Badly Behaved

The ‘just in case’ in full effect.

“And here they’re not,” Ransom guesses.

“My sister is.” I cut a look toward Ransom, thinking of his reaction to his brother and his comment about his family issues the other day.

Seems we have some similarities after all.

He frowns, but shifts his gaze to the ocean, so I continue.

“We’re both busy with our own shit, so we can go a few days without being home at the same time or we’re both home, but one of us is gone before the other wakes in the morning.”

Beretta nods. “She here now?”

“No clue.” I shrug. “Maybe?”

He and Arsen walk to the far end of the balcony, looking down at the pool, lined perfectly with the edge of the cliff on the first story. Beretta starts talking about what he would do if it were his property and Arsen grins, nodding along.

“They’re very protective of each other, aren’t they?” I ask quietly.

“We are protective of all the things we care about, and of all the things we want.”

I keep my head facing forward, moving only my eyes to his, and clear, steady blues stare back.

Something unfamiliar burns in my throat, but I swallow past it.

I’m not sure what he sees in my expression, but before I’ve even got my mouth open, he’s shaking his head, and like before, I ignore him.

“Why were you on Scott’s street the night I crashed?”

He doesn’t confirm or deny he followed me, but he also doesn’t look away.

“You read the note he left, so I think you wanted to see if I would go.”

Again, nothing from him.

“I did, and you stayed. Why?”

“To see how long you would.” This time, his answer is quick and honest.

I nod, figuring that as well. “To know if I was fucking him.”

“I already knew you weren’t,” he fires back.

My brows lift the slightest bit.

“That so?” I wrap my fingers around the railing, and I shift to face him better.

“Yeah, that’s so.” He matches my move, facing me full-on, pushing closer until we’re near chest to chest, his knuckles brushing mine on the cool metal.

I wait for an explanation, but what I get is a warning, the purpose buried beneath it.

His free hand comes up, and he presses two fingers against my neck, just beneath my jawbone and directly over my pulse point. My skin heats from his touch, under his darkened gaze, and I try to pull away, but his free hand wraps around my waist, forcing me still.

Forcing me to feel him.

To acknowledge the way my pulse climbs beneath his rough fingertips.

He dips his head. “Next time your little iron heart beats a bit harder than you want it to, give in...” He trails off, his thumb coming up, pressing firmly into the underside of my jaw, and tilting it up farther. “Or go the fuck home... not to someone else simply because you know he could never get under your skin.”

My jaw clamps tight. His perceptiveness is as disturbing as it is alluring, but the way he insinuates my attention belongs to him is not good.

It’s dangerous.

It’s dangerous because my insides are suddenly dancing to a beat I’ve never heard, yet there it is, thrumming beneath my skin.

As if he’s aware, his eyes seem to gleam, but he holds his frown in place, putting me on edge even more when he says, “You went there to regain control of your own mind, but you have no idea what jumping at Scott’s call screams inside his.”

Screw Scott, what the hell is happening here?

It’s as if Ransom found a dark corner in my mind and took up shop there, discovering all my inner issues and blurring truths.

It’s anxiety-inducing, so I pivot, call on my mother’s training and hide all hints of humanism. I have to.

Stand calm, speak cold, and don’t forget to smile.

“I can handle Scott Gentry.” This time, it’s me who moves closer. “And if I want to handle him, I can do that too.”

His nostrils flare, and an angry little growl escapes, gaining his friends’ attention.

Slowly, they walk closer, and Ransom nearly knocks me on my ass when his chest bumps into mine. “I should have let you get arrested, you deserved it the second you climbed behind the wheel.”

My brows cave and he jerks away from me.

“If you ever think about drinking and driving again, don’t.” His words are a menacing command, low and deep.

He doesn’t have to vocalize how I’ll regret it; his words are dipped in the threat.

With erratic movements, he snags his sweater from the back of the chair, quickly tugging it over his head, and without a word, the others do the same.

They’re out the door not thirty seconds later.

Just like that, I’m reminded they are a unit, and I don’t have one.

It takes a second to remember that’s the way I like it.