Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(67)
Author: M. Leighton

And I need to do that. I need to take this victory and move on.

To what?

I push the question out of my mind, reminding myself that I have a plan and that’s that. I ignore the bright blue eyes that drift through my mind, the ones I can practically feel burning a hole through me.

I walk to my brother and stop in front of him. I stick out my hand and he takes it. He pumps it several times as we smile at each other. Impulsively, I pull him in for a hug. We clap each other on the back.

I lean away from him. He’s still smiling broadly.

“It’s over, man. It’s finally over,” he says, obviously relieved.

I nod. “Finally.”

On what should be the happiest day, I feel bereft. And partying is the last thing I want to do right now. But I don’t want anyone to see me struggle, so I ask Cash quietly, “Can I use your apartment for a little while? I need to clean up.”

I see the crease appear between his eyebrows for an instant before it smooths out. “Sure.”

I nod and turn, walking straight from the room and not looking back.

What the hell did you expect to happen?

I chastise myself as I make my way down the steps and across the floor of the crowded club. Evidently, on some level, I thought Marissa would be thrilled to see me, that she’d declare that she’s been miserable without me, beg me to take her with me and we’d sail off into the sunset. As ridiculous as that sounds, that’s the scenario that I had hidden somewhere deep, deep down.

You’re a fuc—You’re an idiot!

It infuriates me that I’m still censoring myself for her, like she gives a shit. Like she can hear me. Like she cares. I mutter a blistering string of raunchy expletives as I stomp into Cash’s office and slam the door shut behind me.

I walk through to his apartment and slam that door as well, feeling infinitesimally better having gotten some of my aggression out. What would really help me is the opportunity to beat the hell out of that stuffed shirt that was wrapped around Marissa. But since that wouldn’t win me points with anyone and would likely land me in jail, I settle for flinging my duffel across the room and heading for the shower.

I barely turn the cold spigot on. The burn of the hot water temporarily deadens the intensity of everything else. By the time I get out, my skin is on fire, but it calms soon enough, leaving me right back at square one.

Before getting dressed, I stretch out across the bed to let the air dry me. I concentrate on the dull throb of the music outside and will my anger away.

I make myself think of things I can control, or things that give me some small amount of peace, like Dad getting out of prison or watching the bright red sun set over the clear waters of the Caribbean.

I don’t know how long I lie there. The noise from the club outside two closed doors seems less and I can’t find a clock in the dark room to tell me the time.

I get up and get dressed, looking out into the office at the clock on the wall. I’ve been down here for almost two hours.

How the hell did that happen?

I head back out into the club. The crowd has thinned considerably. Looks like the night is winding down. Of course, it is a weeknight . . .

I glance up at the two-way glass that fronts the VIP room. I don’t know if they’re still up there, but I suppose I should at least make an appearance before I ask Cash for his car and get the hell out of here. The quiet of his condo will do just fine for the night. Anything to be away from here. Away from her.

I take the steps two at a time. Before I can reach the top, the door opens and Jensen appears in the opening, shuffling a wobbly Marissa toward the steps.

“I told you I’m fine to drive,” she slurs.

“And I told you there’s no way I’m letting you leave here behind the wheel.”

“But you’re drunk, too. Who’s gonna drive?”

“I’m not that drunk,” he’s saying.

I stop in the center of the steps, crossing my arms over my chest. “Going somewhere?”

“Yeah. This one wants to go home, but she’s had too much to drink.”

“And you? Have you been drinking?”

“Not that much.”

“Any is too much to be driving her home. I’ll take her.”

“That’s all right, Cash. I’ve got her.”

He starts to lead Marissa around me. I don’t know what makes me angrier—him calling me Cash or seeing his hands on Marissa again.

Who the hell are you kidding? You know exactly which one it is!

“I’m gonna have to insist,” I say through gritted teeth. I don’t want to make a scene. Not because I’m personally opposed to kicking this guy’s ass on the steps of a club, but because it would embarrass Cash and probably Marissa. And it’s them that I care about. Not me. And certainly not this pompous piece of shit.

“Insist all you like, I’m taking her home.”

His pale eyes are challenging me. For some reason, it strikes me as funny. He has no clue what I’d do to him if I let loose. No. Clue.

“You don’t want to do this, lawyer boy. Trust me.”

“Maybe I do,” he says, his bravado increased by his alcohol consumption.

“Hey!” Marissa shouts. “Boys. Please. I’m driving myself home, so you can both put it back in your pants.” She giggles at her words and pulls her arm out of Jensen’s grasp.

She attempts to walk past me, stumbles, and falls against my side. I reach out to steady her and she melts against me. She looks up into my face and smiles. “Sorry.”

“Let me take you home,” I say quietly.

She stares deeply into my eyes, like she’s trying to see . . . something. I don’t know what, but evidently she finds it. She nods. “Okay.”

“Marissa, I—” Jensen begins, but I cut him off when I plant my palm in the center of his chest, stopping him in his tracks when he would take a step toward her. I don’t even bother to look at him; I keep my eyes trained on Marissa’s sparkling blue ones.

“Last chance,” I warn.

Marissa looks to her left. “Jensen, it’s all right. I appreciate it, but we’ve both had too much to drink to be driving.”

I hear him sigh and, perversely, I hope he keeps pushing it. I’m itching to teach this prick a lesson. But on the other hand, I wish he’d just shut his mouth and go away. Right now, what I’d like even more than smashing lawyer boy’s face is Marissa. Just Marissa. And what I see when I look into her blue, blue eyes.