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Pretty Little Hellion (Rocker Universe: Pretty Little #3) 3. Sparks 16%
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3. Sparks

Chapter Three

Sparks

I didn’t like waking up to find Hayat wasn’t in bed beside me. Instead of my goddess snuggled into me, I’d found Jamie with his head on my chest, drooling and snoring louder than a bear. I’d shoved him off me, causing him to grumble and turn over to bury his face in Hayat’s pillow, a goofy love-drunk smile tipping at his lips before he was back to snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

Getting out of the custom-made double California king was difficult when I had Jamie on one side and Ky sleeping in some weirdly contorted shape diagonally across the middle of the bed. How the fuck was that comfortable? But then again, he’d do anything to sleep as close to Hayat as he could. The motherfucker was lucky to be in the same bed with her after all the shit he’d put our girl through over the past few weeks, especially with that Maddie chick. He would probably sleep on a bed of hot coals if it meant some small part of him got to touch Hayat all night long.

Once I was on my feet, I grabbed my phone off the charger and started typing out a text as I walked into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, I was out of the shower and I still didn’t have a reply.

Hayat wasn’t in the kitchen or on the couch in the living room. My gut clenched. I didn’t like waking up to her not being at home. Shit with my brother and dad had been cleared up on the whole Vitucci thing, but now that I’d seen my dad for the first time in years, he wanted to reconnect.

By that, he meant he wanted me back in the family business. More specifically, he wanted his assassin back under control. Pass.

I’d let him know point-blank that it was a hard no for me. But that didn’t mean shit to Sancho Guerrero. What he wanted, he usually got. Very few people told him no. He would use every trick in the book to get me back on the payroll, including attempting to use Hayat to bend me to his will.

It was only a matter of time before I had to put that old fucker out of his misery. I’d kill to keep Hayat safe, even my own father, if that was what it took to ensure she was protected.

Checking her location, I saw she hadn’t left the premises, but it was a big-ass building. She could be anywhere, but the most logical place I expected her to be was the studio. Not caring that I was only in a pair of athletic shorts, I took the stairs down one floor. I saw a bunch of broken-down cardboard boxes leaning against the wall outside the door.

Grinning, because I knew what that meant and I couldn’t contain how fucking happy it made me, I used my handprint to unlock the door and I stepped inside.

Only to stop in my tracks. The tension in the room hit me first, even as I took in the occupants. Jesse Thornton sat on the couch that was separated from our practice area. Hayat was standing several yards from him, some cute-as-fuck tool belt around her waist. Flicking my gaze around the room, I saw she’d been busy not only setting up her beloved drum set, but also installing the cameras she’d told us about so we could capture practice sessions for our social media platforms.

In front of her, mere feet from my goddess, stood Devlin Cutter. Switching my gaze from him to my girl and back again, I realized he was the reason for Hayat’s tension. Her cheeks were damp with tears, her eyes bloodshot and unhappy.

Un-fucking-acceptable.

Rolling my shoulders to loosen them up, I popped my neck. Grandfather or not, he wasn’t going to upset Hellion and walk away unscathed. I didn’t give a single fuck that he was rock royalty. Or that he was Hayat’s blood relative. Blood meant nothing to me. If anything, I’d learned that blood thought they could get away with shit because of their DNA connection.

For me, blood was simply what I watched drain from a person’s body as they whispered all the secrets I needed to hear. As if I were a priest and could absolve them of their sins before they met whatever deity was awaiting them on the other side.

But Hayat loved her grandfather. Both of them. Poppy and Pop-Pop, as she so affectionately referred to them. Although, I got the impression Poppy was her favorite. He hadn’t blinked at the four of us together at Abi’s wedding. Had even come over to rescue Hayat from her father’s hostile reaction to her dancing with three guys at once.

Even as I was assessing the situation between Hayat and Devlin Cutter, I noted Jesse’s reaction to what was unfolding between his granddaughter and his friend, his only daughter’s father-in-law. Goddamn, but Hayat’s family tree was a complicated maze of biological and honorary figures who meant the world to her. I’d gotten a headache trying to keep up with them all at Abi’s wedding to Vaughn Vitucci over the weekend.

Jesse sat like he was comfortable. At first glance, he appeared unaffected by the obvious strain between Hayat and Devlin. But then I saw the shades of brown in his eyes switching back and forth. His jaw twitched in a minuscule, almost indiscernible way that only someone hypervigilant would notice. His fingers flexed unconsciously where they were linked low on his abdomen while he kept his attention more on Hayat than the other man standing right in front of her.

I’d only been in the room for ten seconds, but the silence was thick with emotions. Heavy, painful emotions that turned my vision red around the edges. Because they were coming from Hayat.

