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Grey laughs, touching his forehead down to mine. “It’s yours. If they don’t know that, they’re fucking stupid.” I roll my eyes and pull away.

“Okay, I really need to go now. Lincoln is going to murder me.”

“Fine but I’ll be here when you get out. Don’t fucking leave without me if you get done early.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Grey growls. “Goddammit, vixen, I’m going to turn your ass red tonight.”

Turning toward the room, I laugh, “Promises, promises.”

—

As soon as I walk through the threshold, the happy little bubble Grey surrounded me in bursts. Making my way toward my station in the front of the room, the eyelash twins bombard me with dirty looks and faux-whispered insults.

“Did you see how desperate she looked in that video?” the one on the right says. To be frank, I distinguish them by their position at the table because they look so similar and they’re insignificant to my life. “I heard that she made him post that response video. Can you say ‘desperate?’”

“I would die if anyone saw me naked and I looked like that.” This comes from the one on the left. “She should wear something to hold that jiggling stomach in. Gross.” She punctuates her asshole comment with a shudder, as though she finds me repulsive.

What I want to say is that I’m not the one with eyelashes that look like brooms on my eyes, but I hold back. Ignoring them, and their spider-like eyes, I slide onto the stool next to Lincoln. He’s staring at the baking sheets and utensils lined on our counter, seemingly lost in thought. Elbowing his side, I whisper, “So, are you going to tell me what the fuck happened with my sister last weekend?”

Lincoln freezes and his hand flexes; to someone who doesn’t know him well, his reaction could be interpreted as a reflex, but after spending weeks working alongside him, I know he’s panicking. Interesting.

Still looking down at our prep station, he mutters, “Nothing is going on, Ava.”

“Bullshit, Lincoln. She was in the kitchen, wearing not only your sweatshirt but also a hickey on her neck.” Do they think I’m so tunnel-visioned with my drama that I wouldn’t pick up on what’s going on around me?

“Can you just drop it?”

“Absolutely not, now tell me what the hell was going on.”

“Dammit, Ava,” Lincoln huffs, sounding more like a petulant little boy than a twenty-one-year-old man. “Nothing happened. I kissed her and she freaked out, okay? We spent the night talking and then she fell asleep in the bed, and I took the floor.” He lets out a long breath, visibly deflating before continuing, “That hickey? It was a burn from her iron or whatever shit you women use to do your hair. She spent most of the night talking about that bag of crusty dicks, Mitchell.” Lincoln shakes his head and slams his fist down on the countertop. “Fuck that guy, Ava. The shit he put her through? If I ever see him, I’ll cut his dick off and feed it to his asshole.”

I cringe at the thought of Mitchell being impaled with his own dick. “That is extremely gross and extremely graphic.”

“He’s a fucking asshole.” The emotion behind Lincoln’s words is unmistakable; he has feelings for my sister. I’m formulating my response in my head when high-pitched voices assault our ears.

“Is she trying to fuck him now? I guess she wants to be passed around like a dirty hooker,” one of the eyelash twins says in a mock whisper. “Slut,” she says around a cough.

Laughter erupts in the room, followed by poorly concealed whispers, and my heart sinks. Closing my eyes, I lean forward, gripping the edge of the counter and willing the taunts and jeers to bounce off me without sinking in. I know that I should say something, go back at them and shut them up just like Grey or CeCe would in this situation. But I stand frozen, shrinking, and making myself as small as possible in the front of the room.

“Oh, fuck no,” Lincoln booms out, silencing the chatter. “Are you fucking slut-shaming right now? You can barely boil fucking water and have begged to suck my cock every time I see you, and you have the balls to start shit you can’t finish? Cut your fucking eyelashes, you spidey fucks.”

“Lincoln,” I say under my breath, grabbing his arm to hold back the rest of the tirade. “It’s okay.”

He turns his glare on me. “Fuck no, it’s not okay. They’re shit-talking out of their asses because they’re jealous you landed one of us.” I raise an eyebrow at him, internally laughing that he somehow managed to bring up his desirability while defending me. “And the rest of you.” He whips around, holding out a finger to point to the rest of the room. “If I so much as hear a single fucking word about Ava, we’ll destroy you, your family, and your fucking grandchildren. Now shut the fuck up and get baking, you sorry fucks.”

“Wow,” I mutter. Next to me, he’s shaking, a result of the adrenaline rush and anger that poured through his system.

He answers in a voice much lower than the one he just used in the class. “It’s obvious that you and Grey didn’t put that video out there, and his video was pretty fucking clear that you’re his girl.” Shaking his head, he reaches for the container of flour before continuing, “Shit pisses me off, even if you weren’t part of our crew now. No one should be humiliated like that, especially not by girls that look like extras inAmerican Horror Story.”

“Lincoln, that’s not nice,” I admonish him, though he’s not wrong about the comparison.

“Suck it, Aves. They’re not nice, and if Grey were here, he would have ripped them a new asshole worse than I did.” Lincoln grabs the scale and places a metal bowl on top, pouring the flour until the scale reads the correct grams. “Now, get your shit together. I’m not letting these lazy assholes do better than us.”

As quickly as protective Lincoln came, he’s gone. If he is interested in my sister, she’s both lucky at his alpha tendencies and screwed by them.

—