Page 23 of Before You Fell

“Stupid,” she says.

“Don’t twist it.”

“No, say it.” Her chin lifts. “You think I’m stupid because I almost said yes to getting air with someone who looked at me without his ego getting in the fucking way.”

I recover with a smirk because there is always one more mask if you dig deep enough.

“You think Marcus looked at you because he wanted air?” I step in closer—close enough that she has to tip her head back to keep her eyes on mine. I should back up and let her have the space I just accused another man of wanting.

I don’t.

“He wanted you outside,” I say, my voice dropping. “He wanted you looking at him with those big brown eyes while he pretended to be decent long enough to get close.”

I lean in another inch, mean enough to say it and stupid enough to want her to react.

“He wanted to know what your mouth tastes like when you’re not using it to tear men apart. He was curious about how beautiful you sound when you fucking come. That’s the whole trick, Wills. Soft voice. Safe hands. Gentleman bullshit wrapped around a hard cock and a bad idea.”

“Phoenix.”

“He wasn’t thinking about air,” I continue. “He was thinking about your mouth. Your legs. And your pussy.”

Her eyes flash.

I smile because I’m already bleeding somewhere ugly, so I might as well cut deeper. “Don’t act shocked, Wills. Marcus is still a man. He wanted to fuck you. He just had the sense to dress it up prettier than I would have.”

Her hand cracks across my face before the last word has finished burning between us. It’s hard, sharp, and fucking perfect.

No one says a word.

Not Cruz, standing by the bar with his filthy grin wiped clean for once.

Not Jax, who looks as if he has forgotten how to run his mouth.

Not Jett, observing too carefully from the edge of the room.

Heat blooms across my cheek. The sting crawls under my skin, bright enough to wake up every part of me that had no business being this close to her in the first place.

Slowly, I turn back to Willow.

Her chest is rising hard and her eyes are blazing. Her hand is still half lifted between us, fingers trembling from the slap she had every right to give me.

She is breathing hard, looking at me as if she could tear my throat out with her teeth and still sleep peacefully after.

I touch my tongue to the inside of my cheek.

I should apologise. A decent man would. Fuck, a better man would step back. But I’m neither.

I stare at Willow, with my face burning and half the room staring, and I smirk.

She looks at me for a long second. “Why do you fucking care?”

Because Marcus looked at her and she looked back.

Because I can have a woman’s hand on my cock in front of everyone and still nearly lose my shit the second some roadie with steady eyes asks her if she wants air.

Because I am a selfish hypocrite. The worst fucking kind.

“Because you’re part of the band,” I say, and the second it leaves my mouth, I realize it’s shit. A pathetic coward’s little blanket thrown over something with claws.