Page 76 of Kill for a Kiss

“Wow. Right in the heart. You wound me.” Stan places a hand over his chest. “Elle, you hear this? This is emotional abuse.”

“I think you’ll survive,” I say, still smiling.

Sterling mutters something under his breath, barely audible. Stan leans in toward me, mock-whispering, “That’s probably his way of saying he loves us.”

“I’m sure,” I say, nodding as if it’s serious. Stan and I share a laugh, and seeing his face light up feels good. The spots of blood and bruises on his face have almost faded away.

Sterling chops another log, the swing clean and hard. “You want to be useful, Stanley? Maybe gather the wood instead of running your mouth.”

Stan snorts. “Right, right. But you should know watching you chop isrealtaxing for me.”

“It must be. You barely lifted a finger.”

“I liftmorale. That’s gotta count for something.”

Sterling swings again. The axe splits the wood through, the crack ringing in the air. He doesn’t answer Stan.

But Stan keeps talking. “See, Elle, this is what I’ve had to deal with my whole life. Middle brother over there thinks he’s aboveallthis human stuff. But I know the truth.” He gestures grandly toward Sterling. “Deep down, he’s just a big ol’ softie.”

Sterling stops mid-motion, turns his head, and pins him with a look sharp enough to peel bark off a tree. “Do you want to keep your wrists intact?”

Stan clutches his chest with mock horror. “Elle, ya hear that? That was athreat. Straight-up intimidation. Classic deflection.”

I shake my head, laughing some more.

Sterling brings the axe down again, the log splitting in two. Stan flinches a little, but there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and I can tell he’s enjoying this too. The brotherly bickering. The tense atmosphere. The jokes he cuts the tension with. Maybe even the simple act of chopping and gathering wood. There’s no trouble waiting for us at this moment.

Everything about this moment lets us take a breath. It’s oddly domestic in a way I don’t think any of us expected after everything that’s taken place.

Stan shakes some sawdust off of him, then stretches with a loud groan. “Y’know, people used to think we were twins growing up,” he says to me. “Can you believe that?”

I tilt my head, eyeing the two of them. “I guess I can see it.”

Stan points, looking rather triumphant. “Yes! But see, the biggest difference was Sterling had this weird snow-hair thing going on that just got whiter over time, and I…” He pauses dramatically, running a hand through his dark strands. “I became a perfect specimen.”

Sterling doesn’t even glance up. “Specimen is generous.”

Stan grins. “Would you preferawe-inspiring masculine perfection? I can work with that.”

Sterling, unimpressed, resumes stacking the wood.

Stan flexes, arms up and proud. “I mean, look at this. Bigger, stronger, sexier. You name it, I’ve got it.”

I press my lips together, but a giggle escapes anyway. Stan’s not much bigger than Sterling. In fact, they’re both tall, broad, and built like they could carry the weight of the world if they had to. It’s simply that Stan seems to prefer wearing tighter shirts that show his physique off, whereas Sterling wears dark clothes he can move easily in.

Stan points at my lingering giggles, looking like he’s won a prize. “See! Elle agrees. She thinks I’m a work of art.”

Sterling looks up at that, his expression bland but deadly. “You grew sideways more than up.”

“Wow. Body-shaming? Elle, you catching this?”

“It’s important to eat well,” I say, shrugging and trying not to smile too hard.

“Idoeat well! I have a fast metabolism,” Stan insists with a smile. “And these muscles need fuel. You think this”—he gestures at himself again—“justhappens?”

Sterling shakes his head and mutters, “It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far in life.”

“A miracle called charisma and resilience,” Stan corrects with a wink. He leans toward me. “He forgets I did all the hard work making us look good. Sterling’s been coasting off my glow.”