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Bruce Wayne is a billionaire. I am a billionaire. We have a lot in common, actually. If I weren't so pissed with Declan right now, I would go down to his place and mock-up our own version of the bat cave. That would be a fun project.
But I'm mad, so I'm not going to text him.
For an hour at least, so he knows how bad he screwed up.
He texts me in thirty.
Declan: Sorry. Promise I wasn't trying to embarrass you. Open the door. Or I'll open it myself.
He would too. He set up the door systems. Even if I'd bothered to lock it, he could still get inside.
I head to the door and swing it open with a growl. "You are an asshole."
He tucks his phone in his pocket, then crosses his arms over his chest. "Gym. Now."
"Fine," I bite off as I slam the door in his face. Well, not slam since the stupid doors don't slam, but I shut it forcefully. Then I pad over to Janey's door and knock softly. "I'm going down to the gym. I'll be back in a little bit." I wait for a response, for some sign that she heard me and get nothing. "Come down if you need me. Otherwise...I'll see you later?" Again, nothing.
Stupid silent treatment.
"Janey, if you don't answer me, I'm going to think you're hurt and come in there and check on you." I grab the door handle and twist.
"I'm fine," she yells, slapping the other side of the door.
"Can we talk," I ask quietly.
"No."
Short. Sweet. To the point. I'm annoyed all over again. Why does she have to be so difficult?
"Fine. I am going to beat up my brother. Back later."
I don't bother with shoes, pounding down the stairs to the gym, and slamming through the door. The space is massive, taking up the whole floor. A small central enclosure holds the washroom and showers, but the rest of the space is wide open, with a track circling the outside near the windows. As expected, I find Declan on the padded mats at one end of the room. Also, as expected, Ransom, Zach, Maverick and Nick are all there too.
We don't do a damn thing alone. It's annoying but also comforting. The sun rises, night comes, and my brothers can't mind their own business.
"I'm angry at you," I say flatly, staring at the bridge of Declan's nose. Then I shift my gaze to his briefly, and scowl a little harder, to make sure he gets the point.
He puts his hands up. "Dude, I know. I already said I'm sorry. Besides, you paid me back. It took me twenty minutes to find Han Solo. Why did you have to do that to him? He never did anything to you." His voice is whiny, and annoying.
"It's a toy. He has no feelings. I have lots of feelings Declan. Lots."
He blows out a breath and drops onto the mat. Looks like we're doing the talking part first. Hopefully, the punching comes soon after.
"I know you have feelings, man. I have feelings! Everyone has feelings! Do you think I like living with a tattoo of your face on my ass? It hurts my fucking feelings!" His face is red, his arms are waving.
I can't help it. I laugh. Because my face tattooed on his ass is never not going to be funny. The rest of the guys drop to the mat, laughing too.
“It’s your own damn fault, man. You threw the dart,” Nick says.
“I didn’t think it through,” Declan mutters. “I should have vetoed the ass too.”
It started as a stupid argument, just like all the others, but somehow, that one escalated. Declan was sure he was sneakier than I was. So the bet was born. We snuck up on each other with the goal of scaring a scream out of the other. First one to twenty screams won.
I had him in four days.
The penalty? A tattoo of the winner’s face on the loser’s body. The really twisted part? The loser — Declan — had to thow a dart at a picture of himself, to choose the location of the tattoo.
“Yes, you should have. Or maybe, don’t doubt me in the first place.” I say with a smirk.
