A lot of fuckery happened, including many familial conversations and disturbing revelations. Through it all, I couldn’t be fully present, not when I’d left my fucking heart on the island. I returned as soon as I could, but it turned out Bran wasn’t there all along.
I had to get information about his whereabouts through Kill and Jer because Glyn and Cecily were mad at me. Probably because of the part I played in the beating up of Landon.
Let the record show that I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Though maybe I wouldn’t threaten his precious fucking wrist. Just damage his face so he no longer resembles the most beautiful man on earth.
Said man looks at me as if I’m a barbarian walking into his empire with primitive weapons and the intention of burning down his forts.
He’s not mistaken.
I have to exercise self-control I don’t actually have to not jump him and bruise those parted lips, tug them between my teeth, and devour them with my tongue.
We have company. Chill, Kolya. Just fucking chill. This behavior wouldn’t work in your favor.
Bran straightens to his full height, his surprised expression slowly fading as he wears his control like armor.
My gaze greedily takes in the cold lines of his face, the muted blue of his eyes, the slight tic in his sharp jawline, and the unfortunate absence of my mark on his unblemished neck.
A few chaotic brown strands fall on his forehead, half damp as if he just walked out of the shower. If I inhale deep enough, I can breathe the citrus and clover into my starved lungs.
My attention falls on his white polo T-shirt and how it stretches over his planes of muscles. It rides up as he slowly shuts the fridge, revealing his smooth abs and that delicious V-line that unfortunately disappears beneath his dark-blue pants.
He smiles at the man standing beside me, who looked at me like I’m a vicious stray dog trying to bite his master. If I wasn’t trying to get brownie points with Bran, I would’ve punched him in his standoffish face.
Violence doesn’t work with Bran. Violence. Does. Not. Work.
If I keep repeating that, maybe I’ll forget about my fists enough to not start a fight.
“Thank you, Nolan. I’ll take it from here.” He speaks in a collected voice that destroys any of my feeble attempts to remain civil.
How dare he be so unaffected when I’ve barely been able to breathe properly since he’s been gone?
I crunched more pills than I have in my entire life just to bring myself down from the high. So that I could see him without being weirded out about the fact that I could hurt him.
Even Mom, who’s Team Pills, was worried shitless about the very possibility that I’d overdose on the fuckers and hid them away from me.
“Are you sure?” Fucker Nolan gives me a judgmental once-over although I’m fully fucking dressed, even wore a damn leather jacket over my T-shirt to hide the tattoos.
He pales at my glare that must say, ‘I’ll fuck up your face right here and now,’ then focuses back on Bran.
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
Nolan gives him another uncertain look before he nods and walks away without a sound like a fucking creep.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bran snaps, and although his voice is firm and low, I revel at watching the cracks in his control.
That’s it. Break for me, baby.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I stride toward him, unable to resist his gravitational presence. “I came to see you since you didn’t bother to answer my texts or calls.”
“That was answer enough. I had no desire or intention of getting in contact with you. As I previously told you. We are done.”
“As I previously told you. In your fucking dreams.” My voice lowers as I stand toe-to-toe with him, caging him against the counter.
His heat penetrates my skin and melts away the ice that’s been enveloping me since he’s been out of my sight.
God damn.
I missed his comforting heat and that look in his eyes. Maybe the reason I’ve been on that high longer than usual is because I didn’t have him. He has a way of grounding me, pulling me down when I go up.
Since he came into my life, I haven’t gone on self-destructive sprees—except the last few weeks.
In the past, I couldn’t care less about whether or not I survived the violence and the mayhem. Now is different.
Now, the thought of being without him terrifies me. Death terrifies me because it would take me away from him.
I’m never leaving him again. Not even if I have to inhale pills and turn into the zombie I despise for it.
Bran crosses his arms over his chest, not giving an inch as his features freeze into cold indifference, but I don’t miss the clench in his jaw.
“Can’t take no for an answer? Pathetic.”
“Then I’m pathetic. Who fucking cares? Oh, wait. You do.”
He releases cruel laughter that’s so uncharacteristic of him. He’s an asshole, but never mocking. Condescending, but not evil. “If you think I ever cared about you, then you’re sorely mistaken. It was just physical, remember? Like how you fucked me against the tree and left without a look back, then proceeded to threaten my brother’s whole future because of your nonsensical pride.”
My molars grind together and I have to bite my tongue to keep from shouting that he’s mine and he needs to deal with it.
But how dare he?
How fucking dare he say it was just physical?
He and I were never just physical, not the first time I kissed him or the last time I fucked him or anytime in-between. And he knows that.
He better well fucking know that and just be trying to summon the asshole energy in himself.
“Your brother’s wrist is just fine,” I grit out.
Now, that gets him pissed. And I mean fucking shaking pissed. Red blotches cover his pale skin and his eyes turn a shade darker, nearly shooting laser beams at my face.
That’s it, baby. Show me the side no one else sees.
He uncrosses his arms and jams his index finger against my chest, and is it wrong that I’m loving his touch even if he’s nearly boiling over with rage?
“That’s not the fucking point!”
“Then what is?”
“The fact that you kidnapped him and beat him up in the first place.”
“He had it coming when he messed with my fucking sister.”
“You were messing with his fucking brother!”
“I never forced you.”
“And you think he forced her? If you weren’t so up your own arse, you would’ve seen the way she looks at him. She loves him, Nikolai. She’s in love with him. And you might not want to believe this, but he loves her, too, in his own fucked-up way.”
I bite my tongue again, this time due to the images I came back with from the States. A part of me refuses to subscribe to the very foundation of that idea, but he’s right. Annoyingly so.
“Okay.”
His finger falls from my chest as the anger melts at the edges, replaced by bemusement. “Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I was home and Landon was also there, trying to woo my parents.”