Page 21 of Ghosted

“Bullshit.”

“You’re so tense tonight.” I tip ash onto the floor. “Little flash of a camera, pretty girl says your name, and suddenly you’re acting like I pissed on your grave.”

“Leave Alice out of it.”

“Alice?” My brows lift. “Interesting. I don’t remember saying a name.”

“Johnny.”

There’s my name again.

Sharp this time. Snapped between his teeth like he wants to spit it out and choke me with it.

I grin around the cigarette. “Careful, little brother. You’re starting to make her sound important.”

Jagger moves fast.

Most people wouldn’t catch it until his hand was already around their throat and their feet were trying to remember how the floor felt.

But I’m not most people.

I see the shift in his shoulder. The weight change. The way all that quiet violence inside him lines up, neat and pretty, waiting for permission to become a fucking problem.

My smile widens.

Fuck, I love him like this.

All that control cracking because I looked too long at something he hasn’t even admitted he wants yet.

I don’t move away.

That would ruin the fun.

He stops inches from me, close enough that I can smell blood under the smoke, sweat under the cheap soap he probably used in that disgusting locker room sink.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

My pulse kicks once.

Not fear. Fuck no.

Interest.

Jagger’s always had a talent for making threats sound like vows. Low voice, dead eyes, violence sitting right there under his skin like a loyal dog waiting for the leash to drop.

“You keep saying don’t like it’s supposed to stop me.” I tilt my head, smile lazy. “Like you drew a little line on the floor and now I’m meant to stand here behaving myself.”

His voice drops. “I mean it.”

“I know.” I let my gaze drag over his face, slow enough to piss him off on purpose. The bruise darkening along his jaw. The cut near his brow. The blood still caught at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what makes it so fucking funny.”

His hand finally curls.

Yes, finally.

There’s my little brother.

Not Wraith. Not the cage version. Not the quiet little nightmare the crowd gets wet over because he breathes controlled and hits like judgment day.