—
Damn.
It took every ounce of self-control Graham possessed to keep the unruly flesh between his thighs from becoming painfully engorged as Lyrica tore into her family. With her eyes gleaming like green fire, that flush mounting in her cheeks, and mutinous fury stamping her expression, all he could think about was replacing all that defiance with hungry arousal.
She was a tempting mix of spice and sweetness and he realized he couldn’t wait to slide into his bed with her.
“I hate you!” Natches’s sudden declaration in his direction had Graham arching his brow in surprise.
“I’m brokenhearted,” he replied drolly, amused at the childish display of temper. “Am I still allowed on the playground?”
At Lyrica’s outburst, Chaya had plopped into the chair beside her husband, hung her head, and covered her face with her hands until it was over.
She was obviously well versed in Mackay dramatics.
Now she lifted her head and glared at Graham as though warning him to silence. But he wasn’t a Mackay—he didn’t have to put up with the bastard daily.
Yet.
Until he did, he could be just as damned snide as he wanted to be.
He wasn’t worried until Natches’s lashes lowered to stare back at him with cunning calculation, his smile full of icy disdain. Because until that moment, he’d forgotten Natches knew the very secret Graham had been hiding for far too long.
“You think you’re safe, don’t you, Graham?” Natches asked softly as everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath in anticipation.
Natches pissed was never a good thing, Graham knew, but he’d be damned if he’d kiss the man’s ass at this point.
Secret or no secret.
“I think I’m damned tired of playing into your game of Mackay machinations.” Graham grunted as he straightened from his slouched position against the fireplace. “Safe or not, Natches, I’m no puppet, and I refuse to play one now.”
The expression never changed.
“You’re cold inside,” the other man murmured then, disgust touching his voice. “Calculating and so absorbed with the mistake you made that you’ll make everyone in your life pay for it until the last breath you take.”
Graham glared back at him, wishing he could deny the claim. Unfortunately, they both knew he couldn’t.
“I learned my lesson,” Graham informed him. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” Natches smirked. “You want Lyrica so damned bad it’s about to eat you alive. But instead of paying attention to your own instincts, you’ll end up finding a reason, a transgression you’ll convince yourself she made, or you’ll make up your own just to ensure you never have to resurrect that dead little heart of yours. And then she’ll begin to realize that all she has of you is whatever pleasure you give her . . .”
“Enough, Natches. You think I want to hear this shit?” Dawg snapped in disgust as he rose from his chair and paced behind it to stare at his cousin furiously. “Let it the hell go for now.”
Natches jerked to his feet, facing Graham as Chaya followed and laid her hand on her husband’s arm warningly.
“Oh, I’m not going to hit him again.” Natches chuckled, the sound icy, filled with distaste. “I’m going to wait. And when Lyrica walks away from him, her little heart shattered in her chest, then I’ll remind every damned one of you of how you made me keep my rifle locked away instead of putting my fucking crosshairs right between his eyes.”
With that, he gripped his wife’s hand, gave it a little tug, and stalked from the living room.
The slamming of the door leading into the garage moments later had Graham scratching at his jaw in confusion before turning back to find all eyes on him once again.
“This happen ofte
n?” he asked the men, whose expressions ranged from resignation to contemplation.
“’Bout once a month or so.” Rowdy shrugged. “He gets bored sometimes when Chaya’s too busy to entertain him.”
“Good thing she seems to enjoy entertaining him,” Graham remarked caustically before moving to the bar for another drink.