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And the guys in front of me flinch as if an angry thunderstorm has just crackled across the sky.
I’ve seen it happen several times over the years. How people flinch and shake as soon as they catch sight of him. How when he stares down at them — because somehow he’s always the tallest guy in Bardstown — they cower and hunch into themselves.
And like a fool, his anger, his reputation, his dangerous aura made me feel safe.
Like nothing could touch me as long as he’s around.
I’m not a fool anymore though. I don’t find his power, his authority attractive anymore.
I don’t.
Even when the guy who’s been holding my wrist prisoner not only loosens his hold on me but also scrambles back, his spine hitting my Chevy. And his friend, who’s also cowering, actually moves away from him. As if he doesn’t want to be associated with the guy who goes around grabbing girls’ wrists.
“Y-you’re the Angry T-Thorn,” he says, stuttering.
The second guy simply blinks and gulps.
“We’re huge f-fans,” he continues. “Although sucks what happened —”
Then comes another growl from behind me. “Leave.”
And they do.
As if they were waiting for his command.
And then we’re alone, him and me.
Exactly the thing I didn’t want to happen.
Chapter Six
He’s standing behind me.
Still.
Those guys have been gone for ages now. Well, probably for ten seconds or so but he’s still standing the fuck behind me.
Without making a move.
Without saying a word.
I can hear his breaths. I can hear how loud they are. How thick and heated as they graze the back of my neck, my shoulders and upper back, waking goosebumps on my skin even through my dress. How they end in a low growl like that of an animal.
A wild, angry animal.
I’m angry too actually.
About a lot of things. About the fact that he called me his when I’m clearly not. About the fact that he came to my rescue when I was totally handling everything. And that he followed me out to the parking lot when I didn’t want any confrontation with him tonight.
When I just wanted to go home in peace.
Fucking asshole.
But you know what, I’m not going to give in to it. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of riling me up. He has done that in the past; riled me up, that is. Because as I’ve said before, he’s my BFF’s brother. It’s not uncommon for me to hear about him from her. It’s also not uncommon that we run into each other from time to time, like once every few months or so.
And every time that we’ve had family encounters, it’s always ended badly.
With him provoking me by appearing all confident and arrogant, and me playing right into his hands — even though I’ve moved on — and then regretting it later.
But I’m not going to do that anymore.
Because I realized something tonight. I realized that Callie was right; he is family now. He’s my sister-in-law’s brother and we’re going to see each other, hear each other’s names all the time. I can’t let him get to me like that.
So I fist my hands at my sides and take a deep, deep breath.
Before I whirl around and paste a smile on my face.
“Hey,” I say cheerfully. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I don’t expect him to say, yeah, how are you. Or long time, no see. Are you okay?
I already know that assholes like him don’t have manners. So I’m not surprised when all he does is stare down at me, his features all blank, and in the face of my own cheerful smile they look even more wooden.
But I keep going as if he has spoken.
“That was…” Totally unnecessary. “Wonderful. What you did.” Again, I don’t expect him to say oh, it was nothing but I continue having this one-sided conversation. “How you saved me I mean.” I press a hand to my chest. “But I’m okay. All thanks to you.” Then, still smiling, “But boy, those guys were something, huh? And they were your fans. How about that? You must feel extremely proud,” and then, just because I can’t help it, “and humbled at their love for you. Although I don’t know what he was talking about? Like, what sucks and —”
“No,” he says at last.
I ignore how his one-word reply is identical to the one that he’d given me three years ago and just feel the relief that at least he said something. And I don’t have to keep going with the ridiculous one-sided conversation.
I also ignore that his voice sounds gritty.
Unused.
Like he hasn’t spoken in a long while. Probably in three years.
I still keep the smile in place as I politely inquire, “No?”
“I’m used to it,” he replies, his dark eyes still pinned on me.
All arrogantly.
Of course.
He’s used to people worshipping at his feet and how like him to remind me of that.
