Sawyer
I fucking hate him.
I’m still seething by the time I step back into the lighthouse.
Closing the door behind me, I begin to charge toward the staircase, and pray to God that Enzo isn’t in there. It would be a form of justice if he slipped and hit his head on a rock.
Natural selection, bitch.
I'm stopped in my tracks when a booming voice pipes up to my right, causing me to jump, a high-pitched yelp slipping free.
“My, my, you look mighty angry. ’Magine you’d give that storm that took ya’ll out a run for its money.”
Shut up, you crinkly dinosaur.
Forcing a smile to my face, I say, “I’m fine. Just didn't catch any fish today.”
He waves a hand in dismissal. “You’ll have your days, sweetie. Come sit, I’ll make ya feel better.”
An uneasy feeling washes over me as he pats the cushion on the couch beside him, giving me a crooked grin. His teeth are beginning to blacken—something I hadn’t really noticed until now.
He’s been asking me to sit next to him a lot these past few days. It’s weird, but I’ve continuously brushed it off, considering Enzo hasn’t seemed to think anything of it.
You’re looking for something that isn’t there.
Right. He’s just being friendly.
All men want you for one thing, pipsqueak. I'm the only one who actually loves you.
Tightening my lips into a strained smile, I sit down, coercing my stiff muscles into relaxing. Not that it’s working.
His rough, calloused hand lands on my shoulder, sending a riptide of goosebumps across my body. He squeezes it playfully and chuckles. “Yer so tensed up! Fish got you that much in a tizzy?”
I shrug, hoping to dislodge his hand, but it’s unsuccessful. I’ve never been good at confrontation. Throwing up the peace sign and moonwalking out of the vicinity is my go-to response.
But before I can do anything, Enzo is walking into the living room, his eyes immediately finding mine. Instantly, Sylvester’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and while my confrontation skills are lacking, my intuition skills are not.
It feels like he’s trying to claim me.
Enzo’s gaze sharpens as it zeroes in on where Sylvester is touching me.
“What are you doing?”
“We were havin’ a conversation, boy. What else?” Sylvester answers, his tone disgruntled and slightly defensive
“Then why are you touching her?” he snaps, voice hard and unyielding.
My mouth pops open, ready to make peace, but Enzo’s eyes cut to me in warning. I tighten my lips and keep quiet for now. Mainly because Sylvester’s hand has only grown heavier on my shoulder, as if asserting dominance, and by the darkening look on Enzo's face, he's about to hike his leg.
“You got a problem with it? Don’t see yer name written anywhere on her,” Sylvester retorts.
“I won’t just write it, I’ll carve it. Take your hand off her, or I will do it for you.”
Abruptly, I stand, dislodging Sylvester’s grip and attracting both of their attention.
“Let’s not fight, okay? And while I appreciate both of your concerns, please don’t use me as a tool in your pissing contest.”
Sylvester opens his mouth, but I rush out of the room before he can get a word out.