Chapter 5
Sumner
What in the dark romance is going on here?
My pulse slammed and my mouth went dry when I first entered the house, but I was secretly glad that I had walked into a scene like this.
I had dreaded coming here all day. If I am honest, I dread coming here most days, and I never fully know why I still do.
My relationship with Joey had been bad for months, maybe longer if I am brave enough to count straight. I kept trying to end it, but I kept failing. Every time I packed courage, something in me pulled tight, and I stayed. I was tied to him in a way, and I hated it.
I knew he had rewired and manipulated me, and I knew how na?ve that sounded even inside my own head.
I told myself I deserved better. I told myself I could leave.
Then I pictured the unknown and froze every time.
In the beginning, he had been charming, loud about how much he wanted me, and so very protective.
Then time did what time always does. The performance stopped, the true colors showed, and I learned how small a house can feel when every room holds a new version of the same fight.
He pushed me to places where I did not recognize my own voice. I said things I never would have said. I did things I never would have done. Not without the nudge. Not without the constant threat. I knew he was trouble. I knew he was wrong for me. But I could not seem to find the door out.
So walking in and seeing Joey tied up on the couch while a leather-wearing biker stood in front of him with a knife and a wrecked, honest look in his eyes flipped something in me.
It wasn’t approval that what he had done to Joey was right, but it was a sharp click of recognition that I wasn’t alone in what I went through.
I was not the only person Joey had hurt.
That realization rolled through me like heat, and then I felt the other thing.
A tug. An instant, ridiculous pull toward the man with the knife.
Sly. The way he looked at me made me feel seen, and though it was inconvenient, it also felt nice.
It did not help that he apparently felt it too.
He stared at me with heart eyes from the moment I stepped inside, and he could not stop complimenting me.
At first, I thought he was using it to throw me off.
Then I saw him get skittish, and nervous, and sincere.
That part was new. Joey never admired me. Joey only ever admired Joey.
I was impressed that Sly tied him up. Joey truly is a boulder. Moving him even an inch takes a whole lot of strength. While Joey kept squirming and mumbling on the couch, I kept my eyes on Sly and waited for him to ask the obvious question back.
But he didn’t. He just stared at me with those dreamy blue eyes of his. His hair was amazing, too. And his body—no, I can’t go there right now.
I pressed my lips together to hide the smile that wanted out. “Aren’t you going to ask me what my name is?”
“Babe, come on, what the fuck are you doing? He’s a literal psycho, and you’re flirting with him?”
Sly turned toward him, anger bright on his face. “Yes, she is, so let her, Joey! And I told you not to call me psycho! It hurts my heart.”
In any other circumstance, I would have rolled my eyes at how whiny Sly was.
But because it was him, and the way he said it, it landed softly.
He was being open. He was telling the truth about his feelings, even when the truth made him look weak.
Joey never did that. Joey showed feelings with fists and violent words.
“So?” I nudged, because I wanted this conversation, and I wanted it with him. Right here in front of Joey.
Sly looked back at me and let out a heavy sigh. His shoulders dropped like someone let the air out of his armor. He was acting like he hadn’t wondered what my name is since the moment I stepped inside. “What’s your name?”
I smiled. “Sumner.”
“Summer?”
“No, Sum-ner.”
He squinted, as if I was speaking a different language. “Sumner? Sounds like a typo.” He tried to play it cool and seem unimpressed, but I saw the relief on his face that we were doing this. It was adorable.
I crossed my arms, amused. “It’s a family name.”
He tilted his head, trying to sound unbothered. “Sounds like your parents lost a bet.”
I narrowed my eyes, then laughed anyway, because he was funny and quick and I could feel my ribs loosening around the laugh. God, what I would give for a boyfriend who made me laugh this easily.
I raised a brow, a little cocky now. “Say it right.”
He tried to keep a straight face and failed. A grin broke through. “No, it’s too many syllables anyway. I’ll just call you baby.”
He was shameless. He was also charming in a way that did not feel like a trap. I loved it. “Sumner has the same number of syllables.”
“What a dumbass,” Joey muttered from the couch.
We both ignored him. Sly lifted the hand without the knife and actually counted on his fingers, then huffed. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll answer to both once I’m done here.”
Heat crawled up my neck, and I didn’t care that Joey could’ve seen it. I felt steadier in this house now that Sly was standing in it, but all the bad memories and fear were still lingering.
His humor made it more bearable.
“Jesus fucking Christ, woman!” Joey roared, his loud voice cutting sharply through the air. “Will you just call the damn cops already? You’re acting like a crazy person yourself!”
“Hey!” Sly was quick to move, and without giving it too much thought, he shoved one knee between Joey’s legs, hitting him right in the balls, and holding his knife against the side of his neck. “Don’t talk to my girl like that!”
My girl.
Yup.
I am a crazy person because hearing those words coming out of a dangerous stranger’s mouth just made my heart skip a beat. And wet my panties.
I stood rooted and watched it all play out, not caring one bit how hurt Joey was, or how close that knife was to slicing open his neck. It felt honest to finally stop pretending I wanted him safe.
