All Chapters of TEMPTING THE ENEMY (MM): Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

63 Chapters

sick fucked up things

MIGUEL’S POVThe sun wasn’t even fully up and already I wanted to gouge my own fucking eyes out.Seth hadn’t said a single word to me all night.Not a sigh. Not a grunt. Not even the usual under-his-breath insults he muttered when we were barely tolerating each other. Just silence. Cold, dry silence. Like I didn’t exist anymore. Like whatever we had—whatever the hell we’d ruined—had been tossed in the bin next to our bloodstained history and torched without ceremony.We got dressed without speaking. Him pulling on his hoodie with the same tight jaw he always wore when he was pissed, me yanking on my shirt like I could tear the night off my skin. I wanted to say something. I did. But every time I looked at him, his expression dared me to try.By the time we stepped out into the hallway, I could feel the weight of the morning like sludge on my back. And then—of fucking course—Jeremy appeared, all bright-eyed and suspiciously smug, with that lazy grin he wore like it hadn’t been hell aro

His favorite addiction

SETHS POV I fucked up.I fucking—no, royally —fucked up. I could taste it, bile-thick and bitter. My chest was splitting open with it, my throat hot and raw from the sting of it.Byron saw.He fucking saw.And now I was sprinting across the rink like a man whose entire goddamn world had just collapsed in slow motion—because it had. Because I saw that look on his face when Miguel turned, smirking like a smug little devil, like he knew what he’d done, and I let him do it. I let him touch me, tease me, get under my fucking skin in that godforsaken locker room like we hadn’t burned down everything we ever had.And Byron saw.He didn’t even flinch when I reached him. Didn’t blink. Just turned that sharp, cold edge on me. The same tone he used when a player missed a shot on purpose. When discipline wasn’t just needed—it was expected.“Do we have any issues here, Mr. Seth Mallory?”Fuck. That voice. Byron didn’t sound hurt. Didn’t sound sad. He sounded like a coach . A man who didn’

Make me your lover

JEREMY'S POV.I couldn’t breathe.Couldn’t fucking think straight.I paced the hall like something rabid, chewing the inside of my cheek raw, my nails digging into the meat of my palm. My phone buzzed again—group chat lighting up with some dumb meme Miguel sent two hours ago like the whole world wasn’t crumbling beneath our feet. I didn’t respond.Not to that.Not to anything. Because what the hell was there to say?My brain kept spinning back—rewinding and rewatching—those thirty goddamn seconds by the car. Miguel leaning back against the hood, all smug and casual, puffing on a cigarette like he hadn’t just ruined everything. Like Seth’s bruises were a love note and not a warning sign. Like none of it mattered.And Seth?Seth, who’d looked at Miguel like he still wanted him. Like he still wanted him after everything. After Byron. After the fights. After the violence. After the tears. Like Miguel’s chaos still made sense to him. Like Miguel still had a place in that too-soft, too-f

Bloody

ZENYA'S POVThe front door slammed like a fucking gunshot.I didn’t even flinch. Just stared at the laptop screen a second longer before sighing and slamming it shut. The sound echoed louder than it should have in the quiet house. I tossed it onto the bed without care, dragged my hand up my face and through my hair, and stood there for a moment, dead still, like if I moved too fast something inside me might rupture.Jeremy was spiraling. Seth was spiraling. Miguel was a goddamn wreck upstairs pretending to sleep but probably chewing his cheek raw with guilt. And me? I was somewhere between a saint and a fucking devil, caught in the purgatory of loving people who broke everything they touched—myself included.Benito was getting better.That should have been good news. Should have made me feel lighter. But it didn’t. Because if he got better and then something else happened, if he slipped again, if he started coughing blood again or couldn’t walk or collapsed in the garden—it meant one

Sooooo needy buttom bitch

JEREMY'S POVI was driving like hell had a vendetta and my foot was the trigger. The city lights smeared past my windshield in streaks of angry yellow and red, but I didn’t blink. Didn’t fucking breathe. My jaw was locked so tight it hurt, but I needed it to hurt. The ache grounded me, kept me from turning the steering wheel straight into a fucking wall.Because I was pissed.Because I was jealous.Because I was a fucking idiot.I wasn’t the jealous friend. I wasn’t the clingy little bitch begging for crumbs of affection. But I was burning from the inside out and all I saw in my head was Zenya’s goddamn face. That cool, stoic expression when I left him. When I told him he didn’t get to call me malishka anymore. Like he didn’t just own my entire fucking spine every time he said it.I swerved left and slammed the brakes in front of some shitty club but barely gave it a glance. The neon sign blinked like a dying heart monitor, and some girl in heels was puking on the sidewalk while a g

