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“You think you can take me, little bro?” Jonas smirks like there’s no chance.
“I can bench four-thirty, so that just might be enough to toss you.” I shouldn’t taunt Jonas but he brings out the worst in me.
He bares his teeth at me. “I shit bigger than you.”
“I believe it.”
When he makes a noise as if he’ll soon charge, I clench my fists. But Ivy’s cool hand lands on my stomach. “He isn’t worth it, Gray.”
Her dark eyes are wide and worried, gleaming up at me with a silent plea. And I soften. I don’t want her to see this ugliness. But my distraction is a mistake. I hear Jonas snarl.
“Thought I told you to mind your fucking business, girlie.”
He lunges, and I can only think of Ivy, threatened. My vision goes white and a roar tears from my throat. I slam into Jonas with enough force to rattle my bones. Fisting his shirt, I propel him upward, my thighs bunching with effort until he goes airborne.
His massive shape is a silhouette in the streetlight, and then he’s crashing down onto the pavement with a loud thud. I stand over him, my teeth grinding. A slow shake works deep through my guts.
“Get the fuck out of here, or I will end you.”
He stares at me, all wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. Blood dribbles from his lip, and my knuckles throb. Had I hit him? I don’t even remember doing it.
He spits a glob of red from his mouth as he rolls over, so I must have. Slowly he stands.
We stare at each other for a long moment. When I speak, the finality feels like shards going down my throat. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”
He just shakes his head. “Mom wasted her time on the wrong kid.” And then he leaves me there, gutted and filled with useless rage.
Ivy
Rain has started to fall. It taps against the roof of Gray’s truck with a metallic rattle and runs in rivulets down the fogged-up windows. Inside, it’s warm, the old heater blowing steadily as we sit not speaking.
We’re parked in front of my house, listening to Nine Inch Nails’s “Right Where it Belongs” play softly on the radio, the sound haunting in the relative silence.
Gray hasn’t moved, and I’m hesitant about saying a word. He’s clearly in his own world right now, his strong profile as hard as carved stone as he stares blindly forward.
Every line of his body is tense, as if he might shatter if he moves, and I hate it. I saw the rage and the fear cloud his eyes when his brother taunted him. I saw the hurt and shame. Gray is in pain, and that is unacceptable.
Slowly, my hand slides across the truck’s leather bench seat. His fingers are curled into a fist, but the moment I touch him, he opens his hand, turning his palm upward to clasp my own. Until I feel the warmth of his touch, I don’t realize how much I’d needed it.
We don’t speak. Gray’s hand engulfs mine. For a moment, I simply sit and soak in the small connection between us. It’s strange how good it feels just to do this. Almost absently, he traces the back of my hand, down the sensitive edges of my fingers and over my knuckles. Pleasure hums along my skin.
I explore as well, sliding a finger along the length of his, as the tip of my thumb strokes his palm. I love Gray’s hands. Warm, rough skin. Long fingers and broad palms, and strength. He could crush my hand without effort yet he holds on to me as though I’m made of spun sugar. Tenderness washes over me.
“Hey,” I whisper. “What kind of shoes do spies wear?”
At first I don’t think he’s heard me, then Gray’s lips twitch. “Don’t know.”
“Sneakers.”
“Har.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as his smile grows. Still he stares out the window.
I give his hand a small squeeze. “What do you get when you cross a vampire with a snowman?”
“What?”
“Frostbite.”
Gray snorts. And then his eyes find mine. They glint with humor in the dim interior. “What’s green and smells like pork?”
