“Don’t you believe me?”
Jax whistled softly.
“I told you. He’s been like this since he woke up.”
Ren fixed him with a stare that could have melted steel. Jax returned a placid, unfazed smile.
Brody set the cup down on the counter. The movement was slow and controlled.
“Ren, if something’s bothering you…”
“Nothing bothers me.” Ren cut him off and stood up from the stool, breathless. “Why would anything bother me? I’m in a house that isn’t mine, surrounded by people I don’t know, with no idea when I’ll be able to leave or if I’ll be able to leave at all, wearing clothes that aren’t mine and sleeping in a bed that isn’t mine.” The words came out fast, sharp, with a venom that wasn’t entirely directed at Brody, but that landed on him because he was the one closest. “Everything’s perfect.”
The silence that followed was thick. Brody didn’t move. He didn’t respond. He just looked at him with those still, storm-gray eyes, absorbing the blow without acknowledging it.
“Well,” Jax muttered. “I’d say something is bothering you.”
“Jax, shut your mouth.”
“I’ll shut it, I’ll shut it.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying that for someone who’s fine, your jaw’s pretty clenched.”
Ren spun on his heel. His face was burning. His chest was burning. Everything he could name, and everything he couldn’t, was burning. He wanted to get out of that kitchen, out of that house, out of that body that betrayed him with every breath that caught Brody’s scent and turned it into hunger.
“Don’t you have a gym around here?”
The question came out of nowhere. Or maybe not. It came from where it had been building up ever since he set foot in the mansion: the need to hit something, to feel his muscles work, to regain some control over a body that belonged to him less and less each day.
Jax raised his eyebrows.
“Look around,” Ren said, pointing first at Jax and then, unintentionally, at Brody. “You’re all made of concrete. There’s a gym somewhere. Don’t tell me there isn’t.”
Jax turned his head toward Brody. His smile widened with the poisonous slowness of a snake opening its mouth.
“Shall I show him the training room?”
Brody didn’t answer right away. His gray eyes shifted from Jax to Ren, from Ren to the space between them. His jaw tightened.
“Be careful with his right shoulder.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my shoulder,” Ren cut in.
Brody looked at him.
“You hit the library doorframe when you ran out last night.”
Ren felt the air catch in his throat. Had Brody seen it? Brody saw everything.
“I’m fine.”
“Right.” Brody picked up the mug and took a long sip. The conversation ended there, sealed by the sound of the ceramic against the countertop.
Jax stood up. The chair scraped against the tiles. He walked over to Ren and slung an arm around his shoulders—a quick, brotherly, carefree gesture—and guided him toward the door.
“Come on, blondie. I’m going to show you what real sweat feels like.”
Ren allowed Jax to lead him. As he crossed the threshold, he turned his head. Brody was still leaning against the counter, the mug in his hands, his knuckles white around the ceramic. His gray eyes fixed on Jax’s hand on Ren’s shoulder.
Jax saw him too. And the smile he directed at Brody over Ren’s head was neither brotherly nor carefree. It was a statement, a challenge wrapped in amusement, and Ren knew, even if he didn’t want to, that Jax was doing it on purpose.
