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“Uh, yeah. I was expecting Ezra.”
The crooked grin tightens, but he blinks his eyes and shakes it off, something else wavering behind his amber stare that tugs at my heart.
“Are you going to let me in?”
No.
Yes.
Damn it.
“Yeah.” I step back and wait as he steps in, the room suddenly small, the air around me chaos.
Damon is angry about something, although I’m not sure what. It’s obvious by the tension in his shoulders and jaw, by the way his hand stretches and fists repeatedly, by the way his stare cuts my direction as if assessing me.
Then, as if he’d been somewhere else entirely, he notices the loud music pumping from the other room.
Tilting his head that direction, he asks, “Your brother?”
I nod, but then my eyes widen as he storms toward the hall, my hands feebly grabbing onto his arm as he easily shakes free of me and keeps going.
“Damon!”
Too late.
He grabs Dylan before I can walk into the room, my brother’s back slamming against a wall after Damon drags him from his chair and across the room.
I can’t hear what Damon is saying to Dylan over the music, but I’m not sure I want to. I’m too concerned about Dylan’s friends bristling like they want to jump in.
Six against one.
Bad odds.
Somehow I think Damon would still handle it.
Fuck this shit.
I’m so tired of all these men throwing their weight around without any concern for how it affects me.
Storming over to the stereo, I turn it off, then walk into the middle of the room to give my orders now that my temper has been pushed to its absolute limit.
“You five. Don’t you dare get involved. And Damon!”
He’s still in Dylan’s face, his fist gripping Dylan’s shirt, holding him in place. They’re nose to nose, but whatever Damon had to say must be over.
Seconds of tension pass, Damon’s hand finally releasing Dylan as he takes a step back.
“I mean it,” he warns. “Stop making her life hell.”
He stalks off into the hall, and my eyes lock with Dylan’s. I don’t know what to do about my little brother.
Obviously, he’s going through something that’s causing him to act out, but it’s no use talking to him about it. He won’t have a casual conversation with me, much less open up.
“I’m sorry about that,” I mutter.
He pushes away from the wall to walk back to the chair where he’d been sitting to begin with.
“Keep your dogs under control,” he grumbles as if he couldn’t care less what Damon did, most likely playing it off in front of his friends. “They’re getting really fucking annoying.”