Nothing.

Maybe I am nothing to him now. I’m sure I’m not the first girl to lose her virginity to the oh-so-great Sebastian Lockwood. But no, he said I was his obsession, told me over and over that I was his, that I belonged to him. If that was true, how can he be so disinterested?

“Someone grab drinks,” Hunter says, pulling me from my angry internal rant.

“I’ll get them, what does everyone want?” I ask.

There’s a chorus of, “Beer please,” from them all so I pad to the drinks cooler and take out four beers and a bottle of the strawberry wine cooler I had earlier.

“Jesus, sis, got to say, as your brother I am not loving those shorts, your ass is hanging out of them,” Evan laughs.

“It’s a good thing you’re not really my brother and that I don’t care what you think of my clothes,” I snark back, putting the drinks on the table and taking the empty seat between Clay and Evan, directly opposite Sebastian.

My gaze finds his, expecting to see his anger over Evan’s comment about my ass, or the fact that his friends have seen me in these tiny shorts that are incredibly small and tight, but his expression is completely bland and his lack of reaction makes me furious.

21

SEBASTIAN

Not punching Evan in the face and dragging my little bird back upstairs to rip those fucking shorts off her and spank her ass until it’s hot and red and she knows never to put herself on display for other men’s eyes ever again, is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

My eye is twitching with the concentration I’m having to exert to keep my expression neutral and disinterested, to not stare at her with all the anger and frustration and need I’m actually feeling from being this close to her.

My brothers keep checking on me, waiting for me to lose my shit, but I won’t. They all believe what I told her, that I’m sorry; that she’s free, that I’ll stay away. I needed them to believe. After all, if I can sell this bullshit to them, my closest, my family, then I can convince her it’s true too.

I understand why they buckled, why they turned on me and urged me to release my little bird. A part of me actually appreciates how they stood against me and defended her, but if they really thought I could walk away, that I could let her live her life without me in it, then they’re idiots.

Starling Kennedy is mine and nothing, not them, or their guilt, or even her can change that.

She’s wearing the shirt that I bought her, the one I made her take off because it showed more of her tits than it actually covered. It’s the first time she’s worn anything from the closetful of clothes I picked for her. That’s how I know she’s dressed just for me. She’s wearing those ridiculous booty shorts and that shirt to provoke a reaction from me.