Page 47 of The Bounty

CHAPTER 15

DYLAN

I’m upset.

I’m very fucking upset, and so is Brock.

At least, more than usual.

Killian smells like her.

And worst of all, he smells like herslick.

I’m jealous. I’ve barely seen her all week, yet Killian practically stinks of her.

I grit my teeth as he walks into the kitchen shirtless, whistling.

“What’s for dinner?” He asks casually, reaching past me and into the fridge. Brock grunts something from the kitchen island, his eyes never leaving his laptop.

“Why are you assuming I’ll cook?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.

Trying not to bombard him with accusations, and demand that he tells me just what the hell they’ve been up to.

“Because,” he says cheerfully, opening an energy drink, “we need to have a family meeting.”

He’s my best friend.

But sometimes he’s insufferable.

“Last time I checked, you’re not a part of this family,” Brock growls, looking up from his laptop. “You’re a guest who has overstayed his welcome.”

Killian raises an eyebrow and holds eye contact with him, downing the entire can in mere seconds.

“Incorrect, Brocky. I brought us all together.”

My brother shoots him a murderous glare. “Really? Or did you just fuck her and walk out here to gloat?”

I swallow. The tension is thick between them, and I prepare to play referee.

“Or did youforceher? Because that’s the only way she’d want to fuck you,” Brock continues, his voice low.

Jealousy, sour and cloying, fills the air, and Killian’s smile fades.

My brother fucked up.

“I wouldnever,” he snarls. “She doesn’t need to worry about me. I don’t go around punching holes in walls for fun.”

Brock chuckles. “Right. You just pierce another body part or tattoo yourself whenever something doesn’t go your way—”

“Enough!” I snap. “Can you guys not fight for two seconds?”

A flash of guilt crosses both their faces.

“If she can hear us, then I’m sure you’re scaring the shit out of her. Second, talking about Olive when she’s not even here is disrespectful. And you—” I point at Killian —“Are a smug bastard, and I’m not cooking you shit.”

A throat clears, and we all turn to look at Olive, standing a few feet behind us with her arms crossed. Her scent is sweet and subtle, her hair wet from a shower.

“For the record,” she says, her eyes flicking to Killian. “He didnotfuck me.” Then her attention turns to Brock. “If anyone in this house tried to force me, I’d gnaw their knots off,” she informs him.