She had my number. That’s what she was telling me with that firecracker blaze in her eyes. She was also telling me with her face smoothed of any reaction that she was completely unbothered by the bloody gash in her hand.
It had to burn like hell, but what was a little extra fire to a woman already burning alive?
“Was this another one of your brilliant escape plans?” I accused, too hot with anger to think out my attack. “Bring them here, fuck with me, and leave on their jet?”
Who had a fucking jet anyways?
There was the slightest shift in her expression.
“I wouldn’t do that after last night.”
Last night.
The weight in how she spoke those words curled around my neck and squeezed. Breathing came a little harder as I kept stiff eyes on her, feeling those heavy words pushing down on my chest, trying to cave in the bones and organs and any other shit that protected my heart.
The profoundness wanted in.
Scarlett Avery wanted in, and she wasn’t even trying.
“Then you expect me to believe it’s pure coincidence your two criminal saviors ended up here?” I growled.
“No.” Her eyes were so explicit; no one was that good of a liar. “I guess I texted him last night, but I’m not surprised I don’t remember. There was a lot of other shit going on.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling frustrated, feeling pissy. “There was. So why the fuck would you try to start a fight with me after all of that?”
I spared a glance down at her sticky coated hand and jutted my chin.
“Get up on the sink.”
She followed orders for fucking once, moving the conversation along as I went to grab a wad of paper towels. “Fighting is what we do, Reyes. We’re pretty good at it, don’t you think?”
Too good.
“We didn’t fight last night or this morning, and it was nice, Scarlett.” Annoyance thrummed thick cords inside my chest as I moved toward her. Another cursory look at the cut sliced along her skin worked my nostrils in a flare. “Nice until now.”
She offered her hand out to me palm up, displaying the mess of ruby red stained across her flesh.
My gut set hard, jaw pulsing as I took in the damage of one champagne flute.
“I squeezed the glass,” Scarlett stated simply.
Breathing in until my ribs strained, I sighed.
“I know.”
Burning alive.
My flame was burning alive.
Reaching behind where she sat on the lip on the sink, I twisted the handle until water poured out and wet the paper towels. It was impossible to unstick the growl from my throat as I told her, “You can’t turn into a fucking lunatic every time you forget something about your brother.”
Her body stiffened on the sink.
Warning pulsed from beneath her porcelain skin, but I’d been there, done that, and the gash she’d put in her hand was too fucking far to care if she was turning temperamental.
“And you’re one to talk?” Even pissed to the nines, she let me grab her hand and clean it. “You practically shapeshifted into a caveman the second Alec walked up.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t make a goddamn scene.”