Page 93 of Ghosted

Slow and mean.

Because he really should know better than to hand me a sentence like that and expect me not to play with it.

“Oh, I know we’re not kids anymore.” I glance down at his fist twisted in my shirt, then back up at his face. “Trust me, little brother, I’m very aware.”

His grip tightens so I keep smiling.

“That’s the beautiful part. The stupid little games we used to play? They don’t do it for me now. Too small. Too easy.” I lean in as much as his hold lets me, lowering my voice like I’m telling him something sweet. “But this? You showing up at my door cause I messed with your little obsession?”

His jaw flexes.

I laugh under my breath.

“This is so much better.”

“Stay away from her.”

“You keep saying that like the words are supposed to scare me.” My smile widens. “So tell me, Jagger. What happens if I say no?”

His eyes don’t blink.

“What happens if I don’t stay away from your pretty toy?” I ask. “What happens if I decide I like her right where she is? Between us. Making you stupid and mean. Making you look at me like you finally fucking remembered how much you hate me.”

His fist jerks me forward, hard enough that my breath catches.

There he is.

I grin right in his face.

“Ah, shit,” I murmur. “Here we go.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“What? Pretty?” I tilt my head. “Little? Or toy?”

His fist hits me before I finish laughing.

Pain cracks through my jaw, bright and immediate. My head snaps to the side, and I taste blood so fast it’s almost funny.

For one second, everything goes quiet.

Then I laugh.

Jagger hits me again.

Harder.

This one catches my mouth, splits my lip, and sends me back into the counter hard enough to rattle the Scotch bottle behind me. Coffee spreads across the floor between our shoes, and my jaw pulses like a second heartbeat.

Fuck, that one hurts.

Good.

Finally.

I drag my tongue over the split in my lip and look up at him, smiling through the blood. “Well shit, now we’re getting somewhere.”

Jagger’s chest rises hard. His fist is still clenched, knuckles torn open again, and for a second I think he’s going to keep going. I want him to. I want him ugly and stupid and honest. I want the brother who came here to stop pretending there’s anything clean left inside him.