Chapter Nine #2
“You should’ve told me,” I say.
She nods once. “Probably.”
I stare at her. “Probably?”
Her temper flares. “Yes, probably. What do you want from me? A formal apology? A handwritten statement? You came out here already ready to hate me, so what exactly would satisfy you?”
“An answer.”
“I’m giving you one.”
“No. You’re giving me pieces.”
“Because you’re coming at me like I’m some threat to your precious fucking empire.”
My expression hardens. “Careful.”
“No, you be careful,” she snaps. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’m some calculated little snake just because I didn’t hand you a neat explanation on day one.”
I take one more step, and now we’re close enough that if either of us moved wrong we’d touch.
“Then tell me I’m wrong,” I say.
Her breathing shifts. So does mine.
“That depends,” she says.
“On what?”
“On whether you’re actually asking... or whether you already decided.”
There’s a beat where neither of us moves.
The evening air feels thicker out here now, warm and close and threaded with gasoline and dust. The chain-link fence rattles softly when the wind moves through it.
Somewhere inside the garage, a wrench hits concrete and someone curses.
It all feels distant. Muted. Like the world’s backing up to let this play out.
I drag a hand over my jaw, trying to keep my temper in check. “You know what? Fine. I’ll be direct.”
“That would be a refreshing change.”
I ignore that.
“If you’re here for something,” I say, “say it now.”
Her brows pull together. “For something?”
“For information. Access. A way in. Whatever angle you thought getting close to us would give you.”
The second the accusation leaves my mouth, I know I’ve crossed a line. I see it in her face.
It’s not dramatic, she just tenses, and her eyes empty in a way I don’t like.
“Is that really what you think of me?” she asks.
Her tone is quiet, which somehow makes it worse.
I don’t answer right away, because the truth is uglier than I want it to be.
I don’t know what I think of her. That’s the fucking problem.
If I thought she was harmless, this wouldn’t be bothering me.
But she’s anything from harmless. I knew that the moment I kissed her that night.
The fucking second our bodies touched I knew she was dangerous because I knew I wanted more.
That I needed more.
“I think my team comes first, and right now, you’re stirring shit up among us.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No, but it’s the answer you’re getting.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and there’s hurt there now under the anger. I wish I didn’t notice. I wish it didn’t affect me.
“It must be nice,” she says finally, “to live in a world where everything is that simple.”
“It’s not simple.”
“Looks simple from here. Protect the team. Don’t trust anyone. Assume the worst. Very fucking efficient, Draygon.”
My mouth pulls into something that isn’t quite a smile. “It is. Why do you think we’re as close as we are? We’re a family because we protect each other.”
The words are barely out before they hit me sideways.
Family.
Talon and Sayshen.
Her family.
Her only fucking family, as far as I know.
And just like that, something in my own argument shifts shape.
Because of course she’d want in. Of course she’d want to be near them, near this place, the people they trust and the world they move through.
Not because she’s calculating, or trying to sink her claws into anything.
Because she’s standing on the outside of the only family she’s got, trying to figure out how the hell to get close without getting cut to ribbons.
Fuck. I’ve been standing here acting like that instinct alone makes her dangerous.
Something flickers over her face. Maybe she sees the exact second it clicks for me. Maybe I’m just projecting because I suddenly feel like a dick.
“I’m not trying to hurt your team,” she says.
You mean your brothers, too.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck, suddenly restless in my own skin. The lot feels different now. Same cracked concrete. Same rusted fence. Same city air. But the conversation has shifted somewhere I’m not equipped for, and I hate being unprepared.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I say.
The words come out rough, low.
Her eyes flick to mine, and I get the sense she wasn’t expecting that. I don’t blame her. I’m not exactly known for tenderness.
She shrugs, but it’s brittle. “Me too.”
Then she lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “You really are exactly the kind of man I thought you’d be. Sometimes.”
That snaps something in me. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you’ve got me figured out.”
“Maybe I do.”
I take a step toward her again before I can help it. “No, you don’t.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t move.
The space between us goes electric.
“Then tell me who you are,” she says.
The question lands harder than anything else she’s said tonight.
For one dangerous second, I consider it. Consider answering honestly. Telling her that I’m the guy who carries too much and trusts too little. That everything I have, I built with people I’d bleed for, and I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone threaten them.
That I haven’t stopped thinking about her since that night at the bar, and I’m mad as hell that she turned out to be complicated instead of easy to dismiss.
Instead, I say, “I’m the guy telling you not to make this harder than it needs to be.”