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Swallowing hard, I put my hand over Kyrian’s and tug it away—or try to. “Nobody did.”
“Bullshit. You will tell me, and I will find them.”
I want to laugh at the notion, but I also want to smile at him. Neither of which is a good idea.
“Let me get you the coffees and cake,” I say. And we can talk.”
14
KYRIAN
“What the fuck,” I growl. “What in the actual fuck. Who dared.”
Archer pats my arm. “Take it easy, Ky.”
“Easy? He has a black eye. Well, it’s going to be black, it’s red and puffy now. It’s recent. It was swelling as I stood there looking at him.”
“I saw it. He’s okay, though.”
“Okay? What the hell? What if it’s someone in here? That hit is from today.” I start toward the bar. “I’m going to check the place out.”
Archer starts after me, but Roman grabs his arm.
“Let Ky check on him,” he says. “He needs to make up with Sawyer, and it might be easier if we’re not breathing down their necks.”
“We’re not breathing down their n?—”
“I can hear you,” I grumble.
“Then go,” Roman says. “We’ll stay here. Sawyer is okay, and he said he’ll be right back.”
“But what if Ky is right, and whoever attacked him is still in here?” Archer asks.
“Exactly.” I open my stride, leaving my mates behind, as I make my way to the bar. It’s kind of old-style, wood and marble, like most of the furnishings of the café. Old-fashioned. Vintage. And romantic, I guess. Hanging lights swing over it.
And there he is, Sawyer, at the coffee machine, slender fingers measuring the coffee.
He’s alone.
He glances at me but says nothing. I watch him work, torn between relief and renewed fury. Relief that nobody’s threatening him right now, and furious I can’t get my hands on the bastard.
Fuck my life, why am I even standing here, itching to punch something because of an omega I barely know?
A damn cute omega, I think, as he shoots me another look from big, hazel eyes. His dark hair is sticking out in all directions, kind of curly but not quite. He’s narrow-shouldered, but his slim body has a fluid grace to it when he moves. So well-proportioned and strong, from the way he handles the machine and moves a crate full of soft drink bottles aside, to open a cupboard.
Hm. His ass is… pert. Is that a word? My vocabulary isn’t that rich. Not too muscular, but nice. Perfect to hold onto. Maybe slap a little.
Dammit.
How can the man be so cute but also sexy? Pretty and boyish, but also masculine and well-built. His mouth is full, but his jaw is chiseled and the way he takes out the plates from the cupboard, fine biceps flexing, the way he wipes his face on his forearm, it’s all so… hot, somehow.
He’s hot.
And the small glare he shoots me as he gets back up reminds me that he doesn’t really like me. Not after I behaved like an ass to him the first time we met.
The bruise under his eye is going to be impressive. And that reminds me…
“Will you tell me who gave you that shiner?” I growl.
