Page 68 of Blood

His eyes narrow. “I am two seconds away from putting you over my knee, Samantha. I’m not in the mood for games.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Your phone,” he demands, his hand stretched out.

Oh. Snitch.

“Did she at least wait until we left to snitch?”

“No. She told Michael the minute she had a chance.”

I roll my eyes.Of course she did.I shouldn’t have said anything, but I needed someone to know.

“Charlie was being a good sister-in-law, Samantha. Lose the attitude.”

My eyes fill with tears at his tone. We haven’t argued for days.

“Michael?” I ask, offering my phone.

Kaleb shrugs. “She needed him there to restrain Daniel when he found out. When he was reasonable, they called me out back,” he explains, scrolling through my messages, his hand shaking the more he sees.

“So that’s what it takes to calm you, our brothers?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I tore up the workshop and took out half the room before I calmed down.”

My jaw drops at his words.

Kaleb looks up in time to see my stunned horror.

“She said you cried, Sam,” he whispers, blinking back his own tears. “He’s not getting away with that shit.”

He discards the cell on the sofa and stands. Embracing me, Kaleb kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“What are you sorry for?” I sniffle.

“Kyle Cooper has been sending you awful fucking texts all day, and you didn’t think you could tell me.”

A sob breaks out of my chest. “I didn’t want the week to end. I just wanted a few more days with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swears.

I wrap my arms around his waist and cuddle closer. “I didn’t mean to lie.”

“I know,” he breathes.

“Those pictures were last night in the kitchen.”

Kaleb nods above me. “He must have been outside with a camera pointing into the kitchen.”

“Maybe I should go home,” I suggest, but every fiber screams at me for even suggesting it.

“Not happening, baby. We’re meeting up with Daniel and Michael tomorrow for lunch to discuss Cooper and what to do.”

“Mom and Dad can’t find out, not like this.”

“He’s being cruel to you, and it stops now. That’s not up for debate.”

My throat closes as the memory of getting the texts from an unknown number this morning. First, the lyrics to “Sweet Home Alabama” that I brushed off as a wrong number. Second was a link to an article on siblings who married and had kids. My heart had stopped at that. But the picture of Kaleb and I having sex on the kitchen floor last night, sticky with ice cream, had pulled my world apart.