27. Jasmine
JASMINE
Conner Kilgore fucks like a god—no, a demon. No, a corrupted deity who has no business doing what he does to me. Every part of me still hums, sated and electrified, like I’ve been rewired. My legs are jelly. My brain is static. And my mouth? Useless, which is a first.
We walk in silence, the kind that says everything.
Conner’s hand hovers near mine, not quite holding it, not quite letting me go.
He walks like he always does—measured, precise, all black suit and cold composure like he didn’t just drag me across the edge of the universe with nothing but his hands and his mouth.
My hoodie is zipped halfway up, hiding the bruises blooming like dark fingerprints along my collarbone. I’m not ashamed. I’m… unsettled. Addicted. I don’t know what the hell I am.
We step into my building like nothing happened.
Like he didn’t just ruin me in every imaginable way.
The lobby light flickers once, and I shift closer to him without thinking.
He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t speak. Just walks with the same unhurried, calculated pace like I’m something delicate he could destroy with one wrong move—and maybe already has.
I press the elevator button harder than necessary, trying to steady my breathing, but the second the doors close, the silence tightens.
The tension between us isn't awkward. It's electric. Heavy. Conner doesn’t face me, but I feel him everywhere—like he’s still inside me, beneath my skin, stitched into my bones.
“Someone could’ve seen you,” I murmur, zipping up my hoodie halfway like it’ll hide the flushed heat in my skin. “You’re still my professor.”
He hums like the idea barely registers. “Please. After the way you were screaming? I doubt any of my colleagues will be surprised.”
My cheeks flare with heat. I look down, clutching my keys like they might anchor me to the floor. And still—under the humiliation, under the electric aftershock—there’s this warm, dizzying flicker.
He called me his. He called me Mine. It wasn’t just a growl. It wasn’t just dirty talk. It was… something. My heart kicks hard in my chest and I hate myself for even wondering, even caring, but?—
What did he mean by that? Did he mean it?
I know there is this pull between us. I know he scares me in the same breath that brings me euphoria, but I also know people say crazy things during sex, and stress.
Things like mine and I love you. Things that could make me believe that Conner Kilgore may really want me, despite the fact that I am practically married to his best friend and falling for Brooke.
He may look at all those things and still want me.
He may be fine sharing me, but I can’t hope to want more than what I have right now.
“Jasmine.” His voice cuts through my thoughts.
I glance up, startled, and find his green eyes locked on me, that look calmer than I have ever seen. A chillingly easy shade of clear green that reminds me of pictures of the Florida Everglades I’ve seen in textbooks. Fucking hell, Conner Kilgore could be the end of me, and it would be fitting.
“The answer’s yes,” he says, like he’s been listening in on my thoughts the whole time. “To whatever you’re thought is making your nose twitch like that. There is no uncertainty between us.”
My breath catches. I don’t even try to hide the way my lips part, or how my chest rises too fast at the sure tone of his speech. “You don’t even know what I’m thinking,” I whisper.
“I do,” he replies, stepping closer—close enough that I feel the heat off his body. “I always do. I watch you.”
My pulse jumps and I turn, exiting the elevator before he can see what that does to me.
I hate it. I love it. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.
He’s hot on my tail, with a lazy swings of his legs as I make my way to my apartment door.
My fingers shake as I dig my fob out of Landon’s hoodie pocket.
Conner leans in, his breath feathering over the shell of my ear. “Don’t be scared now, Sunshine. You like how I watch you.”
I cough, flipping the fob over in my hand. “I’ve never said that.”
“Mmhmm,” his finger grazes over the pulse point in my neck, and for a second I don’t breathe, completely lost in the way the heat of his fingertips burns into my flesh. “You don’t have to. A lot of your body language gives it away.”
I let out a shaky breath and swipe my fob across the handle. “You are ridiculous.”
A soft chuckle escapes Conner—low and indulgent—as I swipe my fob over the door handle and push open the door. My voice is still caught in the haze of post-orgasm satisfaction, light and teasing. “I’m home with Mr. Grumpy, and today he is extra —”
The smell hits first. Copper. Wet. Thick.
My throat clamps shut. My body follows.
Landon is bound to one of my chairs, the rope digging deep into his wrists and ankles, his body slumped but still twitching with pain.
His shirt is soaked through, clinging to him in torn patches.
Blood leaks from his mouth in slow drips, trailing down to the floor in lazy splatters.
His eye is nearly swollen shut. One of his shoes is missing.
