Page 17 of Pursued-

She grabs the towel and jerks it from my hands. “Sasha!”

“What?” I growl.

She slaps a hand on my belly and glares up at me. “Tell me you don’t hate me.”

“You know I don’t,” I say, low and frustrated.

Her voice softens. “Because I saved your life?”

“No. Because you could.”

“What does that mean?” she asks, pulling my T shirt back on.

I move her aside and stalk out of the bathroom.

“I’m trying to understand,” she says, following me.

I lift a duffle onto the kitchen table and yank out some clothes. I drag on a pair of boxers and trousers that need to be ironed, staying silent, but tempted to talk. This is the way it is with her. When I ignore her, it’s an act, and an act of will. I raise a custom black shirt and pull it on, buttoning it without looking at her.

“Hey,” she says.

I glance her way. Her hair is spiked in all directions. I give her a comb. She shakes her head, but then drags it through the inky black strands.

“Did you bring me here to get even with me?”

“Why do you call me Sasha?”

“It’s your name. Sasha Stroviak.”

“You don’t call C Connor. You don’t call Trick Scott.”

She tilts her head. “Trick’s name is Scott?”

She doesn’t even know that Trick’s name is Scott Patrick? That’s so fucking satisfying it almost makes me smile.

I make a hand gesture that says, ‘there you go.’

“I think Anvil’s a bad nickname.”

I make the hand gesture again.

The corners of her mouth curve up. “Do you think it’s a good nickname?”

“For me? Definitely.”

“You’re not some blockhead. You’re smart. You speak three languages that I know of.”

I smile. “C gave me the nickname because my fists land like anvils. It was before I got this big. I had his back in middle school and I used to have this move where I would jump up and bring my fist down with my whole body. I don’t know that it added much to a punch. I think it just knocked the wind out of kids when I body-slammed them to the ground. But it gave me an edge.”

“And then you grew and that was your edge. And C’s. He definitely knows how to capitalize on something.”

“He does.”

“I’m pissed at him. He took my best friend, and now I can’t see her.”

I can see her pain over not getting to talk to Zoe. It’s so strong I can feel it.

“Why don’t you answer her texts?” I demand. “She told us she texts you and you don’t respond.”