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Nothing else stood out in the room, so I turned down a short hallway. The bathroom was more of the same aimless destruction. There was only one bedroom, and I was surprised to see it hadn’t been hit as bad. Two of her drawers were pulled open, but the rest looked fine.
Maybe they got interrupted before they could finish.
A few steps in, and I changed my tune real fuckin’ fast.
Her bedroom was the worst of all.
Because the motherfucker—or motherfuckers—had focused on her underwear.
Arranged on her bed, bras and panties in an assortment of neon patterns, pretty lace, and sexy straps spelled out one word.
Boo!
Only the line of exclamation point wasn’t made of fabric. It was made of something even more intimate.
And plastic.
“I gotta admit,” Jury said as he approached, “this doesn’t clear anything up. If she’s working with that asshole, she’d have enemi—whoa.” His eyes must’ve been on the bed because he knocked into me before stopping. “That seems pretty damn personal.”
It did.
Shit.
Bringing my finger to my lips, I went to her closet and positioned myself at the side. I aimed my gun before throwing the door open.
“I’m sure her clothes are pissin’ themselves,” Jury muttered with a chuckle as I reholstered.
“Being cautious, dickhead. Shoulda just let you get ganked.”
“Yeah, that fuckin’ tutu looks murderous.”
I glanced at the light pink skirt with layers of thin, poofy fabric. It was ridiculous, but just imagining her in it had my dick jerking. Scanning the hangers, I saw more of the same.
It was the wardrobe of a woman who liked to look pretty.
“Still not narrowing anything down,” Jury pointed out.
No, it wasn’t.
He walked over and picked a bra up by its strap, letting it dangle. The cream fabric was covered in pretty pink roses and a contrasting swirl of black lace.
Sweet and sexy.
Much like its owner.
Jury dropped the bra to lift a pair of underwear that was more strap than fabric. “Makes me wonder what she was wearing under—”
“Don’t,” I snarled, snatching the panties out of his hand and tossing them back onto the bed.
He didn’t speak, but his raised brow said plenty.
“I just meant don’t touch them. If she’s a hooker, who knows what kinda crotch rot is clinging to them. They could’ve been full granny panties before toxic pussy disintegrated them.”
It was all a load of bullshit, and my dick knew it.
“I dunno, they look damn good to me. I can just picture her in this strappy set, puttin’ her exclamation point to good use.” My brother had always been able to read me too damn well, and there was a challenge in his eyes as he reached down. “Wonder if it still smells like—”
Before he could touch the vibrator, I shoved him to the side. “Don’t wonder. Don’t fuckin’ picture. Get it out of your damn head and go wait in the other room.”
