I’d been sucked right into that side of him. Something about him pulls me. When we kissed, it’s like someone threw a lit match into a puddle of gasoline. We ignited and I didn’t think we’d be put out. I was sure he’d fuck me and make me see stars. But, as quick as it started, he doused the heat with his cold, callous words. Sent me back to my room as though I were a child he was punishing.
Ugh, fuck him.
“Where’d you say you’re from again?” Stormy says, drawing me from my inner rage.
I snap my eyes to hers. “I didn’t.”
“I can help you,” she says softly. “You’re still a baby. You need to get back to your family. They can protect you.”
I recoil and stumble back, bumping my ass into the shelves of canned goods. “I don’t have a family. There’s nowhere to go back to.”
She opens her mouth like she might speak again, but then we hear deep voices. Her caring face is wiped off as she affixes a flirty grin.
“Filter, baby, what do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll make a store run.” She gives me a long look before slipping out of the pantry.
I follow her out to find several of the guys congregating in the kitchen. My gaze seeks out Koyn. He’s staring at his phone, scowling. Feeling brave, I walk right up to him. Before I can ask him what the hell his problem is, his phone rings and he takes the call.
“What’s up, Copper?”
And then he’s gone.
“Who kicked your puppy?” Dragon asks, throwing an arm over my shoulders.
He smells damn good.
“Koyn.”
“Koyn’s mean like that.” He turns his head and inhales my hair. “If you want sweet, I can be your sugar.”
A chill ripples down my spine. Dragon doesn’t seem sweet at all. Just yesterday I was interested in taunting him, but not now. He kind of spooks me.
“I’m good, Pete.”
“Pete?”
“The dragon.”
He snorts. “I breathe fire, PG. Where do you want me to make you hot?” His palm slides to my ass and he caresses it. “Here?”
Katana steps right in front of us and his dark eyes sear into Dragon’s. The small, Asian man looks like he’s right out of BTS or some other pop group with his porcelain features and perfect, inky black hair. His face is pretty, but in a dangerous way. It’s not a surprise that the two creepiest fuckers are friends.
“Yeah, yeah, K,” Dragon grumbles. “Just poking a little fun.”
They walk off and I sigh in relief.
“Hey, Hadley,” Bermuda says, grinning his adorably boyish smile at me. “Wanna help me plan the Thanksgiving menu?”
I stare at him.
Aside from his innocent smile, he screams biker dude. Tall, bulky, dangerous. He’s as good-looking as the rest, maybe better because he has that whole football player redneck vibe going on. He’s tatted, though, and I know he carries a .45 all the time. His leather cut stretches over his broad frame and his black boots have buckles on them. So it’s weird as hell that he’s grinning at me like his grandmother let him plan the family feast this year.
Once again, the whole family feel of this place gets under my skin.
“Not really,” I snap.
His grin widens. “I could make more orange fluff.”
“Is that what the fluffy nonsense was called?”
“You ate almost the whole damn bowl by yourself. We could make some more of your favorites. Just let me know and I’ll make a list.”
I cross my arms over my chest and try to ignore the memories of my childhood assaulting me. Running through the kitchen with my cousin Jake. Mom telling us to slow down, but with a smile in her voice. We had people to cook for us, but not on Thanksgiving. Mom always chose that day for us to be like every other American family. She slaved away in the kitchen while Dad watched football with the other male relatives. It was always my favorite and not just because my birthday was near Thanksgiving. It’d been one of the few holidays that felt normal and happy.
“Green bean casserole.”
His eyes flash with satisfaction. “You got it, PG.”
He ruffles my hair on the way by, reminding me of how my cousin Jake would do it, and leaves the kitchen. Stormy is moaning from where Filter has her pinned against the fridge.
Don’t want to watch them fuck.
I slip out of the kitchen and realize no one is paying attention to me. With that thought, I slip out the back door and start walking. The air is chilly and it whips my hair around. All I have on is a Poison sweatshirt, a pair of black leggings, and tennis shoes. Not ideal running away attire, but it’ll do in a pinch.
My gaze skims along the tree line that runs parallel with the long driveway. I could walk down the driveway, but then my chances of being caught are higher. I’m squinting into the trees when I see a small clearing. Curiosity gets the better of me and I hurry over to it. The clearing is more like a path through the trees. I follow it for several hundred feet before coming to an old building with a large chimney looking thing on one end.
Several old, decaying pens surround the building. No grass grows. Just mud. Looks like this place once housed pigs. The wind whistles through the trees, making me shiver. I walk over to the building’s entrance and frown when I realize it’s locked.
“I could give you a tour inside, but then I might accidentally leave you there.”
The deep voice makes me squeak out in surprise before whipping around. Payne. He’s scary and stealthy and totally gives me the creeps. Upon first inspection, he’s hot. All these fuckers are. The shaved head and unhinged glint in his eyes, though, make him kind of scary. The fact he’s been following my every move is even more freaky.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I spit out, hands on my hips.
His eyes drag down my front in a dismissive way. “Nope.”
“Pervert.”
He laughs. Deep and husky and cruel. “Not my type.”
Even though I don’t care, his words sting. Being a former pageant girl, I really did prance around and seek approval from others in the way of awards and crowns and trophies. People not liking me or not being attracted to me is, quite frankly, new.
“What is your type?” I demand. “Boys?”
He shrugs. “Anything but you.”
“Rude.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things, but never rude. Asshole. Violent. Mean. Not rude.”
“I wouldn’t fuck a freak like you anyway,” I tell him, ignoring the sting of my pride.
“That’s okay,” he says, shrugging. “I wouldn’t fuck my brother’s girl either.”
I scoff. “Your what?”
“You’re Koyn’s.”
I gape at him. “I most certainly am not his.”
“I’m here to keep an eye on you and that means an ear too. Were they or were they not your moans coming from his room last night?” He smirks in a wicked way.
“Fuck off.”
“Sorry. Can’t help you there. I’m on babysitting duty until otherwise noted.”
“You listened to us?” I accused. “You are a pervert.”
“No,” he growls. “Jacking off while listening would have been perverted. I just listened. My dick was soft and safe inside my jeans. Happy?”