Deviant

Chapter 13

DEVIANT

Callie Hart

Copyright © 2014 Callie Hart

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognises the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

 

ZETH

 

Twenty minutes. I last twenty fucking minutes before I'm ready to smash up the apartment. It's already fucked from last night though, and Ganya's been shooting me the shittiest looks since he arrived to start the cleanup. Looks like my guests had a blast, not that I would know. I'd hidden in that dark room for hours waiting for her, not even faintly interested in joining in with them. Ever since Sloane appeared back on the scene, everything's been completely fucked up.

It's all her fucking fault.

And the woman had the gall to be throwing shit at me? I should have tossed her ass out first thing when I'd kicked everyone else out. Nah, scratch that... I shouldn't have let her stay in the first place.

"Is there anything you need me to do this morning, boss?" Michael, stealthy assassin that he is, has let himself into the apartment without making a sound. I bury my hands into my hair, scowling out the window over the city. Why do I do this to myself? I've been just fine. More than that, I've been completely fucking happy. I ran as fast as I could two years ago after I slept with Sloane because I knew. I fucking knew this would happen, and now look at where we are.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Send out an email to the group. Let them know all future gatherings have been canceled until further notice."

This is such bullshit. She's ruined the whole thing. Because now, when I think about screwing someone that isn't Sloane, it just feels flat. Pointless. I'm not in love with the girl. I'm not. There's just something about her that I need.

I forget about the skyline and focus my foul temper on Michael. He's not big on words; I like that about him. Today he doesn't need to say anything, though. His thoughts are right there on his face, plain as day. Bastard thinks this is hilarious.

"And you can wipe the smirk off your face too," I snap.

"I'm not smirking, Zee. Just merely observing something I never thought I'd witness."

"What are you running your mouth about?" I could happily go for a fight right now—smashing my fist into something would go down just great, but Michael is just being Michael. Besides, we're too evenly matched for a quick brawl; it would take a lot to ground him. He grins at me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.