Page 17 of Wicked Games

Something in his tone makes my gut twist. He sounds so vulnerable, so broken and lost. For some reason, that’s a million times worse than when he’s hiding behind his mask of emotionless indifference.

“I thought you’d be glad someone tried to off me.” He huffs out a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it, or in his eyes. “If anything, I thought you’d be mad they failed.”

I sit back on my heels, not liking what his proximity is doing to me.

Maybe it’s the mix of booze and weed still in my system, but I have the strangest urge to comfort him. To wrap him up in a hug and just hold him so he knows he’s not alone.

“If someone attacked you in the house, that means they either live here or they’re working with someone who does,” I say, not liking how raspy my voice sounds.

“Or they snuck in.”

“Maybe, but highly unlikely.” I rub my hands on my thighs just to have something to do with them. “Between the cameras and the key logs, there’s almost no way someone could sneak in and stay hidden without help. The twins and I will pull the logs tomorrow and get permission from Jordan and the boys to check the footage to make sure, but my gut is telling me we’re dealing with an insider.”

“Do you think they attacked me because I’m me, or because I’m an easy target?” he asks. “I’m not a Rebel, so it’s not like this will spark some sort of backlash or revenge like it would if I were someone who matters.”

“You may not be a member, but you live here.” My tone is way harsher than I mean it to be. “You’re also my stepbrother, and you live in my room. An attack on you is an attack on me, and that’s the same damn thing as a declaration of war.”

“You don’t even like me, but you’re willing to go to war for me?” He looks genuinely confused, like he truly doesn’t understand what I mean.

“That’s what happens when something is mine.” I lean in closer, stopping when our faces are only inches apart. “I didn’t choose this, and I don’t want you here, but you are. That means you’re mine, and Ialwaysdefend what’s mine.”

He swallows, his eyes wide with innocent surprise.

“You’ve been in the family long enough to know we protect what’s ours,” I continue. “You’re not a Rebel, and you don’t have the Hawthorne name, but make no mistake, Felix, you’re family, and that makes you one of us no matter how we feel about each other.”

He nods, just a single tick of his head, to tell me he understands.

“Do you want me to call the school doctor?” I ask. “I’m assuming there’s a reason you haven’t.”

He blinks a few times, obviously trying to catch up with the about-face in our conversation. “Don’t call them.”

I don’t ask why not. I wouldn’t call either.

The staff here is loyal to our parents, not to us. They know who pays their bills and keeps this school scandal-free and off the radar of anyone who might have questions about how things are run. We can’t trust them, and it’s no secret that they don’t give a fuck about us as long as our tuitions are paid.

“Have you ever had a concussion?” I ask as I stand.

He looks up at me, his blue eyes wide but clear, the redness from before gone. Some of the color has come back to his face, and his lips are their normal shade of dark pink. He’s still in rough shape, but he’s better than when I first found him.

“No.”

I sidestep him and feel under his pillow. Instead of the worn sleep pants and threadbare shirt I’m expecting, my hand closes around nothing. “Where are your pajamas?”

“What pajamas?”

I look down at him in surprise.

“I don’t wear pajamas to bed,” he clarifies.

“But I’ve seen you wear them.”

“You’ve seen what I put on after I get up or before I go to bed.” His lips lift in a barely there smile. “I sleep naked.”

For some crazy reason, my brain sort of stutters at his confession and I drop my eyes to his lap. Why does the thought that he’s been sleeping in my room naked excite me?

It’s not even a recognizable type of excitement. The idea doesn’t turn me on. At least, I don’t think it does. I’m into some weird shit, but I’m not attracted to men, so why the fuck do I like the idea so much?

The drinks and weed are fucking with me more than I thought.

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