Page 100 of Ghosted

“He fucking hurt you.”

The words land between us hard enough to make the room feel smaller.

I hate the way my body reacts to them. Hate the little pull low in my stomach, the burn behind my ribs, the ugly mix of fear and heat and memory that comes with both of them now.

Johnny’s hands. Jagger’s mouth.

My own stupid choices sitting on my skin like bruises no one can see.

I fold my arms because I need something to do with my hands. “And you punching him in front of a crowd fixes that how?”

Jagger’s eyes darken. “It’s not about fixing it.”

“Then what is it about?”

His mouth opens.

Nothing comes out.

Exactly.

I step closer, anger climbing higher because I can feel the hurt under it now, and I don’t want hurt. Hurt is embarrassing. Hurt means I came here hoping he’d care enough to listen.

“Say it,” I snap. “Go on. Tell me how this helps me.”

His shoulders shift. “It keeps him away from you.”

“No, it doesn’t.” My voice cracks, and that pisses me off even more. “It gives him a stage, Jagger. It gives him lights, witnesses, noise, and your fucking fists doing exactly what he wanted them to do.”

“He needs to know there are consequences.”

“Johnny gets off on consequences.” I throw a hand toward the door, toward campus, toward whatever fucked-up universe decided I needed to be stuck between the Cutter brothers. “He wants you mad and bloody. He wants everyone chanting Wraith while you lose your shit because of me.”

Jagger flinches.

“You know I’m right,” I say.

His stare cuts back to mine. “I’m not letting him think he can touch you and walk away.”

“And I’m telling you that if you do this, it isn’t for me.”

“It is.”

“No.” I shake my head, stepping back before I get too close, before I do something stupid like touch him. “It’s for you. It’s because you feel helpless, and you hate it. It’s because Johnny found a way to hurt you through me, and now you want to hurt him back badly enough that you’re pretending it’s fucking protection.”

His face hardens.

Good.

Let it.

“This isn’t noble,” I say. “It’s not romantic or some dark, tortured, I’ll-kill-for-you bullshit. It’s two brothers using me as the match and acting shocked when everything around us catches fire.”

His voice drops. “You’re not a match.”

“Then stop fucking treating me like the reason to burn everything down when I didn’t ask to be..”

His eyes darken. “You think I don’t know what he’s doing?”