Storm (Elemental 1)

“Warning Chris.”

Hunter caught her arm and hauled her to a stop. “You can’t be serious.”

She stared up at him, surprised by his tone. “Yeah—actually, I am. They almost killed him—”

“Yeah, so I heard. I also saw the way they treated you at the pet store. Those guys aren’t screwing around, Becca.”

“No kidding.” She craned her neck to see if Tyler was still on the patio. He was. “You weren’t there when they were beating him up—”

“You were?”

They were wasting time. She shook free of his hand. “Look—just—if you don’t want to be involved, it’s fine. But I have to warn him.” She took a step back, then turned toward the driveway again.

The air felt colder with his absence. For two steps, she felt the wind lift her hair and taunt her for being alone.

Then Hunter was beside her. “Fine. We’ll find him. But don’t be surprised if he’s an ass about it.”

They clung to the darkness and approached the driveway from the opposite side. The scent of beer hung thick in the air, and half the guys were playing with bottles in their hands.

Becca spotted Drew right off, so she sucked back into the shadows behind Hunter.

She didn’t see Chris at all. Or his brothers.

“Becca?”

She froze. Drew had stopped at the edge of the makeshift court and was peering into the darkness. The ball hung under one arm. Light from over the garage caught his gelled hair and made it shine, leaving his face in shadow.

It didn’t matter. She remembered the angles of his cheekbones, the depth of his brown eyes, the line of his jaw. He looked good. It pissed her off.

He’d already seen her. What was she going to do—run? “Hey, Drew,” she said.

“What’re you doing here?”

He looked honestly perplexed. Like maybe he’d put her out of her misery five weeks ago, and couldn’t imagine she’d show her face now.

“I slipped the bouncer a twenty,” she said. “He let me jump the line.”

He frowned, then his expression turned furious. He’d always been the type to get mad when confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It was a joke,” she muttered, knowing her voice was too low for him to hear.

“He’s trashed,” said Hunter. His voice wasn’t low at all. His presence at her side gave her courage. “Want me to give him your rocks?”

“Definitely not.”

“Dude, are you talking about me?” said Drew. He came a few steps closer. “Who the hell are you?”

One of the guys on the court swore. “Christ, Drew. Let’s just play ball.”

Hunter didn’t move. “I moved down here last weekend. This your house?”

Drew’s eyes narrowed, as if he sensed a trap in the question. “Yeah.” But then he snorted. “Lemme guess, Bex. You rolling out the, uh, welcome mat?”

Some of the other guys snickered and catcalled, but two stepped off the driveway to flank Drew. Greg Connolly and Mark Durant, both boasting more testosterone than brains. Wind blew in off the water again, carrying some sand with it to sting her ankles.

She watched Hunter size up the competition. He did it slowly, deliberately, as if memorizing each guy on the court. “Chill out.” His voice was careful. “We were just looking for someone.”

Oh. Right. They had a purpose here.