I shuffle through the shirts. Grabbing the beads, I let them slip between my fingers. My mother gave them to me when I was a kid.

“Zevin, wear these when you feel like you have nobody else to turn to, are backed into a corner without answers. You pray, son, you grip those beads, clutch that cross and pray for forgiveness, for the answers. Because whatever you’re thinking, whatever demon your father implanted in you, boy, will surely guide you into the flames of hell.”