Page 125 of Meant for Mayhem

We moved together like we’d been doing this for years and like it was brand new all at once—hands everywhere, bodies sliding, the wet sound of skin on skin filling the room. I flipped us so she was on top, watching her ride me with her hair wild around her shoulders, hands pinching those pierced nipples. Then I moved her again to take her from behind, one hand braced beside hers on the headboard, the other reaching around to circle her clit until she came hard around me, crying out my name.

Only then did I let myself go, burying myself deep as I followed her over the edge.

We collapsed together in a sweaty, satisfied tangle, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy patterns along her spine. The city hummed quietly beyond the windows, but in here it was only us—heartbeats slowing, breaths mingling.

Shannon pressed a kiss to my sternum and looked up, a small, sated smile curving her lips.

“Paljon onnea, rakas,” I murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. “Happy birthday, beloved.”

She laughed softly. “Best one yet.”

25

Asshat

Merry Christmas Eve.

Asshat

Dad’s spending today alone. Hope that’s easier for you to live with than making a phone call.

Dickwad

He won’t be around forever. Don’t come crying to us when it’s too late.

My thumb hovered over the Block Contact button.

One tap.

One stupid little tap, and I’d never have to read a message from them again.

I’d almost clicked it more times than I could count—birthdays, Thanksgiving, random Tuesdays when my brothers were short on cash or felt the need to tear someone else down. But every time, I chickened out.

They’d spent years convincing me I owed them for surviving my childhood. For putting food on the table while Dad was gone. For keeping the lights on. For raising me.

I was old enough now to understand that none of that was my responsibility. I knew it like I knew the sun would rise in the morning. But all it ever took was one stupid text message to make me feel like I was a kid again, desperate for my family to love me.

“Ready?” Mikko said when he climbed into the driver’s seat. He buckled his seat belt, then looked in the rearview mirror at Leena playing in her car seat.

“Mmhmm.”

Mikko pulled out of the parking garage and into traffic, headed toward the assisted living facility. “So, tell me about this Walt guy.”

I clicked off my phone, letting myself grin. “He’s such an asshole. You’ll love him.”

Mikko laughed, turning to look at me. The change in him the last few weeks was almost wild to see. Gone were the worried crinkles around his eyes, replaced by the stoic but kind hockey player I’d met almost a year ago.

“Am I an asshole too?”

I shrugged. “Only when it’s warranted.”

He nodded, content with that assessment. And it was true.

Despite his fierce reputation on the ice, I’d only seen Mikko lose his temper a handful of times, and all of them were reasonable—my father drunkenly harassing me and Richard overstepping in the media room at the top of the list.

“He’s a Yeti fan?”

“Yes.” I tipped my head back on the headrest, turning to look at him. “He’s a superfan. I’m very excited to see this.”