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“Of course, bud. Anyone else?”
He shakes his head. “Dad's getting Flopsy already.”
“Okay, I'll be back in a couple minutes.” I hustle across the basement and jog up all the way to my room on the second floor. The wind howls outside, the trees in the front yard swaying back and forth in a chaotic ballet.
I slip on a pair of leggings and throw a crew neck over my shoulder in record time, snagging my phone on the way out. I check the screen as I head to Hunter's room—still no service.
“Shit,” I murmur. Anxiety sparks in my stomach. I know Cora's been here her whole life, but I can't stop the little kernel of worry worming its way into my head. I wish I could call her and make sure she's safe. Living in an apartment has its downsides, and not having a basement is definitely one of them.
I find Flopsy and Bingo in the middle of his bed, right where Hunter left them.
Which means Silas hasn't been in here yet. But he's been gone for ten minutes, so where the hell did he go?
My heart pounds, and I dart down the hall to his bedroom. The door is open but I've never been inside here before. It always felt like an invasion of his privacy, and the man covets his space. “Silas?” I call out, tapping my knuckles on the doorframe.
When only the howling wind answers, I stick my head inside the dark bedroom and call his name again. I check his ensuite bathroom, fearing he somehow fell and hit his head. I have no idea why my mind went to that place exactly. But regardless, it's empty.
I jog down the stairs and go toward the kitchen, both rabbits tucked under my arm. “Silas?”
Movement in the backyard catches my attention, and I creep closer to the glass. It feels strangely vulnerable to look outside when it's this dark. I don't know what I was expecting to see, but it wasn't Silas wrestling Nana Jo's wicker patio furniture away from the wind. My heart kicks inside my chest, skipping a beat or two before restarting again.
I drop my sweatshirt, phone, and the two stuffed bunnies on the counter, and I'm out the patio door and into the backyard in a flash. The wind whips at my shirt, tugging it away and then molding it against me as I heave the sliding glass door closed. My hair tangles in front of my face, and I yell for Silas once more.
He turns toward me, his arms full of gray cushions. “Evangeline, what are you doing?”
Even with the sound of the wind hollering in my ear, he still somehow manages to sound disapproving. Like me checking up on him is not only a foreign concept but definitely frowned upon.
“Me? What are you doing risking your life for some couch cushions?” I pitch my voice loud and shove my hair away from my eyes with one hand. The wind is gusting so fast, that I have to brace myself a little bit to cross the patio toward him.
He tightens his hold on them, his face shadowed but I imagine a scowl painted across his handsome features. “Hunter was looking forward to painting this furniture. It's all he's talked about for weeks.”
I step in front of him. “It's nothing, Silas. Just a silly project we're working on. You don't need to be outside in a tornado for goodness sake,” I yell, throwing my hand up in the air, like that conveys just how ridiculous I think this is.
Hunter and I were going to hand-paint the couple of pieces of wicker patio furniture in a couple of days. I'm teaching him about color theory, and I had this bright idea that hands-on experience is the best way to learn. But I didn't account for five-year-old attention spans.
“These belonged to your grandma. I'm not going to leave them out here to get ruined in this,” he says, gesturing to the side with a cushion. His voice is so loud, I wouldn't be surprised if Bane heard it all the way at the clubhouse. Anger drips from his words, his lips pinched into a frown.
I glance in the service door and see the three white pieces of wicker furniture already safely tucked in the garage. My eyes fill, the emotion so swift and unexpected that I feel ill-prepared on how to handle it. Anger comes quickly on its heels, just as powerful.
“Why, Silas. Why?”
He stares at me for a second, before he skirts around and stalks into the garage through the service door without answering me. I follow behind him quickly, determination filling my bloodstream. He doesn't get to just walk away.
“Why are you so hot and cold, huh? You're giving me fucking whiplash, Daddy St. James, and I don't know how much longer I can take it.” It doesn't even sound like me, my tone sly and edged in destruction.
“Well, no one asked you to stay,” he snaps, heading deeper into the garage.
I follow behind him, never leaving more than a foot between us. I don't know what possessed me, but I can't take this back and forth anymore.
“No? Then tell me to leave. Tell me to leave and never look back because you don't give a fuck about who I fuck.”
“What did I tell you about that filthy fucking mouth of yours?” His voice is a low rumble, but he still won't look at me.
I stop in my tracks, realization washing over me. “You can't do it, can you? You can tell me you don't care, but it eats you up inside knowing your brothers have both been inside of me. That Nova fucked me with his tongue and Bane—”
He drops the cushions and advances on me in an instant. His hand zeroes in on my neck, resting right against the hollow of my throat. Not hard, just a slight pressure to remind me what kind of power he holds. I match his steps backward, one for one, until my ass hits the workbench behind me.
He leans his forehead against mine, breathing heavily but not saying anything. Not doing anything. And my temper flares once more.
