Page 66 of Fighting the Forbidden

“Then you might want to put those baby-making eyes away, brother,” Vapor says.

“Baby what?” This is the consequence of sharing a cell with guys who end up being your best friends—they know me too fucking well. “I was not.”

“Yeah, you kinda were,” Eraser says. “That’s why I thought the hornets might help.”

“Do you have some deeply disturbing obsession with hornets we should know about?” I ask.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Eraser warns with a smirk.

“Fine. Yes. I’m planning to talk to him.”

“When would that be?” Vapor asks. “When Molly’s walking down the aisle, marrying someone else?”

I shoot a glare at him. “That’s not funny.”

“Hooo boy!” Eraser throws his head back and laughs at the sky. When he finally settles down, he slaps my shoulder. “You need me to do it for you?”

“No,” I grind out. “I’ll handle it.”

“Handle what?” Remy asks, joining our circle of hilarity.

I glare daggers at Eraser that I hope he interprets as shut yo’ mouth.

“Nothing.” Eraser slaps my back, pushing me forward. “Griff’s gonna help me get rid of that hornet’s nest out by the shacks.”

Seems like an appropriate punishment for a few seconds of daydreaming about my future with Molly. I hate insects. I’d rather cut an entire lawn with toenail scissors than deal with hornets.

“Let me do it, dipstick.” Remy smacks my chest as if he wants to stop me in my tracks. “You’re allergic to bees. What if you’re allergic to hornets too?”

“Good call,” I mutter, not at all surprised by his concern. He once watched me break into hives and swell up like Winnie the fucking Pooh after getting stung on the school playground.

Reality slams into my gut like a fist. Molly isn’t a daydream. She’s Remy’s sister. My loyalty to Remy should come first. Every time I give in to my obsession with her, I’m betraying not just a friendship, but a brotherhood that’s been my anchor since childhood.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Griff

We’re playing with fire.

That’s what the old country song currently spilling out of the speakers keeps reminding me.

No, I’m playing with fire. Every day since the racetrack, the flames seem closer and closer.

Almost getting caught should’ve been a wakeup call. I’m risking my friendship with Remy. Disrespecting him every time I’m with Molly—which is a lot lately. Behind Remy’s back. Neither of us mention him but the guilt lingers.

I get plenty of adrenaline rushes from fighting, racing, riding my motorcycle. I don’t need the added threat of getting caught fooling around with Molly.

Still, I can’t help myself.

He’s really going to kill me when he finds out I bought her a damn car. Giving it to her will be as good as announcing she’s my girlfriend.

But I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I hand her the keys.

And I’m really looking forward to spending a lot of time in the garage with her, fixing it up. Maybe I’ll tell him the night before her birthday party? Give him time to digest the news.

Something more suitable for my mood blasts through the speakers.

I’m at work in the garage, lying on a creeper under a ’65 Mustang, carefully loosening the bolts securing the shock absorber to the car’s chassis. Each turn of my wrench punctuates the aggressive guitar riffs and growly lyrics of All That Remains’ “The Air That I Breathe.”

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