Page 8 of Wicked Games (Silvercrest U #1)

“Fair point.” He offers me a tiny smile. “I have no idea who it was. He was wearing black and had a hood up. I didn’t see his face.”

“What exactly happened?”

“I was doing laps and saw someone on the deck when I was coming up to the end of the pool. They scared the shit out of me, and I missed my turning window.” He pointed to his head. “I got this because I was going too fast to stop and hit the side of the pool.”

I’ve seen how fast Felix can swim, and he’d only have a few seconds to try and protect himself if he saw his attacker when he was almost at the wall. “Then what happened?”

“He grabbed my head and held me underwater while I was stunned. I got away and he ran.”

“Did you see anything that might help identify him?”

He shakes his head. “I was too busy trying to not drown and coughing up all the water I swallowed. And he turned off the lights when he ran, so I literally saw nothing for a long-ass time.”

Whoever did this is diabolically smart to leave him in complete darkness while he was incapacitated. Or they’re lucky and just happened to make a good choice when they panicked and ran.

“And you didn’t see anything before that? No one else in the room, no marks, a distinctive mask? Anything?”

He shakes his head again. “They were in the shadows.”

I chew on my bottom lip for a few beats and try to make sense of what he just told me.

“Why do you care?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s barely above a whisper.

Something in his tone makes my gut twist. He sounds so vulnerable, so broken and lost. For some reason, that’s a million times worse than when he’s hiding behind his mask of emotionless indifference.

“I thought you’d be glad someone tried to off me.” He huffs out a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it, or in his eyes. “If anything, I thought you’d be mad they failed.”

I sit back on my heels, not liking what his proximity is doing to me.

Maybe it’s the mix of booze and weed still in my system, but I have the strangest urge to comfort him. To wrap him up in a hug and just hold him so he knows he’s not alone.

“If someone attacked you in the house, that means they either live here or they’re working with someone who does,” I say, not liking how raspy my voice sounds.

“Or they snuck in.”

“Maybe, but highly unlikely.” I rub my hands on my thighs just to have something to do with them.

“Between the cameras and the key logs, there’s almost no way someone could sneak in and stay hidden without help.

The twins and I will pull the logs tomorrow and get permission from Jordan and the boys to check the footage to make sure, but my gut is telling me we’re dealing with an insider. ”

“Do you think they attacked me because I’m me, or because I’m an easy target?” he asks. “I’m not a Rebel, so it’s not like this will spark some sort of backlash or revenge like it would if I were someone who matters.”

“You may not be a member, but you live here.” My tone is way harsher than I mean it to be. “You’re also my stepbrother, and you live in my room. An attack on you is an attack on me, and that’s the same damn thing as a declaration of war.”

“You don’t even like me, but you’re willing to go to war for me?” He looks genuinely confused, like he truly doesn’t understand what I mean.

“That’s what happens when something is mine.” I lean in closer, stopping when our faces are only inches apart. “I didn’t choose this, and I don’t want you here, but you are. That means you’re mine, and I always defend what’s mine.”

He swallows, his eyes wide with innocent surprise.

“You’ve been in the family long enough to know we protect what’s ours,” I continue. “You’re not a Rebel, and you don’t have the Hawthorne name, but make no mistake, Felix, you’re family, and that makes you one of us no matter how we feel about each other.”

He nods, just a single tick of his head, to tell me he understands.

“Do you want me to call the school doctor?” I ask. “I’m assuming there’s a reason you haven’t.”

He blinks a few times, obviously trying to catch up with the about-face in our conversation. “Don’t call them.”

I don’t ask why not. I wouldn’t call either.

The staff here is loyal to our parents, not to us.

They know who pays their bills and keeps this school scandal-free and off the radar of anyone who might have questions about how things are run.

We can’t trust them, and it’s no secret that they don’t give a fuck about us as long as our tuitions are paid.

“Have you ever had a concussion?” I ask as I stand.

He looks up at me, his blue eyes wide but clear, the redness from before gone. Some of the color has come back to his face, and his lips are their normal shade of dark pink. He’s still in rough shape, but he’s better than when I first found him.

“No.”

I sidestep him and feel under his pillow. Instead of the worn sleep pants and threadbare shirt I’m expecting, my hand closes around nothing. “Where are your pajamas?”

“What pajamas?”

I look down at him in surprise.

“I don’t wear pajamas to bed,” he clarifies.

“But I’ve seen you wear them.”

“You’ve seen what I put on after I get up or before I go to bed.” His lips lift in a barely there smile. “I sleep naked.”

For some crazy reason, my brain sort of stutters at his confession and I drop my eyes to his lap. Why does the thought that he’s been sleeping in my room naked excite me?

It’s not even a recognizable type of excitement. The idea doesn’t turn me on. At least, I don’t think it does. I’m into some weird shit, but I’m not attracted to men, so why the fuck do I like the idea so much?

The drinks and weed are fucking with me more than I thought.

He smirks. “Are you about to clutch your pearls? Seems a bit hypocritical since you sleep in those.” He eyes my boxer briefs.

“Just shocked an uptight prude like you doesn’t wear footie pajamas to bed.” It feels wrong to go back to insulting each other and being dicks just because, but I’m too fucked up and too tired to process this weird new energy between us.

His smirk falls, but he doesn’t shut down and let his mask slip into place. “Even uptight prudes like to freeball from time to time.”

“Do you need something for the pain?” I inject as much boredom as I can into my voice. I need to end this conversation before my thoughts get any weirder.

He shakes his head.

“Don’t even think about croaking overnight,” I say over my shoulder as I head back to my side of the room. “I’ll kill you if you die on my watch,” I add, just to be a dick.

He laughs, the sound throaty and a bit musical. “Noted.”

I make the mistake of looking at him as I climb into bed and catch an eyeful of his bare chest and long, lean torso as he pushes his basketball shorts down over his hips with a grimace.

My eyes are glued to his dick as the silky shorts flutter to the floor.

He’s soft, his shaft hanging over his balls the same as every other dick I’ve seen, but for some reason, I can’t tear my eyes from it as he kicks off the shorts and scrubs his hand through his messy hair.

Without sparing my side of the room a glance, he pulls the blankets down and gives me a view of his ass as he leans over and smooths his hand over what I assume is a wrinkle in his sheets.

More of that weird excitement fills me, mixing with a strange sense of possession. I don’t want him, not like that, but I can’t help thinking that he’s showing me everything on purpose. That he’s letting me see all of what’s mine.

A vision of his perfect ass covered in spunk is what finally shakes me loose from my staring contest with his backside.

What the fuck?

Feeling more off balance than I have in a long time, I snap off the light.

I just need to sleep off the drugs and booze, and I’ll go back to my regularly scheduled programming of hating my stepbrother and not thinking about any part of him covered in my cum.