Page 133 of Fractured Future

“Not you.” His arm shoots out to block the exit.

Internally wincing, I halt in front of him. “Um...”

“Enjoying yourself?”

“It isn’t what it looks like.”

“What does it look like, Em?” He inclines his head.

“We… uh, we’re training. Going over weapons. Hand to hand combat.”

“What sort of combat requires sticking your tongue down my agent’s throat?”

When the ground doesn’t open to swallow me up like I’m praying it will, Warner steps closer to me. I’ve never been afraid of my brother’s best friend before. Now I’m fucking petrified.

“We don’t fuck around in this family.” His low, threatening tone makes my stomach lurch. “So be careful where you put those lips, or you may get more than you bargained for.”

My shocked brain nearly implodes, unable to fathom his words. This feels like a loaded threat. Perhaps far beyond merely kicking me off the team.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I squeak.

“Good. Now get out of here.”

Nodding with my gaze still lowered, I dart past him to flee the room without looking back. If I do, I’m not sure what I’ll find written on his face—resentment or rejection.

I can’t handle either.

Not from him.

CHAPTER 18

HYLAND

STONE – WHISKEY MYERS

Standingbeneath the glassy height of the apartment building, I watch rain clouds bubble in the afternoon sky. Dammit. There go my plans for a trip down to Hyde Park today.

The kid always loves the outdoors. Raising him in a quiet cul-de-sac off the beaten path was my priority before I worked for Sabre. I wanted to give Luke a calm, solid upbringing.

When the offer to take this job came in, my ex and I fought for hours about what to do. Choosing to uproot our newborn son, our marriage, our family home… It wasn’t easy. But the money was good.

How was I to know what would happen?

We don’t know we’re making fateful decisions that will hold ramifications for our entire lives when we make them. Does an innocent bystander go out for a walk knowing they’re going to be hit by a car? No.

Yet the car hits them regardless.

And a fully loaded semi hit us.

When a mud-splattered Jeep pulls up at the curb, the rapidly expanding anxiety in my gut blooms into suffocating poison ivy that strangles my lungs. Jayce yanks the handbrake to park up, twisting to look into the back seat.

I shouldn’t hate that she looks good—what appears to be freshly dyed brunette hair, a face full of well-applied makeup and glowing skin. But fuck it. I hate that she’s thriving after leaving me.

She climbs out of the car with barely a glance at me. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I grumble.