Page 67 of Forged By Shadows
I use his momentary distraction to my advantage. Spinning into his body, I bring my knee up sharply, aiming for his side. He grunts, the hold loosening just enough for me to slip free. I spin around, my fist sailing through the air, but he dodges, catching my wrist again. This time, he pulls me close, our bodies colliding.
Our faces are inches apart, both stunned to be so close. For once, the clench of Wyatt’s jaw isn’t present, leaving his face slack and lips slightly parted as he pants. The tension is unbearable, a magnetic pull. Inside, I’m screaming for the door to open. For someone to interrupt and knock some sense into us. This shouldn’t be happening, but I’m too weak to stop it. Wyatt’s eyes, beautifully green and blown to shit, flick to my lips, and for a moment, everything else fades away. There’s only the two of us, locked in a strained embrace, both fighting for control in more ways than one.
This isn’t right. If Wyatt doesn’t hate me, I don’t know where I sit in the world. Worse than that, if Wyatt isn’t being an asshole, I have no reason to dislike him. What am I supposed to do then? Make small talk in passing, send him a Christmas card, sit for awkward family photos? I wish I knew what he was thinking. What possessed him to not take one look at me and storm away like usual. It’s easier that way. Simpler if we both know where we stand, and in the times Wyatt fails to uphold his side of our decade-long war, I suppose I’ll have to.
Shoving him away again, I snap us both back to the cold reality we’ve created. He dances around, taunting me like a bull with a target. I duck low, using my knees and fists at his core while he twists away, rarely putting his hands on me. It’s different now—charged with an intensity that goes beyond the physical. Every move, every fleeting touch, is laced with an undercurrent of desire. I hate him for it, hate the way he gets under my skin, hate him for the fire he ignites in me.
“Your self-defense teacher needs firing.” Wyatt’s lips curl into a damnable smirk, his body thrumming with confidence or recklessness. I’ve yet to decide.
“I could hurt you in so many ways if I deemed it worthwhile.” My voice is too breathy, too affected. Coming to a standstill, I know this can’t go on any further, despite the playfulness I wish I saw in Wyatt more often.
“Ha!” he laughs, striding towards me. His dragon tattoo seems to breathe in time with the rise and fall of his solid chest, his abs tight and that deeply engrained V leading to his waistband - nope, not going there. The image of a cocky asshole who loves dangling that carrot of hope in front of me, he makes the mistake of sliding his hands into his pockets. “I would pay millions to see you try.”
“Suit yourself.” I half shrug, snapping my arm out. No flourish, no big swing for him to see coming a mile away. My fist smashes into Wyatt’s nose, the crunch of bone beneath knuckle ringing through the studio. I swiftly stand back, out of arm's reach, awaiting the fallout.
“Will that be cash or card? I don’t trust your cheques not to bounce.” I flutter my eyes innocently. And there it is. The line is redrawn. Wyatt holds his nose, blood pouring in thick rivets down his arm, following the network of veins pulsing there. His eyes grow hard, the clench of his jaw returning. A tremor of fear that I should have felt all along finally sparks to life, causing a shiver to ripple down my back.
“Do you feel protected now?” Wyatt asks through bloodied teeth. My brows knit together, the makings of a trap closing in around me.
“What?” I swallow hard.
“Your wellbeing is paramount. That’s what my father said, and then left you in my care. You can run back and tell him I’ve done my job.”
“So that’s what this was? A way for you to score points?” Wyatt moves suddenly, closing the distance between us while I force my feet to stay grounded. Grabbing the hem of my t-shirt, he tears the fabric in two large hands, spraying blood over my chest in the process. Freeing the material from my abdomen, he holds it over his nose, glaring at me with furious eyes.
“Do I look like I give a fuck about scoring points?!” He’s in my personal space, looking down on me. The white fabric in his hand quickly becomes blood red. “My men can cuddle you, stroke your hair and tell you that you’re safe. But who is actually helping to train you? To keep you on edge, aware of the dangers lurking nearby? Wake the fuck up Avery.”
Shoving past me with the full weight of his shoulder, I stand stunned. Speckled with blood, left confused, conflicted and with the sinking feeling of heartbreak weighing me down. I can’t tell him. It’s not my place. In his own warped, twisted mind, Wyatt thinks he’s following his father’s instructions. All the while, that man may not even be his real father.
Chapter Forty Five
“Ahh!” I bellow, scaring the nurse half to death as she repositions my nose. I snuck out at dawn this morning to seek professional help, in fear my nose would heal crooked and I’d have to look at myself every day in the mirror knowing I was sucker punched by her. The fake sister I should hate even more now, instead of feeling semi-impressed.
