The Worst Kind of Promise (Riverside Reapers #2)

by Celeste Briars

Jesus. I want to hug her, touch her. I want to hold her in my arms and never let go.

One person. One moment. That’s all it takes. One second, and suddenly, it undoes all the progress I’ve made since the night I was eighteen.

“Just because you’re used to taking care of yourself doesn’t mean you should be. Accepting help isn’t a sign of weakness; it doesn’t diminish your strength or resilience. You’re stronger if you acknowledge you need help,” Kit coos softly, making my heart flare brightly in my chest, so much so that someone could probably use it as a homing beacon from miles away. “You’re so content with carrying all this weight on your shoulders. Now let me carry some of it for you.”

“You’re telling me that the big, bad Kit Langley is afraid of a little trouble?” “When it’s fun sized and dangerously addictive like you, I am very afraid.”

“I never would’ve thought it’d take someone like me to bring you to your knees.” Uncurbed desire simmers deep in my gut, popping like oil against blistering steel. “If you wanted me on my knees, Faye, all you had to do was ask,” I drawl, taking advantage of the proximity to ghost a knuckle along her jawline.

You do this to me. No other girl does, okay? All of the girls I’ve been with haven’t held a candle to you. You’re all I ever think about, and it kills me that I can’t have you.”

“I was just talking about how thrilling reading can actually be. It’s relaxing but stimulating. You’re in this other little world, experiencing it for the very first time. You don’t have to worry about your shitty desk job or the errands you have to run tomorrow. You can just…escape

“Be a good girl,” he growls, taking a single finger and tracing my clit. “Use your words.”

Leap. He’ll catch you. You know he will.

Can’t wait to paint your tits with my cum, write my name in it so you remember who the fuck you belong to.”

“I’ll always come back to you.”

Face it, Princess. Even though you don’t need me, I’ll always be your knight in shining armor.

“You know I’d take a lifetime of trouble in return for a day with you, right?”

“Kit, did you annotate a book for me?” I ask. The corners of his lips tick up into a loving grin. “I’d annotate an entire library for you if it meant that I got to see you smile.” When he hands me the book, the first thing I notice are the giant hockey sticks on the front cover, backdropped by a cracked, white-blue ice design. “A hockey romance?” I will my heart to stop flapping. He scratches the back of his neck. “I know it’s not your monster romance, but I thought you might like it. Life imitates art and all that.” He annotated a book for me. Kit Langley annotated a book for me. Kit Langley—the man who’s never been with the same woman twice—carved time out of his day to read a book and tab it. This has to be some kind of fever dream. I slowly open the book to a random page and am greeted by a medley of pastel-colored, miniature sticky notes scattered through various paragraphs. And not only that, but there are passages underlined with little notes scribbled in the margins. “Oh my God,” I breathe, emotion steamrolling over me. “I underlined things that reminded me of you.” He even doodled small hearts. Hearts. Like a teenage boy who has a school-grade crush on a girl.

I’ll always crawl back to her. I’ll crawl to her on my knees across the broken shards of my heart. I’ll crawl to her when she’s thousands of miles away from me. I’ll crawl to her even if she never wants to see me again, because that’s the power she has over me. That’s the kind of love that possesses me. Unconditional, undying, unequivocal. I’m forever hers.

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

I know I probably should’ve said something along the lines of “Thank you,” but all that spews from the cusp of my lips is “You came.” He brushes the back of his knuckles over my cheekbone. “I’ll always come when you call,” he says.

“What in the holy hell is that?” Casen exclaims, flinching away from it like it’s some kind of radioactive material. A shit-eating grin inches across Gage’s face. “It’s a thong.” Casen rolls his eyes. “I know that, twat waffle. Why was it in the penalty box?” “Someone put the sin in sin-bin,” Hayes snickers under his breath, leaning on his propped-up stick.

Kit steps between us, shielding me from my brother’s disappointment, redirecting the blame to himself. Protecting me. Like he always promised to do.