My eyes are razors.
Holy hell, I can’t believe he has the balls. It’s like hewantsme to revert to that irrational, confused brat.
But I’m not sixteen anymore.
I’m not brimming with emotions and an eating disorder, a dead mom, an absentee father, and hormones that could ruin me.
“That depends,” I snap, folding my arms right back at him. Arguing with this asshat feels oddly comforting. A little familiarity among the weirdness. “Are you going to weld the door to the cellar shut?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Miss Blackthorn, but you’re no longer underage.” He doesn’t smirk, but his lip twists. “Unless you’re telling me I should? I sincerely hope you didn’t fall into the same pit Ethan did.”
Alcoholism.
The words cut deep. He probably doesn’t even know he’s done it, pressing on a bruise he didn’t know I had.
For fuck’s sake, no. I don’t have a drinking problem.
And I like to think I can handle my alcohol. I know when enough is enough and when to stop. I don’t feel the need to run to the bottle to escape bad days.
But Dad?
Yeah, maybe I don’t have a drinking problem, but I sure as hell know someone who does. I hate that even now, it’s being thrown in my face. A reminder that I’ll never outrun my dad’s own demons.
“I didn’t think so,” he says quietly.
“No, you don’t think much. Not unless you’re following orders. We agree on that.”
He gives me a classic Dad look and shakes his head.
Infuriating.
“What, are you mad I can call you out and get away with it now? Are you pissed I figured out you’re not a mind reader?”
“Don’t need to be.” He leans one hip against the table, every motion deliberate, and I can’t help the way my gaze skips over him.
This guy isstacked.
A wall of muscle. Neck like a bull. His face never expresses much emotion beyond mildly annoyed.
“So tell me,” he says, eyes fixed on me. “Are you older and wiser? Because if you are, we’ll have no problem. We just might get through this without killing each other.”
I laugh bitterly. “Oh, wewillhave problems.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks.
If he could, I don’t doubt for a second that he’d throw me over his shoulder and lock me away in my bedroom like he did when I’d try to sneak out past my bedtime.
So annoying, his arrogance.
Thinking he still knows what’s best when he doesn’t know me at all.
“Right, so now that we’ve established I’m no longer a minor,” I say, putting on my big girl hat. “You can cool it with the stink eye, my man. I’m not going to pawn the egg off on some dumb boy or replace your boring chicken salad wrap with spicy tuna again.”
“You used a habanero and left the seeds in,” he growls. “I’m from Maine, not New Mexico. Do not, under any circumstances, fuck with my food again, Nile.”
It’s insanely hard not to laugh, remembering his face when he bit into that concoction and spat it out. Totally worth Gramps grounding me for two days.
“My job is keeping you safe. Whatever form that takes,” he says. “I hope we’re both mature enough to appreciate that.”