I backed her into a corner, wanting her to plead me for her life. Wanting her to cry my name in fear and when that didn’t work…Well, I’m not going to dwell on that. What was supposed to be a test of her defense, or an attempt to appease my curiosity, became something I couldn’t pull back. And she punished me for it.
Whether I like it or not, Avery has changed. Not like the pathetic girl who flinched too hard and held sadness in her huge, blue eyes. She’s braver now, and I have my own brothers to blame for it. She’s learnt to thrive under pressure and I’ll never be able to break her now.
“Okay, Master Hughes, it’s straight again now. No strenuous exercise for at least two weeks and please be careful with who you anger in the future.” I’d spun her a line about getting into a fight at a party. Hopping down from the medical bed, I pull my leather jacket on and catch a glimpse of the purple bruising beginning to line my nose and seep under my eyes in the mirror on the opposite wall. Turning to the silver haired nurse, whose wrinkling leather hands are deceivingly strong, I thank her and accept the painkillers she hands me.
Driving back to the mansion in Huxley’s Bentley, I use the time alone to ponder what the fuck I’m doing with my life. I was on track, so focused on what mattered. My schooling, my degree, playing in basketball matches and keeping socializing to a minimum. I only fucked girls out of necessity, to rid enough testosterone to not let myself become distracted by it. Well look who’s fucking distracted now.
I’m running behind schedule on my coursework, my gang is splintering and I’m sinking further into the fractured child I’ve tried so hard to leave behind. Foresight has always been something I pride myself in, but my options are quickly dissolving all around me. Avery isn’t backing down. She isn’t making any attempt to separate herself from us, and my men don’t seem inclined to let her.
Pulling into the underground garage, I park next to the Rolls my father has left here. Usually, it would be paired with a driver on speed dial to escort Avery wherever she’d like to go. Assessing my nose in the rear-view mirror, I exit the car with a heavy exhale and make my way into the manor. An elevator separates the garage from the main lobby, tucked beneath the staircase for discretion. Striding into the kitchen, I find Axel making omelets with an eager Garrett sitting at the island with a fork in hand. The large, mounted clock shows an ungodly early hour, so I eye the topless chef with suspicion.
“Why are you awake so early?” My voice comes out all nasally, so I decide to keep talking to a minimum. Sitting beside Gare, Axel leans over the island to pass me his half-drunk coffee since we take ours the same way – milk and two sugars.
“Couldn’t sleep, and this one’s stomach growling didn’t help matters.” He points his spatula at Garrett, who flashes his best hazel puppy dog eyes at him. I roll my eyes. Typical that there should be twelve guest bedrooms and these two decide to cling to each other.
“Ooh, what smells so good?” Avery walks in looking as fresh as ever, completely unaffected by her sleepless night. Her blue eyes fall on me and she overacts a gasp, raising her hand to her mouth. “Oh, how insensitive! I didn’t see you there Wyatt. Do you need me to describe the smell to you?”
Huxley bursts out laughing as he walks in behind her, guiding her over to the table with a light hand on her shoulder. I should groan, noticing the way everyone is looking at my nose. She probably ran through the halls with a banner, alerting the entire household to her mini victory. Her golden hair is slightly damp, dripping onto a fitted white t-shirt as she swans further into the kitchen in gray sweatpants. I force myself to stare into the mug I’m nursing. Dax also appears to help Axel serve up six plates of omelets as we all take our seats at the table.
“Anyone else need coffee?” Axel asks, hovering behind his chair.
“Tea for me but I’ll make it,” Avery hops up and they both return to the counter. Failing to listen to the conversation happening around me, the whispers and giggles from behind keep drawing my attention over my shoulder. Axel fiddles with a strand of her damp hair as she leans into his muscled frame, all the while making her tea. Growling, I turn my focus back to trying to eat my breakfast, having to chew slowly to ease the strain on my already-tender nose. By the time the pair have returned, I’ve finished and leave my empty plate on the table, needing to put space between me and her.
I spend most of the day in my father’s office, cleaning up the mess left by the contractors who showed no interest in actually fixing anything. Dust and debris from the shattered window cover almost every surface. As I sweep up the remnants of their negligence, I can’t help but feel the weight of frustration and disappointment settle over me. The workspace feels like a battleground, and I am the lone soldier tasked with restoring order. Story of my life really. Me in charge, making the decisions others don’t want to and rely on me for.
