"They're none of your business."
"Everything in this house is my business."
I try to pull free. Yank my arm back hard enough that pain shoots through my shoulder. He doesn't let go.
"Let. Go."
"Make me."
Something snaps.
I shove him. Hard. My palms connect with his chest. Solid. Unyielding. But he wasn't expecting it.
He stumbles back a step, surprise flashing across his face.
Then he grins.
And it's the most dangerous thing I've ever seen.
"There it is," he says. His voice drops an octave. Goes rough. "I knew you had some fight in you."
He comes at me.
I dodge, but he's faster. Stronger. His hand catches my shoulder—fingers digging into the joint—and slams me back against the wall.
My head cracks against drywall. Stars explode behind my eyes. The air rushes from my lungs.
"You want to fight, little brother?" His breath is hot against my face. Mint and coffee and rage. "Let's fight."
I swing.
My right fist—still tender, still healing—connects with his jaw. The impact radiates up my arm. Pain flares through my knuckles.
My fist connects with his jaw. His head snaps to the side.
For a second, there's silence.
Then Zero laughs.
Low. Rough. Unhinged.
"Fuck, you actually hit me." He touches his jaw, checking for blood. Runs his tongue along his teeth. There isn't any. "Not bad. For someone your size."
He moves.
I try to block, but he's on me before I can react. His fist drives into my stomach—precise, brutal. His fist drives into my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. The pain is white-hot. Blinding. I double over, gasping, and he grabs the back of my neck.
His fingers tangle in my hair. Yank hard enough to make my eyes water.
Drags me forward.
Slams me down onto the pool table.
The felt is rough against my cheek. My hip bone cracks against the table edge. Zero's weight presses down on me—solid, overwhelming, inescapable. Pinning me. One hand on the back of my neck. The other braced beside my head.
The wood groans under our combined weight.
I can't move.
