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Despite his crooked grin, Damon’s amber eyes are sharp, a shadow of anger deep in his gaze that he can’t hide behind his bullshit attempt at looking casual.
“The fuck is your problem?”
Damon’s brow creases like he has no idea what I’m talking about, but the idiot must have forgotten I’ve known him his entire life.
He can try to disguise what he’s feeling all he wants, but while Ezra is damn good at keeping shit under wraps, Damon walks around like a storm. Everything he’s thinking and feeling swirls around him until you can’t help but feel it yourself.
And judging by the storm around him now, we all have something to worry about.
Given what happened this weekend at the governor’s house, I have a pretty good idea of what, exactly, that problem is.
“I just left Em’s place,” he admits, his brow furrowing more, the lines sinking deeper into his skin.
“Why?”
Dumb question, I know, but it rolls off my tongue anyway.
Gabe and Tanner should never have set the twins on Emily to get her away from Ivy. I knew this shit would happen. I argued with them about it.
Yet here we are.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Damon glances up at the sky, suddenly finding the clouds seriously fucking interesting.
“It doesn’t matter,” he answers, his voice a low growl.
Reaching out, I grip my hand over his face and angle his head so that those pissed off amber eyes are locked to mine. Damon attempts to jerk out of my hold, but my fingers clamp down to bruising points.
“It does matter,” I say calmly, my lips a tight line. “You’ve been a very naughty boy.”
Finally yanking his face from my hand, he rubs at his jaw. “How so?”
“You weren’t supposed to see her again after the engagement party.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he explodes.
Most people would instantly step back from the storm that surrounds him.
Unfortunately for Damon, I’m not most people.
I step into it instead.
“And why the hell not?”
His jaw tics so hard, I imagine he’s cracking the enamel in his teeth.
“Because my dad called me as I was leaving her house.”
The fight in me instantly dissipates, but the tension in my shoulders grows worse.
“Did you answer?”
He better not have answered. If he did, I’ll wrestle his ass down right here and right now, take his phone and smash it into a million pieces.
“No.”
“That’s good,” I say, “especially for your phone. It was about to become a bunch of useless, broken plastic.”
A low growl rattles his chest, but before he can respond, the metal crunch of a lifting bay door grabs our attention.
