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A low growl rips out of my throat. I knew it. Knew it at her fucking birthday party when he showed up with his stupid gift card.
Torch backs up a step.
“Suuure you did,” Molly scoffs. “What’d my brother do, pay you to babysit me?”
“No.” Torch scowls. “Fuck no.”
Molly turns her hurt eyes on me. “You knew about this?”
This isn’t the time to fuck around with the truth. “Not until the night I saw you at the track.”
“But you never told me?”
“Why would I tell you something like that?” I fling my hand in Torch’s direction. “Besides, I took one look at him and knew Remy was wrong.”
Torch chokes on a laugh. “I’m that obvious?”
“Save those chuckles,” I warn him. “I haven’t decided how many times to punch you, yet.”
“Griff!” Molly scolds.
I flash a quick, innocent smile her way. “What?”
“Well, I’m gonna go,” Torch says, backing up toward the driveway, one step at a time, keeping his eyes on me. “Glad you’re okay, Molly.” He points at me. “You punch me, I’m punching you back.”
“Give it your best shot, carrot top.” I sneer.
He rolls his eyes. “So original.”
The door slams behind me. I whip around but Molly’s gone. Shit.
“Griff,” Torch calls. When I turn, he’s already in the driveway next to his car.
“You’re that scared of me?” I taunt. It’s not like Torch doesn’t know how to handle himself in the cage. “Seriously?”
“Uh, you’re a pro fighter now.” He wiggles one hand in the air. “Scared isn’t the right word. Healthy respect for how deadly your fists are would be more accurate.”
First time anyone’s called me a pro fighter. Am I? Not really. Doesn’t matter. He should fear me. When it comes to Molly, I’ll do anything to protect her.
He lifts his chin. “Seriously. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I’ll make apologizing on your behalf my first priority.” I turn around, jog up the steps, and pull the screen door open. At least Molly didn’t try to lock me out.
She’s at the kitchen sink. A large, round, black plastic lid’s in one hand, and in her other, a small red tube.
Her tongue pokes out as she concentrates on touching the tip of the tube to the inside rim of the lid.
“What are you doing?” I close the door behind me. Outside, Torch’s engine rumbles to life and slowly slips along the side of the house.
“Gluing Remy’s coffee can shut,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Already did his protein powder and vitamins. Next, I’m stuffing paper in the toes of all his shoes.”
“Uh, the protein powder was probably mine.”
She flicks a cool look my way. “Oops.”
I bite my lip to stop my laughter. She’s so cute. And absolutely diabolical. I love her.
She bangs the coffee lid into place and caps the glue. Her wild gaze swings around the kitchen like she’s plotting what way to hamper her brother’s morning routine next.
