Page 39 of Specter Bred

The kid looked as if he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

"No point moving now, sir. I've already unpacked."

Every word that left his mouth was a complete load of bullshit, but I let it slide.

"Suit yourself," I said with a shrug.

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have.

Archer wasn't looking at me anymore. Her attention had shifted entirely to Hayes, and the kid suddenly looked like he'd rather be anywhere else on the planet. The calm confidence he'd carried all evening vanished, replaced by the expression of a man who'd just realized he'd made a huge fucking mistake and had absolutely no idea how to fix it.

Good. That should keep Teacup away from him. The thought came immediately, instinctive and possessive in a way I didn't particularly care to examine. The problem was that the satisfaction I expected never came.

As I headed toward the range exit, I glanced back one last time. Archer was still staring at Hayes, and there was something in her expression that unsettled me, twisting my stomach. Not anger, or the fiery determination I expected from her.

For the first time since she'd arrived at Fairfield, Archer looked genuinely wounded, and guilt gnawed at my gut because I knew exactly who had put that look on her face.

Me.

And I'd done it deliberately.

I'd seen an opening to create distance between them, and I'd taken it. I didn't want her to see Hayes as her ally, or have any allies for that matter at all. And now that she was standing there staring at him like he’d betrayed her and I'd gotten exactly what I wanted, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was a huge fucking asshole.

The worst part was that I couldn't decide whether I regretted it.

Or whether I'd do it again.

Chapter 6: Maeve Archer

"Firecracker, can we talk?"

I sighed.

"No."

"Maeve."

The stubborn idiot sounded nervous. I looked up to find Hayes standing in the hallway outside the weight room, blocking the doorway with his broad frame.

"Boy Scout, move."

"I don't know how many times you want me to apologize, but here I go again." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I just didn't want—"

"Boy Scout, I don't know how many times I have to tell you this." I stepped forward, attempting to squeeze past him. "I don't care."

His brow furrowed.

"I don't care that you lied. I don't care that the instructors offered you a room reassignment. I don't care that you turned it down."

"Then why are you mad at me?"

I stopped.

Because that was the problem.

I wasn't mad.

I was hurt.