Page 66 of Gravehouse

Elea’s voice cuts back in. “No dangerous acts. Best behavior. From all.”

Camille scoffs. “It’ll surprise you who is the most dangerous in this room.”

My eyes snap to her, restraint crumbling beneath me. Years of training, years of perfecting control, all amounting to fucking nada if I get my hands around this woman’s throat.

I hold her stare. “I believe you’ve dated him.”

Her lip curls. “Yeah, because that’s who I meant.”

I smile. “I—” Was about to rip her face off.

Out of control.

“Camille.” Tension threads through Elea’s tone. Most wouldn’t catch the threat, but I’ve delivered similar ones myself.

Atlas’s arm slips from the sofa to my shoulders, nestling into my neck. “Mmm. You smell good.” His voice vibrates over me as his other hand lands on my bare belly, thumb circling. “Almost as good as you taste.”

Asher’s eyes harden on Atlas’s movements.

Blonde hair swings into my line of sight when Camille pats Asher’s arm. “Take me upstairs? I could do with a massage.”

Asher curls his hand around hers as she leads him out. I’m a complete idiot for believing a word of what he just said.

“I’m well out of my comfort zone,” I confess, forgetting I’m still sitting in a room full of witnesses, and none of them are mine.

I miss my life. Punk. Luce. Jord. Leon.

Elea squeezes my knee, then rises. “Come. I’ll make us a fresh drink.”

I stay seated, watching her disappear through the archway, still lost in my self-pity.

Atlas taps my thigh with his. “Follow her. She doesn’t like being ignored.”

I turn into him, ready to swear at him or I don’t know, put pressure on his weak points, when his eyes hold me in place. Why does he have to look so much like Asher yet not like him at all?

“Don’t look at me like that.” Atlas clucks his tongue, eyes narrowing on my lips. “I’m starting to get the gist of how he fell for you, Ivy…”

My pulse stutters. “He doesn’t know shit about falling, Atlas.”

“Oh, trust me.” He exhales through his nose. “I don’t think anyone wants to be privy to whatever it is you and my brother share, but for now, follow Mother.”

Not comforting.

I trace her steps through into the kitchen. A large window overlooks a roll of iced mountain tops. It’s the same as one side of my bedroom, only a different vantage point.

“When Asher was little, I watched him do all sorts of tricks on his board. It didn’t take long before the ramps were built and his little brother wanted exactly what he had.”

The sun catches the gold in her hair, and her tanned face stays eerily smooth when she reaches for a glass, not a single crease around her eyes or mouth.

I stop behind the oval kitchen island. “Did you bring them up in Chicago?”

“No.” She answers over her shoulder. “We moved there when the boys were small. I always wonder if Asher would have grown to be the man that he is today if we hadn’t.”

She dries the glass and places it on the counter, turning to face me and resting her back against the sink.

“I love my boys, but I’m not blind. You are a very beautiful woman, and you have all the attributes that I’m sure he thinks he needs.”

She keeps pouring shots into the cocktail shaker, but my head hasn’t left that bathroom. Whatever lives between usstarted from the same rotten place. Me, married. Him, engaged. And she’s still here, still attached to him like a second skin.