AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He tosses one of the icepacks down onto the counter and then crosses the kitchen toward me. “Like you don’t.”
“Fair enough.” I tense as he extends his hand toward mine. “What’re you doing?”
He gives me a tolerant look. “Putting ice on your hand.” He reaches out again, and this time, I allow him to take my hand. He examines momentarily before pressing the icepack against my knuckles.
Just above my hand is where Jax tied the piece of fabric to cover the wound, and I get the suspicion he’s staring at it. But ultimately, he moves away, letting me hold the icepack against my hand. The cold feels wonderful against my inflamed skin and I lean back against the the counter, letting out a soft exhale of relief.
Zay moves over to where he tossed the other ice pack and picks it up, but he doesn’t press it to his face. Instead, he stands there, staring at something with his back to me, his muscles wound into tight knots.
“Raven,” he suddenly says.
I’m fairly certain that might be the first time he’s said my name. “Um, yeah?”
He quietly exhales. “Thanks for saving my face from getting smashed.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, a little thrown off. I give a short pause as I recall all the shit he gave me for not being able to defend myself that day on the bridge. “I told you I could fight. That what happened on the bridge only happened because I was caught off guard.”
He picks up the ice pack and faces me. He presses the icepack against his cheek.
“Maybe,” he says. Irritation pickles inside me, and I’m about to tell him off when he adds, “I’m glad you can. It means it won’t be such a pain in the ass to train you … And I can just add to your skills instead of having to teach you them.”
I eye him over. “Is that your way of giving me a compliment?”
He rolls his eyes. “No.”
I roll my eyes too. “Whatever. I don’t really need your compliments anyway. I know I can fight like a badass.”
“I never said you couldn’t. I think you can fight, that you’re tough, and that you’re loyal.” He pushes away from the counter and steps toward me. “That was me giving you a compliment.”
Oh…
My heart’s doing weird things, but I refuse to react.
He reduces more space between us. His eye is almost swollen shut, his grey shirt is torn and stained with blood, and one of his boots has come unlaced. I can’t help thinking of the fact that Zay got into a fight with his brother after finding out Ellis gave me those files. I want to ask him why he did it. Because I was upset? Or because he was pissed off that they lost a round to… Well, whatever this messed up game is. I think I already know the answer. Zay isn’t the kind of guy to get into a fight because I was upset.
“Do you think getting into a fight with your brother was a good idea?” I wonder as he approaches me. “I mean, I get that it sucks you lost the round or whatever, but isn’t this going to make it worse? And what did he mean by we’ve been marked twice? Is that like a game reference or something?”
He stops in front of me and stares for a moment. “How’s your wrist?”
I blink and have to rewind over what he said. “Fine …” My confusion is evident in my tone. “I didn’t… cut very deep.” I hate talking about this aloud, especially with him.
He hesitates. “About that stuff in the files… You don’t remember any of that… what happened in our pasts?”
That anxiety I felt when I started sifting through the files claws at my chest and throat again. So does the anger I felt when I saw Zay on the video that made it clear he knew all along who I was.
Between the fight and all of the other chaos, I’d momentarily forgotten about that.
I remember now, though. Vividly .
And that anger I sought earlier shoves its way to the surface.
“You knew, the entire time, who I was—I saw the video of you beating up Porter and him telling you.” I try to step back, but I’m already pushed against the edge of the counter. So I step forward instead and push him. “Fuck you. You should’ve said something to me.” I push him again, but he barely budges. “Or was that just the point? To mess with me?”
When he says nothing, my rage boils to that stupid pain that stems from countless years of being bullied. That’s the shitty part about it. No matter how tough I can be, I can sometimes still revert to that scared girl who got locked in the closet at that party.
I start to sidestep around him, but he stops me by placing a hand on the edge of the counter and pinning me where I stand. He lowers the icepack from his face and inches toward me.
I’m about to knee him in the balls when he says, “I didn’t say anything at first because it didn’t seem possible—that you could be her—Willow. She—you were supposed to be dead.” He’s struggling to speak, and he seems frustrated with himself, too, something he announces with the sigh he blows out. “And when I realized you could be Willow, I was convinced you knew who we were all along and you were just playing us.”
