Page 56 of Ghost Ribbon

“Marioooo!” he sang out, pulling me into a sideways hug that nearly knocked me off balance. “There you are! I was looking for yo—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Alexei’s hand shot out and grabbed Ilya’s wrist where it rested on my shoulder, yanking him backward so hard that Ilya stumbled. For a split second I thought he might fall. Ilya winced loudly as his arm was wrenched away from me.

Alexei released him immediately, like he had surprised even himself. His fingers flexed once at his side before he dropped his hand completely. I stood frozen between them, heart pounding, not sure what just happened.

Ilya rubbed his wrist, staring at Alexei with a complicated expression, surprise mixed with something I couldn’t quite read. Alexei’s face was mostly blank, the way it always was, but there was something in his eyes I didn’t know how to describe. It wasn’t guilt exactly. He just didn’t look pleased with himself. Like he reacted without thinking and wasn’t happy about it.

“Come with me.”

Ilya blinked once, then nodded without arguing. “Yeah. Okay.”

Alexei turned to me then, his expression softening just a fraction, or at least as much as it ever did.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” he said.

Chapter 17- Alexei

I pushed open the door to the boxing area and stepped inside. Ilya followed a step behind, still cradling his wrist against his chest.

I glanced over at him as we walked toward the benches near the far wall. He was quiet for once, which was rare enough to notice. His usual manic energy dimmed into something smaller.

I had never done that before. I didn’t choose violence in general when we were around other people, and especially not with him. He was family, the chaotic, loud-mouthed little brother I tolerated more than most.

But the second I saw his arm wrap around Marco’s shoulders in that hallway, something ugly snapped inside me. The killing intent gripped me so hard and so fast that my body moved before my brain caught up.

It was like my obsession with that boy had finally started rotting parts of my brain I didn’t know could rot. It was bringing out reactions I had never felt before, this raw, territorial shit that made me want to break bones just because someone else had touched what was mine.

I stopped near the benches and turned to face him fully. My eyes dropped to his wrist first, then lifted to meet his. He was still rubbing it absently, fingers pressing into the skin through the long sleeve. I couldn’t see if I bruised him; he never wore short sleeves.

“Where is my driver?” I asked.

Ilya looked up at me, then down at his wrist again before shrugging with one shoulder. “Kicked him in the head and stole his car.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose for a second. Of course he had. “Why?”

He grinned then, small at first, but it grew into that familiar lopsided thing that usually meant trouble. “I wanted to see what is so interesting about Mario since you’re orbiting around him so much lately. I got to say, he is pretty cute. Listened to me the whole ride and didn’t complain no matter how much I talked. And I talked a lot, Lex. Like, a concerning amount. He just nodded and smiled and let me ramble. Cute. Really cute.”

“Enough.”

I stepped closer, my gaze darkening as I looked down at him. “I don’t like when someone calls him cute.”

Ilya’s head snapped up, eyes widening before narrowing. “What!? Are you going to break my arm next?”

I felt my jaw clench and forced myself to look down instead, staring at the scuffed concrete between us. I gripped him very hard back there, hard enough to bruise, but I hadn’t gripped hard enough for him to wince the way he had. That reaction was concerning.

I forced my voice to stay even. “Are you hurt?”

He scoffed, still rubbing his wrist.

“No.”

Lies. I could see them written all over his face, the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes fully, the way he kept shifting his weight like he was trying to downplay it. Ilya was many things, but he was a terrible liar.

“Ilya.”

“I said I’m not,” he snapped, louder this time. His voice echoed a little in the empty space. He dropped his hand from his wrist and crossed his arms instead, defensive. “It’s fine. You overreacted back there, but whatever. Message received.”