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Greyson didn’t respond, but the next second the two of them had locked up. Jack threw two punches into Greyson’s side that should’ve made a normal man stagger with some serious internal bleeding, but Greyson seemed immune.
Then suddenly, Greyson did some quick martial arts move that sent Jack off balance before tossing him over his shoulder. Jack landed on his back on the steps, with a crack that seemed like it must’ve broken his spine.
“I’d be more frightened that was a real threat if you weren’t falling on your ass like Carter,” Greyson told him, right before Carter barreled into him.
Greyson grinned at him, a quick flash of his teeth. “Finally. I’ve wanted to kick your ass for so long.”
“Stop it!” I cried, throwing myself between them.
The two of them closed around me for a second, a wall of muscle and fury. I threw up my hands to stop them, my eyes blurring with tears and panic. I couldn’t stand this.
Greyson came to a halt. His hands fell on my waist, steadying me, as he looked over my head to Carter.
“It’s alright, Kennedy,” Greyson said quietly. “I’ve got you now.”
“Stop fighting, please.” I looked around, suddenly cognizant of the fact that a brawl on the arena steps was a bad look. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s alright.” Greyson stroked his hands up my waist in a way that would’ve normally been soothing, that would have made me melt back into him. Part of me still wanted to, even as I stayed planted.
Carter stared down at the way Greyson was touching me, his eyes lit with fury, and I had the feeling he was about to attack Greyson again.
“If any of you hit each other again,” I said, “I’ll never talk to you again. I’m not going to listen to anything you have to say. Do you understand me?”
Carter’s jaw worked once. Jack got to his feet and limped toward us, one hand at the small of his back as if he had strained something.
But Jack still gave me a nod. “Yes, ma’am. That’s enough violence.”
I didn’t have to look back at Greyson to feel his scorn. Greyson was not the type to sayyes, ma’am.
Jack raised his hands as if he were the one innocent one in this whole mess. “Just hear us out, okay?”
“What do you want to tell me?” I demanded.
In the distance, sirens split the air.
“Sounds like that’s your cue to leave,” Carter told Greyson. “Aren’t you already a wanted man?”
“No.” Greyson shook his head. “Found innocent, if you recall.”
“Because you paid off the jury.”
“Stop!” I interrupted the men before they could snarl at each other anymore. “Talk to me, not each other. I don’t understand what the hell is going on.”
Carter held his hand up like he was fending Greyson off, like Chris Pratt facing down velociraptors.
Greyson touched two long fingers to his newly split lip, and a look of annoyance crossed his face as if he realized just how busted-up he looked. I had the feeling not many people managed to land a punch on him. But his nose and cheekbone were swollen already, and his cheek was cut open.
"Let's go inside," I said again, keenly aware that people were gathering on the sidewalk across the street from the arena--very much keeping a safe distance–and taking photos. This was not a good look for the Devils.
"Greyson's got to run though, don't you?" Carter didn't even look at Greyson. "I'm sure you've got something illegal on you. Guns, drugs...you always have before."
"I'm not a wayward sixteen-year-old anymore, selling pot to make sure my sisters are fed," Greyson sounded amused.
"Right, Saint Greyson. That's the only reason you ever got on the wrong side of the law. It was always because you were rescuing puppies, wrong place, wrong time."
"Something like that," Greyson agreed.
My stomach dropped.