He is dead

ZENYAS POV.Jeremy stormed in ahead of me like a hurricane barely contained in skin, his fists clenched at his sides, his footsteps pounding into the floorboards like he was trying to shake the foundation itself. He didn’t look at me. Not once. Not since we got into the car, not since we left the mess I’d made behind. That silence—it had teeth. Sharp ones. And I let it sink them into me the whole ride home.The door slammed behind us, echoing down the hall like a final verdict.I paused at the threshold, fingers still wrapped tight around the keys like I hadn’t decided if I was staying or turning right the fuck back around. Seth’s usual slouch on the couch wasn’t there. No half-empty bottle tilted between his fingers, no glazed-over sarcasm pouring out of his throat. The TV was on, but muted. Even the walls felt like they were waiting for something to crack open.Maybe it already has.Maybe I was too late.I ran a hand down my face, dragging the day off my skin, but it stuck there, li

Don’t come back

SETHS POV I woke up to heat. That was the first thing. That slow, smothering warmth pressed into my side, bleeding into me, clinging.Then the weight.Heavy.Miguel.His arm slung low around my waist, his face buried into my neck like he belonged there, like we hadn’t built an entire fucking pillow wall to keep shit like this from happening. The wall was on the floor now, just tossed, forgotten, like every rule we kept trying to follow had finally crumbled under the weight of everything we were too scared to say.I didn’t move. Not at first.Just lay there, heart crawling up my throat, watching the way the morning bled soft yellow into the cracks of the curtains. Watching his lashes twitch in his sleep, his mouth barely parted, breath steady. Peaceful. Beautiful.God, he was beautiful.And for a second—for one fucking selfish second—I let myself have it.I let my fingers ghost up, trembling, brushing slowly along his jaw, the soft stubble of it, the curve of his cheekbone, the bri

A sinful sexy plan

SETH’S POVI should’ve known the second the door shut that it wasn’t gonna be a clean goodbye.Zenya hadn’t even been out of the house for more than a minute and already my heart was scraping itself raw in my chest, thudding like it was trying to rip out of my ribs and beat itself to death on the floor. The silence that followed after he left wasn’t peaceful, wasn’t gentle—it was screaming. It was that kind of silence that made everything feel louder.I ran a hand down my face, fingers trembling against my cheek. I hadn’t even turned fully before I heard Miguel shift behind me.That bastard had been waiting.Leaning against the wall like a fucking magazine ad, arms folded, expression unreadable, but his mouth already twitching into something bitter and knowing.I didn’t want to start a fight. Not today. Not when my whole body already felt like it had been gutted and hollowed out.But of course Miguel opened his mouth.“So,” he said, voice too casual to be real. “What now, Mallory? Gon

Fuck even byron

MIGUEL'S POV I was going to combust.Straight up set the fucking couch on fire from how hard I was gripping the throw pillow like it had personally wronged me. My leg bounced like I was jacked up on coke, and my thumb kept dragging down my phone screen, refreshing the damn tracking app I swore I wasn’t going to check. Again.Still at Byron’s.Still.That same fucking house on that same quiet street where Seth used to go just for “training.” Now he was probably curled up under some too-expensive throw blanket with that clean-cut fucker, giggling like some Disney Channel couple while I sat here dry-mouthed and losing my fucking mind.I knew I shouldn't have left that tracker in his car.I knew it. But what the hell else was I supposed to do? Sit back like a chump and hope he'd pick me when Byron's already two years ahead in the whole good-boy, stable life race?"You're gonna blow a gasket, papi," Jeremy muttered from the corner of the couch, legs slung over the armrest like he l

Two dicks and one hole

JEREMY’S POV What?No—no, what?I blinked hard, staring at the man in front of me, then back at Miguel, hoping like hell someone would laugh, slap me on the back and say just kidding . But no one did. Because no one was kidding.Zenya’s twin.The words hit me like a shovel to the back of the head, except there was no pain. Just white noise. Thick, oppressive confusion slamming through my skull like a migraine I didn’t see coming. I felt the blood drain from my face. My hands hung limp at my sides. And my dick—God help me—my dick didn’t get the memo, still half-hard, twitching like some stupid animal that couldn’t tell the difference between danger and desire.“What—” I started, voice raw, cracking. “What the fuck?”Miguel didn’t speak either. He just stood there, eyes locked on the man in the doorway, shoulders tense, jaw clenching harder with every breath.The man—adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, like none of this was new to him. Like barging in with a face that could break pe

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