Black Thorns (Thorns Duet #2) by Rina Kent

I’ve felt bad for the times that Sebastian has grabbed me and dragged me into a secluded place so he could fuck me. Sometimes, I feel like such a bitch for being the other woman.

But other times, when I recall that all of this is temporary, I just embrace that bitch and take what I need from him.

Just like he takes everything from me.

Finding Aspen in his apartment is a different story, though.

The wisest option would be to leave, but my legs subconsciously carry me in the direction of his bedroom.

Sebastian’s voice filters through the hall, its baritone a direct stimulation to my ears. The fact that he could use it to talk dirty to someone else turns my blood green with envy.

I stop in the doorway of the bedroom, ready to spoil their fun and be an actual jerk.

But it’s not Aspen I find perched on Sebastian’s bed.

It’s a familiar face I saw at Weaver & Shaw that day. His assistant.

She confiscates a bottle of whisky from Sebastian and forces him back to lie on the bed. He’s dressed in a plain white T-shirt that hugs his chest muscles and gray sweatpants. His chaotic hair appears to be half-damp as it falls across his forehead.

He’s pale, his lips dry and his face worn out. He wasn’t that way two days ago.

“You need to rest,” his assistant says in a reproachable tone.

Sebastian’s gaze strays toward me as if he’s known I was there all along. I swallow thickly, fighting the need to fidget. I’m twenty-eight, but I still feel like that starstruck teenager I was ten years ago when I first saw him.

Will this feeling ever go away?

His assistant, Candice, follows his field of vision and smiles. She flips her braided hair back. “You didn’t tell me you’d be having someone take care of you.”

“I don’t,” he croaks.

“Well, now you do.” She places the bottle on the nightstand. “Take care of this big baby.”

“Me?” I look to either side of me, making sure she’s not actually talking to someone else.

“Who else is here, girl?” She grabs her purse and addresses Sebastian. “Don’t even think about showing your sickly face at the office tomorrow.”

“Don’t go…” he whispers, and he sounds sick—feverish, even.

“Some of us have kids to take care of.” She steps to me and whispers, “Don’t let him drink when he’s sick.”

“What happened?” I ask in a low voice.

“He showed up to work like he’s a survivor of the zombie apocalypse shows my youngest loves to watch. The doctor said he’s come down with a nasty cold and that his temperature should be monitored. He doesn’t get colds often, but when he does, they turn him into a corpse. His meds are on the nightstand and I’m 1 on his speed dial if you need anything. But please don’t. I want some action with my man tonight and that won’t be happening if my demanding boss calls.”

I smile. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“Thank you. I owe you one.”

She leaves before I can ask her about food or what else I should be doing.

Sebastian is reaching for the bottle of whiskey, even though his arm seems to lack energy. I jog to it and grab it.

He groans, remaining in what looks like an uncomfortable leaning position. “Give it.”

“Candice said no drinking when you’re sick.”

“Candice doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“Forget about Candice. You shouldn’t be drinking when you’re sick.”

“Are you a fucking doctor?”

“One doesn’t need to be a doctor to be logical.”

“Thanks for your unnecessary opinion. Now give me that.”

“No.”

“The bottle, Naomi.”

“I said no.” I keep it behind me as he groans again, losing his balance and falling on his back.

Sebastian stares at me through thick lashes that shadow his light, enthralling eyes, but even those lack life today. “Since when are you the alcohol police?”

“Since you’re sick.”

“Why the fuck would you care?” He closes his eyes. “Leave…”

His lips twist and his chest rises and falls at an alarming pace. I wait a few seconds to make sure he’s asleep before I touch his forehead. It’s hot and slightly damp. He definitely has a fever.

I put the bottle of whisky away and place my bag on the foot of the bed. Then I go to the bathroom, wet a washrag, and return.

After putting it on his forehead, I pause. This brings back awful memories from when I struggled to keep him alive back in that damn cell. There were moments where I thought about what could’ve happened back then and all the wrong ways it could’ve ended.

My hand trembles as I slowly release him, not wanting to let the negativity slip back in. I read the directions on the medicine, which state it needs to be taken after eating.

Before I go to the kitchen to see what’s there, I adjust the rag on his forehead.

A strong hand wraps around my wrist and hauls me back on the mattress. Jeez. Sebastian’s strong for someone so sick. His thumb strokes the sensitive flesh of my wrist and I gulp as his eyes slowly open. They’re clear, albeit dark. “Nao…”

My breath hitches at hearing my nickname from his lips. God. No one has called me that since Mom’s death. Even Mio calls me big sister and Kai prefers Ojou-sama to my actual name.