Page 64 of Indulge
The air crackles, thick as a thunderstorm.
“Bro.” Rowan clears his throat, cuffs rattling as he shifts. “Get me out of these cuffs, or I will headbutt you. Joke’s over. We get it. We’ll behave from now on.”
A grin tugs at my lips. “Yes. Sir,” I pout.
Reggie’s eyes burn into mine. “Don’t.” His voice is a warning, a blade.
“Don’t what?”
I glance at Rowan, who’s leaning against the wall wide-eyed, watching us like we’re two wild animals circling each other.
“Call me that. You don’t deserve to.”
I lick my lips, a smirk curling. “Don’t ever call me Princess again then.”
Silence drops heavy. Rowan whistles under his breath like a referee waiting for someone to throw the first punch.
And for the first time since stepping into this family’s world, I realize Reggie isn’t the only one on edge. I am too, and it’s a razor’s edge neither of us wants to back away from.
30
REGGIE
I unlock Rowan’s cuffs first.
The metal clicks open, and my brother shakes his wrists like he’s about to swing at someone. I meet his glare with one of my own.
“Out.”
He hesitates, his jaw tight, pride bruised. But one look at me tells him I’m not negotiating. He mutters something under his breath and walks out, door slamming behind him.
Now it’s just her.
Bella.
Still cuffed, chin high, green eyes daring me to do my worst. She doesn’t look afraid. She looks bored.
I move behind her, the keys clinking softly as I fit one into the lock. The cuffs drop away, leaving faint marks on her wrists. I should step back, but I don’t. I stay close enough for her to feel my breath against the back of her neck.
“You done?” she says quietly, turning her head just enough to catch me in her peripheral vision.
“Not even close.”
She exhales sharply, crossing her arms, waiting for me to speak. I circle to face her, every ounce of restraint I own stretched thin.
“I came here to get you out,” I say, my voice low. “To fix what you two broke tonight. And for a second, I almost apologized for missing dinner, for leaving you to handle things I should’ve handled.”
Her brow arches, mock-sweet. “Almost?”
“Almost,” I repeat. “Because I realized something standing here.”
“Oh? What’s that?” she asks, stepping closer, tone dripping with challenge.
“That you don’t respect me. Or yourself.”
Her eyes flash. “Excuse me?”
“You keep daring people to burn you just so you can prove you don’t flinch.” My voice softens, but it’s sharper for it. “That bar fight wasn’t bravery. It was chaos. You want to prove you can play in our world? Fine. But there are rules.”
