“The fuck?!” Dasher’s fist smashed my jaw. Great. I was going to die without even getting to kiss her.
He kicked his size thirteen boot right in the center of my chest. My head cracked like a melon on the ground. I struggled to breathe, and I was certain he knocked the wind out of me.
“Stop it!” Vixen screamed. “He didn’t do anything. Have you lost your mind?!”
“He fucking touched you.” Dasher kicked me again. The wolf pacing inside of me howled, waiting to be freed. I silenced it. I was guilty. I deserved the pain.
“I was going to fall in the empty pool, you idiot.” She punched him in the arm. “He caught me before I knocked my head dead.”
“It didn’t look like that to me.” He bent his leg up, about to kick me again.
Abruptly, Vixen gave a warrior scream and jumped on his back like a wild cat.
“What the fuck? Get off!” Dasher stumbled back, shrugging her off his shoulders. “Vixen, get down and go inside.”
She held on to him tighter. “No! Not until you leave him the hell be.”
He snarled, and I thought I saw his fangs elongating. Fuck. I was holding back my wolf, enduring this pain—I healed faster in the beast form—so she wouldn’t see, and now he’d expose us that easily?
His hands gripped her arms as he moved back. Another snarl erupted from him, and the next thing I heard was a thud and Vixen moaning on the ground.
Dasher’s face blanched, and then he twisted, darting toward his sister. “Vixen.” He crouched down next to her and reached to her body.
“Don’t touch me,” she said.
“Reindeer, I’m—”
“Don’t you dare.” Her chest heaved, her eyes full of anger and blame. “What the hell have you become?”
CHAPTER 22
VIXEN
I limped through the audience that gathered to watch the altercation. They seemed to be disappointed they didn’t get the blood and gore they were excited to see.
Sorry no one had to die tonight, assholes.
Back into my room, I succumbed on the bed, kicking off my shoes, crying, hating every breath I took in this place.
In the dim light, I stripped to examine my sore body. The fall hit my arm, back and side. Red marks stained my forearm and elbow. My right side a little swollen, bluish circles already forming. I spun and held myself, my back bent. I tilted my neck to the side as far as possible, pain banging my bones and muscles. Blue and green spotted a huge part of my back. Then I looked at my leg, and it was the worst. The side of the knee scraped. The calf swollen and covered in blood.
I twisted back to check my face. Nothing there. Thank God. Showing up on my first day with a busted lip or a black eye wasn’t on my to-do list.
If I showed up.
I was having serious second thoughts about everything I had planned in Forest grove. I couldn’t believe my own brother would traumatize and physically hurt me like this? The feral look that glazed Malcolm’s eyes when he pulled the gun on Hound or kicked the hell out of Mad Dog wasn’t human. It scared the hell out of me and would haunt me for life.
Even when he came to help me up, his remorse was pale like everything about him.
Ever since I’d set foot back in this house, I thought Malcolm was being a dick to scare me away or force me out so I wouldn’t know what he really did for the gang. But no one would go this far. He almost killed two men tonight. Who did this to push someone a way?
War changed people, yes. PTSD could ruin lives, yes. But turn people into monsters that resolved conflict with guns, terrorized others for kicks and hurt their own family?
What happened to you, Brother?
And most importantly, was I strong enough to stay and find out?
I came here with one purpose. But every hour I spent in this house, revenge on the ex moved to the bottom of my priority list. One day in this hell was enough to make me say screw it. I was already thinking about going back to my old life. No crappy exes, no monstrous brothers, no dead bikers.
