The headlock heir and his napkin wife

UT, THE SIMP TEXTS, A

ippet –

of us on the porch with flashlights and cheese puffs and the sound of tires on gravel coming d

lind, Sloane's laptop dying mid-sentence, Jax's speaker cutting out right in the middle of a T

ne. This is totally normal. Power goes out all the time. It's not like a vengeful ex-employ

g through the dark, sweeping the street, the yard, th

bing my own flashlight off the porch rail. "She threatened to be

leaving the dark. "Sloane, you still got the t

her feet too, shoving her laptop into her bag, flashlight clampe

kitchen with chairs and the dining table, flashlights bobbing everywhere like fireflies. Jax kept up a constant stream of chatter the whole time-mostly roasting Asher for the fourteen unread

hair under the front doorknob. "Fourteen. In two hours. She didn't reply to a single one. You are a level ten

red even in the dim flashlight glow. "Shut up. It

single drawer like we were gonna arm ourselves for battle. "That's not a reply! That's the universal sig

ng not to laugh even though my hands were still

d paper bag out of his jacket pocket, tossing it to me. I ca

corner of his mouth, the first real one all night. "I brought her a muf

u do when you feel bad for burning the toast at breakfast! I once brought Sloane an en

f it on the wal

tai

so hard by then we

unch of tire

down my

ng lo

os

one arm out like he could block a bullet with his body, Jax right beside him already cracking his knuckles like he was about

rned into

ight at the

ine

le

feel Asher's back pressed tight against mine, warm and solid and alive, could see the faint glow of a cigarette being

words, so quiet I a

s h

iver's side doo

f cha