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I eye Braxton. Just one arm to snap.
"Don't even think about it," he says, lifting a brow.
I try to push his arm aside, but it doesn't budge.
"I could just turn you into an asshole!"
He smirks. "You could, but I already am one, aren't I?"
My heartbeat starts to slow. "Or rip off your arm and beat you with it."
"But it's a pretty good arm."
"It is," I mutter.
Anger still squeezes my chest. The notion of my pack in a location I can actually reach burns through my veins. But maybe, maybe they're right. I should at least hear Max out.
Reluctantly, I join him, and he shuts the door behind me. “Max, I’m not going to—”
“You’re not going to abandon the team, is what you’re not going to do,” he tells me. “After everything we’ve been through, the latitude I’ve given you—” He stops abruptly and his lustrous eyes betray his vulnerability.
Me. He’s afraid for me.I don’t need your fear. I need your strength.
“Max, you have your mission, but I have mine. Mostly they align, but right now, I need to save my pack.”
“Your pack is right here in front of you, Asha.”
And he sounds so sincere. Like the moment we fucked, the three of us became something more. But doesn't he realize I can't be anything more to anyone when the tattered remains of my pack need me so desperately?
I sigh. “Max. You don’t understand. You don't know what it’s like to lose your family.”
Pain flashes in his eyes for a moment before it's gone. “Oh, I know better than you think.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind is the follow up question about his past, but it’s overcome by the blaring drive to act. I step towards the door, but Max puts himself in the way.
“Max.” I move to go around him, but he sidesteps with me. Anger mounts. “I need to go!”
“Where?” he asks. “You don’t even know where they are.”
I don't. If I did, they'd already be saved.
But it doesn't matter. They're counting on me.
“I’ll find them. I have to find them. I have to—”
My lungs struggle to pull in breath, and I begin to hyperventilate. Panic uncurls inside of me, and my knees shake. My whole fucking body shakes. I slump against Max, no longer pushing to get past him, who holds me against his chest.
“Breathe,” he instructs, his voice calming. With my ear pressed against him, I listen to the even rhythm of his heart and try to focus on it.
His hand moves to my back and begins to rub slow circles into it. "Focus on my touch. Nothing else matters." He keeps rubbing. "Just my touch. In this room. With me. I have you, Asha, you're safe."
We remain like this for several minutes until my breathing stabilizes. Until I stop thinking about how I wouldn’t have to feel this now if I’d just let my brother take my life. Now I’m tired. Adrenaline and fury vacate my system and exhaustion fills their absence.
“I need to lie down, Max,” I tell him in a soft voice.
He guides me to the bed where I lay down. He sits up against the headboard and I use his lap as a pillow. My attention homes in on the light touch of his fingertips against my back.
Time passes, but not enough. He starts to get up, but I latch my arm around his waist. With a furrowed brow, he looks down at me.