“Your girl?” Joey’s jaw tightened. “Goddammit, Sumner, we have a lunatic in our house and you’re not doing shit!”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Sly warned, squeezing his throat harder. “Leave her out of this.”
“Get off me, asshole,” Joey croaked.
“No,” Sly snapped back, anger written all over his handsome face. “Have some respect! I won’t allow any man to talk to a woman like that.”
“Why the fuck do you care? You’re a wannabe psycho-killer who can’t even kill me because you’re such a pussy.”
“Take that back!” Sly’s hand tightened around Joey’s throat even more, and I could visibly see the air being cut off.
The sound Joey made wasn’t tough. I should have felt something then.
Guilt, pity, anything. But I didn’t. If I had ever had the physical strength, I would’ve choked him long before.
But he was too strong for me to take down.
But Joey wasn’t too big for Sly, and he was here to do it for me.
“I’m not a wannabe psycho-killer. I am a killer!” Sly’s voice was tight with emotions I wasn’t sure he even understood. “I killed your friends!”
My eyes widened before my brain caught up.
There was something about that confession that rubbed me the wrong way, but the math lined up fast. Joey has gone to four funerals in the past weeks.
Four of his friends tragically died in strange accidents.
All in a matter of days. And from another friend, he hasn’t heard from in a day, even though they normally talked all the time.
“It was you…” I said under my breath, not thinking they would hear.
But they both turned their heads to look at me.
Joey didn’t catch on, not with his pea-sized brain.
But Sly knew exactly what I knew. His face softened, and it looked like he was trying to make room for the part of me that might be afraid of him.
He didn’t want me to hold that picture of him, and I didn’t.
What I saw was a man bent out of shape by damage, aiming himself at the people who had earned payback, a man who believed relief only came when the scales evened out.
I wasn’t saying it was right. I was saying I understood it.
“Sumner, call the cops,” Joey whimpered, his eyes pleading.
I couldn’t look at him for long without remembering every shove, every punch, and every time I swallowed my own voice to keep the peace.
I moved my gaze to Sly, who was still watching me, his expression soft with a hint of regret lingering in his eyes.
He didn’t want me to see him as a monster.
But that’s not what I saw in him. I saw a broken man who has been through a lot of hurt in the past. A man who wasn’t feeling like his true self, not unless he knew the people who hurt him got what they deserved.
He was fighting with his morals, but sometimes, doing the wrong thing was the only way to feel better again.
“I can’t,” I whispered, never taking my eyes off Sly. I needed to get out of here. “I’ve never been here.”
I took a step back, not wanting to be here if the planned murder actually happened. My knees felt weak and my fingers shook as I reached for the door, but the loud groan ripping through my ears made me turn right back around.
The moment my eyes were back on the scene, I saw Sly fly over the coffee table. His boots clipped a stack of magazines, a vase broke soon after, and then his back slammed into the large TV screen with a loud sound that rattled the mount.
Joey was on his feet, squirming with his arms and legs, trying to get the tape off.
As strong as it was, it seemed like it was about to rip.
He hopped and twisted, a mean grin already forming like he was tasting a win.
My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my throat.
If he got free, he’d not only hurt Sly, but me too.
He was angry at me for not calling the cops immediately, and with all that anger inside of him, he’d do great damage.
One I wouldn’t be able to recover from for a while. Or ever.
“Motherfucker!” Joey roared, hopping on his taped feet, and trying to get around the coffee table. “You’re a dead man, Sylvester!”
“Oh, come on! I told you to call me Sly,” he said with a roll of his eyes, trying to scramble back to his feet.
He had hit the TV hard and needed a moment to catch himself again, but Sly was quick, shaking the throw off like a pro-wrestler.
He stood fast, with his hand gripped tight around the knife, and his stance low. Every inch of him was focused.
“Joey, don’t,” I warned, but he ignored me.
Why would he listen to me now that I have openly betrayed him?
He was furious, and the only thing on his mind was to kill Sly.
I didn’t want to think about it, but if Joey managed to actually kill Sly in his own house, it would be seen as self-defense.
But if Sly took Joey out, it would be murder.
“You think you can take me down, big guy?”
“I don’t fucking need my hands and feet to do so. You’re a weak little maniac.”
“Please stop,” I tried to shout out, but my voice was overruled by another one of Joey’s roars as he lunged toward Sly. He threw his whole weight forward, head low, shoulders squared for collision, all brute force and no real plan.
I gasped, cupping my mouth with both hands as I watched his large body fall. Sly moved on instinct, taking a step to the side and getting out of harm’s way.
“Oh my god!”
A loud thud was the last thing we heard before it all went silent.
Nobody was moving, and my heart stopped for just a second before it restarted to beat loudly and fast. I stared down at Joey’s unmoving body on the floor, with a pool of blood oozing out of his temple.
The color spread slowly, finding the seams between floorboards and turning the air metallic in my mouth.
I was in shock, and the quiet became unbearable.
Sly was looking down at him, too, and the silence was finally broken when he threw his hand into the air with a loud, annoyed groan. “Why does this always happen?!”