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“Calm down. You’ll hurt yourself.”
I take a deep breath and manage to sit my ass back down. “That was a finger,” I state, my eyes wide.
“It was,” he confirms unnecessarily.
“It was Sarah’s?”
He nods.
“And where is the rest of Sarah?”
He repositions himself behind the wheel and pulls back out onto the road. “Still breathing.For now.”
“Where is she?” I ask again.
“Probably cleaning up her hand. She does bleed a lot.”
“Why did you cut her finger off?”
He gives me a side-eye. “Why did she stab you?” he asks, raising a brow.
“Because she’s crazy,” I reply. “Doesn’t mean I want her dead.”
“I do,” he answers. Then, with more force, he adds, “For touching you, she deserves what she gets. And more.”
“You arenotto kill her. Do you understand?”
He clenches his jaw. Eyes still trained on the road. “No one tells me what to do. That is one of the joys of being me.”
“Stop the car,” I demand.
He ignores me and keeps on driving.
“Stop the car, Zuko. If you think you can do what you please in my life, and I don’t have a say about it, you are dead wrong. Sostop the fucking car,and Iwillwalk.” I see his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter as he turns the steering wheel, and we pull up to a house.
Kyson comes out the front door, and when he spots me sitting in the car, he shakes his head. Zuko gets out and storms up to him, and in one swift movement, he knocks him straight out. Kyson falls backward and hits the ground. Hard. Zuko turns and walks back to the car. Not saying a word, he starts it again and tears out of the driveway.
“You just hit your brother,” I say, appalled.
“Yes. He had one job, and he failed multiple times.” He flexes his fingers, working his knuckles. “He’s lucky he is still breathing.”
He speeds down the streets until we come to a strip of shops. He pulls into a parking spot and turns to look at me. “You like to shop, so you can help me.”
“Ha!” I roll my eyes. “Do you pick and choose what you want to listen to?”
“Oh, I listen to you. It’s hard for me not to, even when I don’t want to.” He gets out of the car, walks around to my side, and opens the door. “She’s alive, and she will stay that way as long as she stays away from you. How is that forlistening,” he says emphasizing the word and offering me his hand.
“You are a real ass,” I tell him.
“I already knew that, and so did you. So let’s shop.” I take his offered hand and get out. He clasps my hand in his and starts walking to the shops. He heads straight for the men’s store and looks at everything. I can see the pain on his face, and I want to laugh. A big scary man afraid of shopping. How cliché.
“How can I help you today?” a sales assistant asks. He didn’t just walk into your average Target. No, he stepped into a designer store. I’m not even sure he knows that, but he will once he pays.
“She’s picking my clothes.”
The woman glances at me and smiles.
“Anything in particular? Shirts? A hat, perhaps?” she inquires.
