Page 68 of Filthy Savage

Instead of speaking to me, he walks past me, his body brushing mine as he enters the room. I stand at the open door, surprised that he just makes himself comfortable, but then again, I am not surprised at all—it is Evan.

Turning my head, I look over to see Guts smirking in my direction. I roll my eyes at him, which causes him to chuckle. Then I put my anger firmly back into place and close the door behind me, turning to face this man but making no move toward him.

“You want to tell me why the fuck you ran away?” he demands.

That. Is. It.

“Want to tell me who the woman was who showed up at your cabin wanting to fuck you?” I demand, watching him flinch at my words.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I respond.

He lets out a heavy sigh, but I’m holding my breath, ready to attack. I am so angry, and the way he is acting causes me to become even angrier. I am ready to completely lose my mind on this asshole.

“Beautiful,” he rasps, and if this were a couple of weeks ago, my knees would be weak at the singular word.

They are not weak any longer.

I cross my arms over my chest, arching a brow as I wait for him to feed me some bullshit, which will no doubt be mixed somewhere in there with truth. But don’t get me wrong, there will be bullshit.

Because it’s Evan. There will forever be some kind of bullshit.

“What?” I snap.

My give-a-damn is completely gone, vanished. It’s in another country on a beach, drinking cocktails and enjoying the sunshine right now.

“What the hell do you want?”

And that was one question too far, with a touch too much attitude. I know it is as soon as the words leave my mouth because he narrows his gaze on me and then takes one step toward me.

He doesn’t go farther than one step, but I watch as his hands ball into fists at his sides, and I know he’s doing everything he can to contain his control. He will, but he’s on the edge—on the very edge, ready to fall straight over.

“I want to know why the fuck you moved out of the cabin,” he demands.

“We’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t start explaining who that woman was.”

Evan doesn’t speak immediately, but I notice that his fingers release and relax to his side. Surveying him for a moment, I realize that he looks exhausted—not just tired, but exhausted.

If this were a normal situation, I might ask him if he was okay. But right now, I’m ready to beat the hell out of him, so I don’t care if he’s tired.

In fact, I hope he is.

I hope that he’s so tired he falls asleep while standing up… or something.

“Jasmine shouldn’t have gone out there,” he murmurs.

“Jasmine?” I ask.

My heart races. I didn’t know her name. But now that I do, my entire soul feels like it’s coming out of my body and floating above the room. The bitch has a name. And I hate it. I hate him, and I hate her.

I hate myself for falling in love with him again and losing myself.

BREW

Fuck.

The expression on her face breaks me.