Page 89 of Sinners Reunion

“And what is your opinion of the illustrious Grantham Carter?”

I shrug. “As far as killers go, he’s above reproach. As far as being a human, though?”

“Go on.”

“I don’t know. I just can’t find anything good to say about someone who runs all over town making women fall in love with him, then knocking them up and cutting bait.” I shudder. “He destroyed Aven’s family by causing a rift between husband and wife. He turned Frankie’s mother into a psychotic and obsessive dick rider from hell. Bennett’s mother is the saddest of all, though. She just poured her entire soul into her little boy, never having a life for herself.”

“Bennett was her life. In a non-disgusting way, he was also the love of her life.” He shakes his head. “She struggled, but you wouldn’t have found a happier woman or a more adored little boy.”

“It’s a wonder he turned out how he did,” I say. “With so much love, so many happy memories, you’d think he would have tried to do good.”

King sighs. “Yes, well, breeding proves out, doesn’t it? It doesn’t matter how nice the bitch is. If the sire is off, the pup might be as well.”

“I think Ezra’s mother is the one I know least about.”

He mutters something, but I don’t catch what he says. When I ask him to repeat himself, he looks at his watch and says it isn’t important. Then he brings me a bottle of Perrier from the mini fridge and tells me to change the sheets if my thinking leads to making a mess.

“I’ll just be a few rigs over at Cat and Bennett’s. We’ll be leaving in the next ten minutes, but give a shout if you change your mind.”

He leaves me alone with my thoughts, and the silence closes in.

Keeping to myself all these years has had its benefits. In quiet moments, I don’t find discomfort. I find clarity. It’s easier to hear myself think when there aren’t fifty other sounds happening around me. And King was right on the money when he said I needed to recharge. I’ve enjoyed being around these people, but that doesn’t mean I’m not also exhausted.

I push the helmet to the floor and flop back on the mattress with my arms above my head. I stare at the roof and try to tackle the most pressing problem: telling the girls about my trauma and subsequent coping mechanisms. That’s supposed to happen tonight.

My stomach twists, and I roll onto my side. They won’t be mean to me. They won’t poke fun about something as serious as this. But they will be honest. If I’ve been irrational and held on to something stupid for this long, they’ll let me know. I need to plan for how I’ll process it when that happens.

“If that happens, Josie,” I whisper to myself. “We are not a fortune teller.”

Because it could go the other way. They could hear my reasoning and then make fun of me. I could be the joke at the next retreat. The squash fucker who’s never been kissed. That silly girl who showed up for one of their trips as if she belonged.

I clench my eyes shut. “Stop it. They aren’t like that.”

The other women have been welcoming and kind. Friendly. I have no reason to believe they’d speak that way about me.

Well . . . they’d probably say the squash fucker part, but it’s kind of true, so I can’t be mad.

Okay, thinking about this isn’t helping anything. It’s making me feel worse.

I know what would make me feel better, though.

It’s been far too long since I tickled my own fancy, and as good as King is at working an orgasm out of me, I’m not too shabby myself. Maybe it’s time I remind myself that I don’t need a man. That would tackle the third problem. Then it’s just a matter of finding Ice Pick’s traitor, and I can finally sleep normally again.

Rolling onto my back, I slip my hand into my flowing purple top and run my fingertips over my nipple. The sensitive little bud perks right up, ready to send pleasurable sensations down my spine. I bite my lip and tweak the peak, and my pussy clenches.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “You know just how to touch me.”

Yes, I’m imagining King. No, I still don’t need a man. Just a mental image of one.

My other hand snakes into my sleep shorts. I drag my excitement toward my clit, forming a slippery surface. My fingertips skate over the nub and send more jolts of pleasure through my limbs. I rock my head to the side and imagine sucking King as he touches and teases me.

“Choke me,” I whisper. “Fucking⁠—”

The RV door rips open, and I bolt upright with a shout. My eyes bulge wider when I see that it isn’t King standing inside the RV.

It’s Blayne.

Even though I’m fully clothed, I pull the blanket over my chest as if he’s walked in on me in the nude. I feel naked.