Page 95 of Ghosted

His fist connects before the words are fully out.

Pain detonates through my jaw. My head snaps sideways, the counter catches my hip, and blood floods hot over my tongue. For half a second, I just breathe through it.

Then I laugh.

Low, rough, and almost breathless.

Because fuck, I missed this. The thing under his skin. The one everybody chants for but nobody actually fucking understands.

I drag my tongue over my split lip and look back at him, smiling with blood on my teeth. “There’s my boy.”

Jagger steps in, chest all puffed up, jaw locked, knuckles red and ruined at his side.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

My stomach tightens.

Not fear. Something worse. Something black and hungry and so goddamn typical of me it should probably embarrass me. Jealousy with teeth. Pretty possession dressed up as amusement. The sick little thrill of finally having all of his attention aimed straight at me again.

I grin. “Promise?”

His hand hooks into my shirt and yanks me close enough that I feel his breath against my mouth.

“I’m going to break every fucking bone you touched her with.”

That should sound like a threat. It doesn’t. It sounds like a match striking.

I smile wider. “Ouu thats new. Sounds fun.”

His grip bites harder, and I lean into it, dragging my gaze over him slowly so he can see exactly how much I’m enjoying this. His jaw twitches, the vein in his neck pulses. His eyes are as cold as murder. All because Alice reached into him and me, I used the door she made to pull Wraith right to the surface.

“You feel that?” I ask, watching the control drain out of his face one slow inch at a time. “That isn’t protection, Jagger. That’s jealousy. Ownership. That’s every sick little piece of you waking up because I put my hands on something you thought you already claimed.”

His fist lifts.

I grin through the blood.

“Was that mark supposed to scare me?” I ask, voice dropping. “That stupid little warning you carved into her like it meant something? Like I’d see it and back off?”

His jaw locks.

My smile widens.

“Fuck, baby brother. All it did was show me exactly where to touch.”

I want him to hit me, but he doesn’t. Which is really fucking disappointing. I tilt my head. “Come on, Wraith. Don’t go soft on me now.”

That does it.

His fist hits me again, hard enough to slam my back into the counter. The Scotch bottle rattles behind me, pain bursts through my cheekbone, and my laugh breaks apart around the blood in my mouth.

The room sways for a second. Copper coats my tongue, but fuck if the victory don’t taste better than coffee.

I brace one hand on the counter and look at him, breathing harder now, grinning like the sick fuck I am.

“Better,” I say.

Jagger’s chest rises and falls, but his face has gone frighteningly flat.