Unconsciously, I cast my gaze around and found the best possible weapon. A drill. Oh, I’d have fun with that damned thing. I’d play with Devlin Cutter with each size bit in the set. Leave him full of holes in every part of his body, let him bleed out slowly while I took his eyes. Piece by piece. His screams would fill the studio. Maybe I would record the sounds he made as he begged for the end. Of the pain. Of the agony. For me to release him. For me to put him out of his misery. I’d remix it, play it for Jamie and Ky over and over. Show them that I’d eliminated a person who’d brought a tear to our hellion’s pretty, pretty eyes.

And maybe I’d put it on loop so Ky understood that if he ever hurt Hayat again, I would do the same fucking thing to him. No remorse. Not a flicker of hesitation. I’d end him and then fuck Hayat while his blood still coated my skin.

I was violent. Deranged. A killer.

For her.

Only her.

Always for her.

Soft fingers touched my clenched fists, pulling me back from the edge of madness. I blinked and felt myself drowning in those aquamarine eyes that sparkled like gemstones. Her tears were gone, replaced by concern and a touch of understanding. Her fingers were gentle as she stroked them up my arms to my shoulders and finally cupped my face.

She searched my eyes. “There you are,” she murmured, those damn deep dimples popping and turning the place where my heart was supposed to be to goo.

That was all that was left now, because she’d stolen it straight from my chest. For the first time in my life, it was safe. In her hands.

A noise not unlike that of a wounded animal finding shelter left me as I jerked her against me. Burying my face in her tangle of jungle-vine curls, I sucked in a deep breath. “Are you okay? Why were you crying? Who do I need to kill?”

Having her eyes on mine calmed the darkness that had always lurked just beneath the surface. The monster my father and brother and their men had tempered, bent, and molded into the perfect killer. In her eyes, I saw only beauty and acceptance. She loved me for me. Not for the destruction I could so easily unleash. The number of dead bodies marked my soul like a tattoo of tallies, a number so infinite, I knew I had an express pass straight into the deepest parts of hell.

But until I met my end, I could soak up the beauty and forgiveness and purity of my goddess.

With a kiss, she calmed the rage that wanted to be unleashed on the one who had caused her even a moment of pain. Her lips were sweet, not demanding, yet unwilling to accept anything but one hundred percent of my attention. She combed her fingers through my short hair, scraping her nails soothingly over my scalp. My body melted away every emotion but the overpowering love and need that this girl unleashed inside me, opening me to the light I’d been starved of my entire life until I’d met her.

When she lifted her head, she gave me that impish grin I found so contagious. Anyone who didn’t smile when this girl got that mischievous glint in her eyes was a sociopath who couldn’t feel anything. She pouted her lips, brushing a sweet kiss on the tip of my nose while stroking the backs of her fingers over my cheek.

My goddess of light and all things beautiful and good in the world. My reason for breathing. For waking up each morning. For becoming a man deserving of her and all that fucking beauty she brought into my life. It took everything inside me, every drop of willpower I didn’t even know I possessed, not to lock her away in the penthouse so nothing and no one could take her from me—us.

Stepping back, she waved her hands around the room, forcing my attention to our surroundings. “What do you think? Did I do a good job, or do you think Jamie and Ky will hate the new decorations?”

“Who the fuck cares what they think?” I grumbled, shooting her precious Pop-Pop one more glare before looking around at the cameras and, most importantly, her drum set. “Everything is beautiful, goddess. But if you’d told me you were moving things, I would have helped.”

“I wanted to surprise my guys,” she said, still smiling. I didn’t know which I wanted to drown in more, her eyes or those damn dimples. Taking my hand, she entwined her fingers naturally with mine as she tugged me forward. “Poppy, Pop-Pop, you remember Sparks.”

Jesse stood, stretching out his limbs before offering me his hand with a nod. “Good to see you again, boy. Hayat has nothing but good things to say about you.” He lowered his head, those brown eyes doing a quick shift in shades. “Keep it that way, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” I told him, giving him a promise. A fucking vow.

Devlin cleared his throat, and my head swung in his direction, slower to react to his presence. Hayat squeezed my fingers, a silent plea not to ask about whatever argument I’d apparently walked in on. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. And I didn’t want to push. If she didn’t want to rehash things that hurt her, I wasn’t going to force her. But I’d be keeping my eye on anyone who made her cry, even if it was her damned grandfather.

Showing I could be diplomatic—for Hayat and only Hayat—I offered Devlin my hand. “Good to see you again, sir.”

And if my handshake was harder than it normally would have been, making the older man grimace ever so slightly at the extra pressure, that was all on him.

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