Rectify (Return to Us Trilogy #2) Read Online Free
Author: M.K. Gilher
untangle it, but I don't have time. How long was I out?
I scramble up from the floor and sprint to my front door, my stiletto banging into my thigh as I run.
Bryn.
I fumble with the knob, but the door swings open before I make any progress. A giant form perched on my doorstep obstructs the morning sunlight.
It's him. The man who makes my knees buckle and liquefy into molten lava. The man who makes all four chambers of my heart skip beats simultaneously, paralyzing me somewhere between the living and the dead. He looks tired but unhurt.
With his hands resting on the top of the doorframe, he gazes down at me with a wicked lopsided grin. Like the schoolboy who did something ruthless in his kindergarten classroom but doesn't regret a thing. Maybe he yanked a classmate's pigtail or peeked up her skirt. Knowing Jacade, he probably would opt for the skirt-viewing party even as a child.
Jesus Christ. He always looks like he's wearing an Armani catalog with accents of HUGO at fashion week. His black leather jacket with a notch lapel and side snap pockets hangs open, the supple leather collar up to keep his neck nice and warm.
Under his jacket, he wears a red V-neck sweater with solid black trim. His dark, straight-leg button fly jeans hug his thighs and crotch in an unchaste manner. He's forgone his usual Italian leather shoes for black, low-top sneakers.
His dimple emerges and his cavalier tone breaks the silence. "Going somewhere?" His gruff voice rolls from the back of his throat and off his gifted tongue. The tongue I want propelled down my throat even though he banished me from the club last night.
Where was I going again? I hate when he does this to me.
"I was umm..." I stutter trying to recall my previous plans. He charges through my door and stops to nuzzle my neck. His heated breath tickles my earlobe triggering shivers down to my hair follicles.
His fingers immobilize me as they tease up my thigh. He tugs on the hem of my dress.
In my ear he laughs and mutters, "Hey baby, these"—he holds up the Jimmy Choo he untangled from my dress—"go on your feet." He tosses the shoe, and it skids across the tile floor of the entryway.
I was focused on getting to Bryn. Not unraveling my shoes from my dress.
Oh, Bryn! I was going to find Bryn.
He lays his jacket on my armchair and rolls the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. That's it? That's all he's going to say?
With a deep breath, I plant my feet and cross my arms over my chest. "Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"
He turns and places his hands on his hips. "What else is there to say?"
He's joking, right?
***
Jacade
Ivy glares at me from a few feet away, her body tense.
"You're joking, right?" she asks with a huff.
My fingers dig into my hips like claws. I have little patience and even less sleep. What is there to talk about? Everyone's fine. Let's move on. End of story.
"Jacade. I'm so done with your stupid secrets. People are getting hurt. Is Bryn okay? Tell me!" She balls her fists at her sides, her forehead wrinkling. Why is she asking me this again? This isn't a fucking antic, Ivy.
The napping panther inside me slowly opens his viridian eyes. He spots his prey and his tongue swipes along his jagged, sharp teeth.
"Relax." She needs to wrangle in her rancor. It's not wise to antagonize the beast. He feeds on hostility. It's how he survives.
"Don't you dare tell me to relax. You weren't the one who saw her ex-fiancé holding a gun to your best friend's head. You must be insane to think I would be calm after that. Maybe you are crazy—just like Viktor!"
I blink and gape at her. He's hunting her in the early morning light. His humid breath fogging out in front of him. She's about to be his breakfast, and I can't do a damn thing. She's dancing in front of him in a dress made of raw meat.
She shifts her weight to her left foot. "Not to mention being thrown over Shane's shoulder and carried out of the club against your will
I scramble up from the floor and sprint to my front door, my stiletto banging into my thigh as I run.
Bryn.
I fumble with the knob, but the door swings open before I make any progress. A giant form perched on my doorstep obstructs the morning sunlight.
It's him. The man who makes my knees buckle and liquefy into molten lava. The man who makes all four chambers of my heart skip beats simultaneously, paralyzing me somewhere between the living and the dead. He looks tired but unhurt.
With his hands resting on the top of the doorframe, he gazes down at me with a wicked lopsided grin. Like the schoolboy who did something ruthless in his kindergarten classroom but doesn't regret a thing. Maybe he yanked a classmate's pigtail or peeked up her skirt. Knowing Jacade, he probably would opt for the skirt-viewing party even as a child.
Jesus Christ. He always looks like he's wearing an Armani catalog with accents of HUGO at fashion week. His black leather jacket with a notch lapel and side snap pockets hangs open, the supple leather collar up to keep his neck nice and warm.
Under his jacket, he wears a red V-neck sweater with solid black trim. His dark, straight-leg button fly jeans hug his thighs and crotch in an unchaste manner. He's forgone his usual Italian leather shoes for black, low-top sneakers.
His dimple emerges and his cavalier tone breaks the silence. "Going somewhere?" His gruff voice rolls from the back of his throat and off his gifted tongue. The tongue I want propelled down my throat even though he banished me from the club last night.
Where was I going again? I hate when he does this to me.
"I was umm..." I stutter trying to recall my previous plans. He charges through my door and stops to nuzzle my neck. His heated breath tickles my earlobe triggering shivers down to my hair follicles.
His fingers immobilize me as they tease up my thigh. He tugs on the hem of my dress.
In my ear he laughs and mutters, "Hey baby, these"—he holds up the Jimmy Choo he untangled from my dress—"go on your feet." He tosses the shoe, and it skids across the tile floor of the entryway.
I was focused on getting to Bryn. Not unraveling my shoes from my dress.
Oh, Bryn! I was going to find Bryn.
He lays his jacket on my armchair and rolls the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. That's it? That's all he's going to say?
With a deep breath, I plant my feet and cross my arms over my chest. "Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"
He turns and places his hands on his hips. "What else is there to say?"
He's joking, right?
***
Jacade
Ivy glares at me from a few feet away, her body tense.
"You're joking, right?" she asks with a huff.
My fingers dig into my hips like claws. I have little patience and even less sleep. What is there to talk about? Everyone's fine. Let's move on. End of story.
"Jacade. I'm so done with your stupid secrets. People are getting hurt. Is Bryn okay? Tell me!" She balls her fists at her sides, her forehead wrinkling. Why is she asking me this again? This isn't a fucking antic, Ivy.
The napping panther inside me slowly opens his viridian eyes. He spots his prey and his tongue swipes along his jagged, sharp teeth.
"Relax." She needs to wrangle in her rancor. It's not wise to antagonize the beast. He feeds on hostility. It's how he survives.
"Don't you dare tell me to relax. You weren't the one who saw her ex-fiancé holding a gun to your best friend's head. You must be insane to think I would be calm after that. Maybe you are crazy—just like Viktor!"
I blink and gape at her. He's hunting her in the early morning light. His humid breath fogging out in front of him. She's about to be his breakfast, and I can't do a damn thing. She's dancing in front of him in a dress made of raw meat.
She shifts her weight to her left foot. "Not to mention being thrown over Shane's shoulder and carried out of the club against your will
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