I sigh, already regretting everything about this, and lace my fingers with Caden’s as we head to the door.
The second we open it, the energy in the air sours.
Craig steps in first. He hasn’t trained in a while—that much is obvious. The soft edges around his gut and the way his shoulders slump say more than his smug little smirk ever could. He’s half a foot shorter than Caden and Ryan, and his presence feels… slimy. He tries to compensate with hair gel and a too-tight button-up that strains around his stomach, but it’s no use. He’s still just Craig.
His eyes are a dull brown, and they sweep over me like I’m something he once tasted and didn’t enjoy, but likes to remind people he could have had.
Clinging to his arm is Tanya—his mate, and a walking, talking stereotype of mean-girl energy.
