Page 185 of Wicked Brutal

I blink. “What?”

“Be mad.” He steps closer. “Yell at me.” Another. “Tell me I fucked up.” Another. “I did.” He’s right in front of me now. “But don’t stand there and tell me I’m supposed to be calm about losing you.”

“I didn’t say calm.”

“You want me rational?”

“I want you to stop trying to run my fucking life.”

“I want you to stop volunteering to die for everyone else.”

“I am not volunteering to die!”

“Then stop talking like what happens to you doesn’t fucking matter!”

“IT MATTERS TO ME!”

“Then act like it!”

I shove him. Hard. Ryan barely moves. His eyes flare. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Do that unless you mean it.”

“Mean what?” His gaze drops to my mouth again. Oh. Oh, fuck him. I shove him a second time. “I fucking hate you right now.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Cocky asshole.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

I grab the front of his shirt. “You hurt me.”

His hands stay at his sides.

“I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

I yank him down and kiss him. Hard. There is nothing sweet about it. His hands finally hit my waist. I bite his lip. He makes a sound against my mouth. Good. I want him pissed too. I want all of it out. Fear. Anger. Love. Everything we’ve been swallowing because somebody is always watching.

Ryan breaks the kiss. His forehead hits mine. “Tell me to stop.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ally.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

That’s all he needs. Ryan kisses me like the fight never ended — just changed languages. It’s hard. Open. Nothing careful about it. One hand fists in my hair at the back of my skull and tips my head back so he can take my mouth the way he wanted to in the dining hall and couldn’t. I bite his lip again. He makes a sound that isn’t sorry.

Then the wall hits my back. Not enough to hurt. Enough that I feel it. His body cages mine, forearm braced beside my head, the other hand still tangled in my hair. I grab his shirt in both fists and yank him closer, because if he’s going to pin me here he doesn’t get to do it from a polite distance.

“Still mad,” I say against his mouth.

“Good.” He kisses me again, deeper. “Stay mad.” His thigh slots between mine. I can feel how hard he already is, and it pisses me off how much that helps. How much he helps. After lunch. After Switzerland. After he used the two things he knew would cut.