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He’s right about that.
I’m a few steps away when he calls out to me again, his words slurred and voice half asleep.
“I miss her. I didn’t realize how much until we saw her again.”
Yeah, little brother. Me, too.
“Sleep it off, Damon. I’ll be back later.”
After leaving his room, I have Sawyer drive me home. I spend the rest of the day riding around town, mostly burning off energy, but also figuring out what can be done about my father and about a certain redhead that managed to infect us again in only an hour.
Finding out Damon went to see her wasn’t a surprise. He tends to have very little control over his actions. I should have seen it coming, but I was too wrapped up in my own head to think about him.
The engagement party was a mistake. Necessary for what the Inferno needed, but still a nightmare waiting to happen.
My tires skid against concrete when I pull into a driveway I have no business being in, my fingers tightening on the grips before I release them, pull off my helmet, and sit back to stare at a house I’ve never actually been in.
Beside me sits a brand-new Porsche 911 Carrera. Easily a hundred-thousand-dollar car, and one I know doesn’t belong to Emily.
Her family gave her enough that they wouldn’t look bad, but never went above and beyond for her.
Which means this must belong to Dylan.
I shake my head to think that the little shit is the spoiled son.
After climbing off my bike, I walk up to the front door of Emily’s wing of the house and bang a fist against the wood.
Dylan answers a minute later. He’s almost as tall as me now, but nowhere near as big.
“Here for round two already?” he asks as he throws the door open wider and walks inside for me to follow him.
“Where’s Emily?”
“In her room,” he answers as he walks off to turn a corner down a hall, not giving a shit that I’m a few steps behind him.
“And where’s that?”
Glancing at me with red slits for eyes, he waves a hand down the hall. “Same place it was yesterday, Damon.”
“I’m Ezra.”
He laughs, not loud, but enough that his shoulders shake.
“Jesus. She’s doing both of you? Mason must love that.”
It takes effort not to rip his head off. Apparently, Dylan grew up to be a mouthy little shit.
“Her room,” I remind him, careful to keep my voice controlled.
Jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, he says, “Last room at the end. If you keep walking straight you’ll run right into it.”
I head straight and knock on her door. As soon as she pulls it open, her head tilts up, those turquoise eyes rounding.
Her throat moves to swallow, and my gaze is drawn to the motion. When I glance back up, she’s shut down her expression, her eyes normal and her mouth a soft line.
“You want to tell me why you thought it was a good idea to screw with Damon again yesterday?”
Heat chases across her cheeks. Not because she’s busted and not because she did anything wrong.
