The possessive edge in his tone sends a shiver down my spine.
I want to test the edge.
Chapter 23
Maksim
The house is too quiet.
I hate quiet.
Kostya’s laugh is still echoing in my head. The way he dipped her. The way she didn’t resist. The way her hand was in his.
I drag a hand over my jaw and stare at myself in the mirror by the entryway. Black t-shirt. Fitted. Stretching over muscle and ink. My piercings catch the light when I tilt my head. I look exactly like I always do.
So why the fuck does it feel different?
Behind me, the couch shifts.
I catch her in the reflection, Ayla drops herself sprawled across my couch like she owns it. One arm thrown over the back. Legs stretched out. Unbothered.
Too unbothered.
“You’re brooding,” she says lazily.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s worse.”
My fingers smooth over my shirt collar. It doesn’t need smoothing. Nothing does. I just need something to fix. Something to correct.
She hums.
And I see it.
Her eyes drag down my back in the mirror. Slow. Assessing. Amused. I meet her gaze through the glass.
“What?”
She tilts her head. “Nothing.”
Bullshit.
I shift my stance. Boots heavy against the floor.
Her lips twitch.
“You know,” she adds, voice syrup-sweet, “your brother’s taller than I expected.”
The air changes.
I still.
The mirror reflects everything; the way my shoulders square. The way my jaw tightens. The way her eyes sharpen because she sees it.
She sees it bothers me.
“That supposed to mean something?” I ask evenly.