His chest heaves as he struggles to lift his head—panic flashing wild in what’s left of his gaze.
“JASMINE—run! Get the fuck out!”
My heart lurches so violently I nearly drop my bag. A sound claws out of me, raw and animalistic.
Conner’s already reacting, moving in front of me, his stance low and lethal, hand sliding toward the weapon tucked at his backside, but before he can reach it, a large figure tackles him to the ground.
“Conner,” I screech.
“Jasmine run--” He growls and before I can turn around a chilling voice wraps around me.
“Don’t you dare. I would hate to kill your men in my attempt to apprehend you.” Footsteps echo down the hallway—slow, measured, purposeful.
Marcus emerges shirtless, a white cloth in one hand, lazily wiping a knife still red at the tip. His tattoos ripple across his chest like warpaint. The corners of his mouth curl in satisfaction, and the smile that meets me isn’t joy. It reeks of psychotic energy.
“Well, well, well,” Marcus drawls, stepping into the light of the living and dropping down onto the couch like he owns the fucking place. “What a happy reunion. Thanks for not killing me, sweetheart. Really. You gave me just enough time.”
I stare at him, breath caught in my throat, rage crawling under my skin. “I thought your brother was going to finish your bitch ass off.”
“Oof I would watch your mouth if I was you.” He chuckles, motioning lazily toward Landon. “No one here is in the shape to save you, if you piss me off.”
“I will skin you alive,” Conner growls, trying to twist free, and Marcus sighs, nodding toward Asher.
“Keep fighting and he’ll crush your ribs, Kilgore. And I'd hate to ruin Jasmine’s little throw pillows.”
I look over at Conner, and try to communicate with my eyes to stop, as I continue to talk to Marcus. “Again who let your little dick ass free?”
“I love that wit, Jazzy Boo.” Marucs hums, kicking his feet up on my pink robot themed coffee table. “I’ll answer your cute little question. My loyalists broke me out two weeks ago. Turns out some people still remember who built the Raiders in the first place.”
“Well, congratulations.” I give him some jazz hands and a blank, very bitchy smile. “But if this is how you thank someone for saving your life you need some work on it.”
Marcus chuckles. “Jazzy boo, I think you haven’t been honest with us.”
“What?” I snap, my voice shaking from fury. “ I don’t have anything for you. Just let my men fucking go and leave my goddamn house, Marcus.”
He laughs—low, guttural. “Still mouthy. Still beautiful. Still think you’ve got choices here.”
Landon groans behind him, coughing hard, and I can’t move. My body’s frozen. Not with fear. With hate. Pure, acidic hate. Because I almost killed this man. I had the shot. And now he’s standing in my living room, bleeding all over the floor I used to cry on, acting like he owns me again.
“Sit,” Marcus says with a lazy flick of his wrist, like I’m a dog he’s already housebroken. I don’t move fast enough, so the guy holding Conner down with his boot shoves me forward until I stumble into one of the couch chairs across from Landon.
Landon’s still bleeding, barely holding his head up. Every breath he takes is rough and uneven, and rage burns through me like wildfire. But I sit. Because if I don’t, I don’t know what the man will do next.
Marcus leans back against the back of the couch, arms spread across out, leaving his bare chest exposed, that knife balancing on his knee.
“I wasn’t gonna do this, you know,” he says finally, voice light, like we’re catching up over fucking coffee. “I was going to let Landon go. Wasn’t even gonna chase you. Could’ve walked away, started fresh.”
My eyes narrow, lips pressed into a tight line. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Because, sweetheart,” he says, pushing off the and strolling closer, “I found something. Did a little digging into our star girl. And imagine my surprise when I found out who your mother is.”
My blood runs cold, but I bare my teeth and continue. “The trailer park whore? Not really special, Marcus.”
He leans in, eyes glittering. “Yes, but her name is Betty Collins . Ain’t that interesting, Josh?”
The man holding down Conner, who I am assuming is Josh calls back. “Yeah, so interesting.”
Marcus leans in closer, his nicotine stench breath invades my nostrils and I recoil, but Marcus pinches my cheeks with one hand and drags me back to his wretched breath. “And guess what, baby? Betty was the last woman to fuck my daddy before he ended up dead in a ditch.”
A laugh rasps out of him, humorless and jagged.
“So I went to go ask her some questions, and you know, she didn’t even hold out that long. Just took thirty minutes, one lost pinky toe and a kilo of crack before she spilled every dark little secret.”