Page 14 of Cryptic Curse (Bellamy Brothers #7)

HAWK

W hat the actual fuck?

I see it the moment Eagle leans back in his chair, all smug and still like he’s not poking a bear. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing with that calm little line about kitchens getting hot.

He knows. He knows exactly.

He’s teasing Daniela.

Daniela. How much does he even know about her?

The only woman Eagle’s ever been serious about—if you can even call it that—is Scarlett Ramsey. He flirts with everything that walks, talks, or even glances twice at him. Usually I don’t give a shit. His trail of half-broken hearts is his problem.

But tonight?

Daniela…

I grip my coffee cup tighter, jaw clenching like I’m chewing on gravel.

Daniela laughs, and it cuts deeper than it should. Not because she’s done anything wrong—she hasn’t; she’s just being polite—but because she’s flirting. Sort of. With Eagle.

He does this.

Always has.

Shows up late, says almost nothing, and somehow still manages to take up all the oxygen in the room. He makes silence feel like dominance, like he knows something you don’t.

And I do know.

I know everything about Eagle.

Every bruise he ever got and every lie he ever told. Every trick he pulled. Every girl he strung along. Every time he burned something down just to prove he could rise from the ashes.

Every dirty needle he’s stuck into his own skin, every empty pill bottle with someone else’s name on it I’ve found in his medicine cabinet.

I’ve seen him broken and feral. I’ve seen him smile while bleeding. I’ve seen him walk away from people who would’ve walked through fire for him.

People have walked through fire for him. Falcon went to prison for eight goddamned years because of him.

And Eagle better fucking remember that.

I glance at him across the table. That unreadable mask on his face. Still. Cool. Watching Daniela like she’s a chess piece and he’s trying to figure out if she’s the queen or the pawn.

My pulse hammers in my ears.

I don’t like how close he’s sitting. I don’t like how she blushed. And I sure as hell don’t like the idea of him making a game out of her.

She’s not some puzzle to crack or a distraction to fill the time between his self-sabotage spirals.

She’s real. Smart. Funny. She laughs with her whole body and makes a meal feel like a love letter.

She’s warm.

He’s ice.

And now he’s circling, like the eagle he is getting ready to swoop down onto his prey.

I push my chair back. Not enough to make a scene—just enough for the chair to scrape loud against the wood, enough to make Eagle’s head turn.

There it is. That flicker of something in his eyes.

Recognition.

Challenge accepted.

I lean forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on his.

The room hushes, tension like static crawling across everyone’s skin.

Except they have no idea. Mom continues slicing cake. Savannah continues serving coffee. Vinnie is squeezing Raven’s hand as she sips her Orange Crush.

Eagle takes a sip of his coffee, slow and deliberate. He’s enjoying this.

And then he smirks. Razor-thin.

He knows. He knows.

He knows I’m nursing a thing for Daniela.

Fuck.

A thing. I call it a thing like I’m trying to tame it.

I’m a grown man. Not a hormone-jumbled teenager.

But around her? I feel like one. And now my little brother is pushing buttons because he knows exactly where they are.

“Care for a convo, E?” I say, rising to my feet, voice low.

He blinks slowly. “Hey. I’m not done with my cake.”

“This won’t take long.”

I don’t wait. I just grab his arm and pull him from his chair.

He lets me—because of course he does. Because he wants this.

We cut through the kitchen, past the hum of the dishwasher, past the scent of warm cake and cooling coffee. I shove the double doors open and step out onto the redwood deck that wraps around the house.

Warm Texas night air hits my face. The sky is wide and full of stars, the way it always is out here. I stop near the railing, and he stops beside me, finally dropping the smirk.

“So?” he says. “What’s your damage?”

“You flirting with Daniela,” I snap. “That’s my fucking damage.”

He lifts his brows. “You jealous?”

I clench my hands into fists. “You want to get hit?”

He laughs. “God, you are jealous. That’s cute.”

I step in close, until we’re nose to nose. “Don’t play with her. I mean it.”

He shrugs. “She’s a big girl. She can handle a little conversation.”

But can she? Eagle doesn’t know anything about her. I don’t know a lot, but Vinnie told me her past was not pretty.

“She’s barely eighteen, damn it. She’s not just some woman you can chat up to kill time.”

“She’s not yours, Hawk.”

That lands. Hard.

“No,” I say, voice tight, “she’s not mine. But she’s not yours to play with either.”

He scoffs, looking away. “Jesus. You act like I’m some fucking predator.”

I cross my arms. “I act like I know you.”

That stops him.

He turns back to me, jaw clenched. “You don’t know me as well as you think.”

I step in again. “Bullshit. I know everything . Every screw-up. Every escape plan you never finish. I know what you do when you get bored, and I won’t let you do it to her.”

He glares at me. “And if I wasn’t playing? What then?”

The question hits like a gut punch.

Because it’s not just a hypothetical. It’s real.

And it terrifies me.

I look him dead in the eye. “Then you’d better be damned sure. Because she’s not someone you just try on to see if it fits. She’s not your little sex doll, like Scarlett.”

His face turns red. I’ve struck a nerve.

He starts toward me. “Don’t you ever talk about her like that.”

Eagle’s gotten stronger since his last relapse. Going to the gym seems to have helped take his mind off his addiction cravings.

But he’s not as strong as I am, and I’m able to hold him in place by the shoulders before he can get a swing in.

“Okay, I’m sorry for saying that. It was rude. And frankly, I don’t have any knowledge to back my claim about her up. None of us know what the hell this thing between you and Scarlett is anyway.”

He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, fuming.

We both do.

Inside, through the glass, I see Daniela in the kitchen scraping off dessert plates.

She doesn’t know we’re out here, ready to tear into each other over her.

But it’s not just her. I’ve been holding this resentment toward Eagle for a long time.

At first, I was happy to clean up after his messes.

Playing the role of the big brother in Falcon’s absence gave me a purpose.

But Eagle never learned his fucking lesson, kept making the same mistake over and over .

Death by a thousand damned cuts.

Eagle doesn’t respond. He just stands there, arms crossed, jaw tight. That silence used to mean guilt. Now? I can’t tell.

“You ever think,” he says finally, voice low, “that maybe you don’t get to decide what I feel?”

I laugh, sharp and humorless. “You don’t feel, Eagle. You react. You poke, and you provoke. And when it stops being fun, you disappear. Or you fucking get high and expect me to pick up all the pieces.”

His face goes stone cold.

The cicadas hum in the grass. Somewhere inside, silverware clinks and someone laughs.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he finally mutters. “Not really.”

“Then prove it. Leave her be.”

He nods once. Small. It’s not quite surrender, but enough.

We stand there in silence a little longer. The air between us is still cracked open, but the pressure has shifted.

Inside, through the window, Daniela looks toward the door, eyes scanning like she’s looking for someone.

Me.

I take a deep breath and turn back toward the house.

And for once, Eagle doesn’t follow.