DECEIT (B723) by Hazel Grace (ebook reader for surface pro .TXT) 📕

How many times we spent the night in the woods to get away from Shady Grove.

When I killed for the first time, it was justice for her.

The dozens upon dozens of occasions she picked cocaine over me.

“Still, my hero,” she whispers against my lips. “And my biggest regret.”

A crest of anger blankets over me, and I shove her back into the other side, but our union doesn’t break—no, it intensifies.

My rage for everything Emmy and how Camilla made me second best. How I know to mirror some of Camilla’s bad habits with bottling up anything or anyone else in a way where we can just hurt and enable ourselves.

Camilla with her white powder.

Me with violence.

Our bodies barrel into my bedroom door, but I spin us around so that my frame is always in control.

Never again will Camilla have the upper hand on me—ever. 

My teeth sink into her tongue in warning to not push me any further. That we’re not the same people anymore.

That I’m not the Kace Bishop who worshiped and adored her.

He’s dead.

“Keep your eyes open, Camilla. I’m not going to ask again.”

“These are the streets, Kace.” Her palm trails down my sternum and to my stomach. “And they don’t rat.”

“Call it being old acquaintances. You’ll make yourself useful to me.”

Her lips slow against mine, demanding me to feel this—us, in the same room. The same space we first had sex in. Where we used to cuddle up at night and talk.

“I want to be.” Her fingers find the waistband of my jeans. “I always did.”

I mentally shake my head. I’m not talking about our bullshit past but the present.

She falls back and takes me with her by the loops of my pants. My legs straddle her sides as possessive arms wrap around my neck.

“Fucking me isn’t going to get me what I need,” I snarl into her mouth.

“I can’t…Kace. The streets aren’t forgiving.”

Past meet present.

My hand snatches up the pillow above her head, and I break from her greedy lips.

Covering the cushion over her face, I pull down on either side before leaning over to say, “Neither am I.”

Camilla immediately begins to thrash underneath me, but my weight keeps her from making much of an effort.

I’m done with playing nice.

I won’t be fucking around when I have the only blood family I have left under my protection.

The front door of the double-wide opens, announcing Kyson’s arrival to be my mental backup.

That and he wouldn’t take no for an answer when I told him I was bringing Camilla to my trailer for a place to crash.

Tossing the pillow to the side, Camilla’s gasps for air is like a demon just got exorcized from her frame.

I’m off her and at the end of the bed when I say, “I had Kyson pick up a few of your things from your friend’s trailer.” Camilla comes up on her elbows, and I watch her cower when I lean in. “Fail me…I dare you.”

Her bulging blues flick behind me, alluding to my friend’s entrance. She must remember how it used to be—he and I were inseparable. Not only was he my best friend, but he was my brother.

Through thick and thin and even Camilla’s bullshit, Ky was the rationality, the rock, and the voice I needed to get me through.

He’s the reason I’m still alive.

“Here’s your shit,” my best friend leers, not hiding his resentment for the woman who tore me apart piece by piece and tossing a small brown duffle bag onto the bed.

Camilla raises her chin. “I don’t need—“

“Take it,” Kyson grits out. “You’re more trouble than you’re fucking worth.”

He pivots on his heels, clearly already having enough, and I follow, needing some space and my own drug to muddle up my rising temper to less dangerous levels.

When the door clicks shut behind us, Kyson immediately starts on his tangent.

“Let’s not make this a repeating offense, Bish. We’ve dealt with this bitch once, why are we doing it again?”

Call it old habits die hard, I don’t know.

“Not right now.” I wave a hand in the air to get him to shut up. “I’m not in the mood, and I just might kill you.”

“She doesn’t deserve your kindness after the bullshit she’s pulled.”

“Again—“ I yank out my antique cigarette case from my back pocket and pluck out my rolled blunt. “—shut the hell up.”

Kyson steps up on me, almost level to my eyes but, thank fuck for small things, I’m an inch taller. “The fuck is your deal?”

I flick my Zippo lighter. “My what?”

“You think I don’t know?” Kyson furrows his red eyebrows at me. “You think I’m that blind?”

“Later.” I clasp my lips around my joint, then blaze the end.

“This can’t wait.”

I pivot, needing to clear my head. “Yeah, it can.” Kyson palms the back of my tee and yanks, causing me to whirl around, baring my teeth. “What the fuck did I say?”

“You wanna do this?” He erases the rest of the space between us until we’re almost nose to nose. “Beat my ass over this bitch now? Pull your head out of your ass, Bish, or you’ll never get another chance.”

I push at his chest. “A fucking chance for what?”

“Emmy.”

My eyes shut on their own. Like she has this spelled casted on me to cause my mental pain just to think about what we don’t have anymore.

I don’t want to think about it or her or anything.

Camilla proves to be the best distraction for the events, or lack of that are happening with my wife.

I failed her like she pestered me. We didn’t communicate, we fought, but it would end up in one of us leaving or screwing each other to ignore the real problem.

The humane thing to do would be file for divorce and allow Emmy a chance of happiness.

The selfishness in me refuses to grant her any space, man, or peace without me.

“I’m only going to say this once,” I seethe, feeling a discomfort in my jaw from clenching it so hard. “Then I’m not saying it again.”

“Alright.”

“She doesn’t want me.