32. Lucius
CHAPTER 32
LUCIUS
As the limo pulls away from Gram’s house, I position my legs to hide the hard-on that’s been bothering me all evening. Until today, I thought “blue balls” was something teenage boys invented to get their reluctant girlfriends to give them hand jobs, but now I’m on the verge of acquiring the mythical condition myself.
“Lucius?” I hear Juno say as if from a distance.
“Yes?”
She chews on her lip. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
I give her half of my attention while the other half is working on a list of gross things in order to calm my overactive biology. Her lip chewing isn’t helping.
“Never mind,” she says after a beat.
Now she’s got my full attention. “Something to do with Gram?”
She shakes her head. “I was just… Never mind.”
She’s usually a lot more eloquent than that. Maybe it’s a food coma?
“Do you mind if I check my email then?” I ask her. It’s an unsexy activity that might help calm down my dick.
“Go for it,” she says, but she looks extremely disappointed. “In fact, I should call back Pearl—my friend, the cat owner. Not your grandmother.” She taps her pockets, then rummages in her purse, her expression more worried by the second.
“Did you lose your antique?” I ask.
She nods, but then her eyes light up. “I think I left it on the coffee table at your grandmother’s house.”
“Ah, makes sense.”
“Can we go get it?” she asks. “I might get calls from my clients and?—”
“Sure,” I say, then lower the partition and tell Elijah to turn around.
Juno suddenly looks uneasy. “Wait. Isn’t your grandmother sleeping by now?”
I shrug. “I have the keys.”
“Let’s sneak in quietly so we don’t wake Gram,” I tell Juno as I open the door.
She nods, and we tiptoe into the house and down the corridor.
As we approach the living room, I hear something I can’t quite make sense of. The sound is like someone slowly clapping their hands.
Shit. A surge of concern makes me speed up, leaving Juno behind.
A frantic heartbeat later, I enter the living room—just as the clapping is joined by two blood-chilling sounds.
A male grunt and a female moan.
I gape at the scene in front of me, my brain refusing to comprehend what my eyeballs are seeing.
A naked Aleksy is sprawled on the couch, his hands tied with a thick rope to the coffee table that was our destination. But that’s not the part that’s crashing my brain’s operating system.
That honor belongs to the person riding the bodyguard as if he were a rodeo bull.
Gram.