Page 62 of Cold Mercy

I grab the phone and glance down to see a message from Arlyn.

‘I can’t wait to see you again.’

My lips tug upward before I can stop them. There’s a warmth in my chest, faint but real. Arlyn is...good. He is the uncomplicated, safe daylight option, a man who offers peace instead of the constant threat of a storm.

I don’t know if I actually like him, or just the dizzying idea of a normal life, because that's always easy. But I also know exactly why that smile stays on my face.

Because I can feel the heat radiating off Thomas beside me. I provoked a monster back in that alley, and it should terrify me. But I’m not scared, not even a little. Instead, my blood is humming with the satisfaction of knowing I got under his skin-deep enough to make him snap.

I start typing a reply, something simple, maybe even flirty, when suddenly a hand shoots across my lap and rips the phone straight out of my fingers.

I whip my head toward him just in time to see that he's reading the message.

With that infuriating, judgmental narrowing of his eyes as he drags his gaze down my body and back up again.

“Really?” he says, voice dripping with disbelief. “Are you actually falling for this?”

I nearly launch myself at him right there.

“Give me my phone, now.”

He doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t.

I lunge for it, grabbing his wrist, trying to pry his hand open, but Thomas moves like a damn machine. He holds the phone out of my reach, thumb flying across the screen.

“Thomas, don’t you dare.”

He smirks, then rolls down the window.

And with one casual flick of his wrist, he throws my phone out into the street.

I fucking freeze. For a full second, there is no sound in the car except James muttering, “Oh hell,” from the front seat.

Thomas rolls the window back up, completely unfazed, leans back, and looks at me like he just performed a public service.

“There, problem solved.”

My scream could break glass.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? What is wrong with you?”

I slam my fists against his shoulder, his chest, anywhere I can reach. He barely flinches at my blows before grabbing both my wrists with one hand, holding them still with an ease that makes me feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“James, for the love of God,” Thomas calls forward, bored as hell. “Can you drive faster? Someone is being extremely dramatic back here.”

“Dramatic?” I snarl.

Reed turns back to me, eyes glinting.

“You weren’t answering my texts, anyway. Why do you need a phone at all then?”

He laughs.

I stare at him with such raw hatred that if looks could kill, he’d already be stretched out in a body bag. I yank my hands out of his grip and turn toward the window, refusing to look at him for the rest of the ride, counting the streetlights like they’re the only things keeping me sane.

Ten minutes pass. Ten whole minutes of peace.

Then he opens his mouth again.