Watch Your Back (Devil's Backbone, #2)

by Tate James

When the TV asked if I was still watching, I took great offense. Of course I was! I needed to know what the pretty Mormon moms would do in Vegas, dammit.

“Nathaniel Essex, Ashley Layne, I was not asking you if you wanted to come to this party, I was telling. You do not have a choice. Sometimes, I understand we don’t always want to do the things our parents ask us to do and that it’s frustrating.” Her tone had mellowed into a sickly sweet…gentle parenting voice. I shuddered. “So we’re going to take those messy, angry feelings, and do you know what we’re going to do with them? Hmm?” I swallowed, glancing at Nate. He winced, his jaw tight. “Whisper them to our hand and hold on to them for later?” he guessed with a growl underscoring his words. Mom smiled, fluttering her lashes. “That’s right! Good boy, Nate.

Was this what soaking was? Putting it in and not moving? It fucking sucked, for the record.

“You’re insane,” I whispered, bringing my gaze back to his. He shook his head slightly, his lips curling at the corners. “I’m in love.” My brows shot up so hard, I worried I’d lost them. “Excuse me?” “You heard me, Spark,” he murmured, totally ignoring his own injuries as he cupped my face in his hand. “I’m yours now. It’s permanent.”

“He made us dress as Mormons,” Heath informed me, still seated on the floor but looking marginally less pale. “We rode bikes and everything, just to knock on people’s doors.” I bit back a laugh at that mental image. “What did you say? Do you have any clue what Mormon missionaries even say in those door-to-door pitches?” “No clue,” Royce replied with a grin. “Do you? No one actually lets them get the whole pitch out before slamming the door, so all we needed was the suit, bike, and a polite hello, to sell the act.

orgy palace…how’s

“Not really,” he admitted, sounding irritated. “Because apparently I can’t get my fake fiancée out of my head.”