He really needs to grow a pair and lock him down. That’s what I’m doing. I saw Ansel. Decided I wanted Ansel. Made Ansel mine.
Okay, so maybe our courtship isn’t the most conventional…but he’s currently asleep in my childhood home, so I think it’s going wonderfully.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Wylder says, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “I thought you’d leave his side when he was dead.”
“He’s not dying. He will live forever,” I say curtly. “And no thanks to you all, he’s perfectly fine.”
Dalton runs a hand down his face. “Go on. Let’s just get this over with.”
He steps forward and faces me, ready for his karma.
“Do you really need to do this? I don’t want blood on the carpet.” Wylder sighs. “The pipes in this old house are already bursting. I don’t need more of a mess.”
“What pipes?” Matthias asks.
“One in the downstairs bathroom. We have people here patching it all up. Will take a few days though.”
“Don’t give a shit about the pipes unless it’s this asshole’s nose pipe, which I really want to break.”
“Do you have to?” Wylder sighs once more.
“It has to be done,” Samson chimes in. “We all know this. Just catch any of the blood you can in your hands.”
He’s one to talk. I haven’t forgotten that he was the one holding a gun to Ansel’s head.
I flex my fingers into a fist and meet my younger brother’s stare. “Have you learned your lesson?”
“Yes.”
With that, I let my arm cock back and my knuckles connect with his cheek. A brutal punch, one that makes my hand throb and will leave a visible bruise, but not as vicious as it could have been.
I shake out my hand and turn to face my eldest brother. “See, no blood, and now I feel better.”
Wylder glowers at me. “So glad your feelings are more important than my Persian rug.”
Dalton rubs at his cheek tenderly and cracks open his jaw. He knows it could have been worse, but says nothing, just lowers himself into a chair beside Samson, who hands him a glass of whiskey.
My knuckles crack as I address Samson. “Best pour yourself one too.”
He pauses, decanter hovering over cut crystal. “What? Why?”
“Are you forgetting that you’re the one who had a gun to his head?”
Matthias groans. “Areyouforgetting that he kidnapped you, and we thought we were protecting you?”
I point at him. “Put Wyatt in Ansel’s position. Pretend none of us knew what he meant to you, but that’s the scene you walked in on.”
Matthias considers it for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, he’s got a point. We’re lucky you didn’t shoot first and ask questions later. Samson, get over there.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Samson mutters, pouring himself a glass. “Who becomes obsessed with someone who kidnaps him?”
Wylder smirks. “To be fair, this tracks for Cade.”
“Well, I think you’re a sucker,” Samson says, setting down the decanter and coming to stand before me. “You and Matthias. You won’t catch me becoming obsessed over someone else. Not in this fucking lifetime.”
Cute that he thinks that. It’s not how we’re wired. Any of us. We were shown so little love growing up that it’s broken something in us—the ability to love and care normally rather than obsessively.
Samson just hasn’t found his person yet. Can’t wait until he does. I’m gonna laugh in his face as I sing “I told you so” over and over again.
