Page 2 of Savage

Of course, being shrewd, Jaxon picked up that I wasn’t at my best immediately. “Fuck me; you’re certainly not a morning person, are you? You look like someone fed you after midnight.”

Cheeky git. He gave me his signature what the hell happened to you look.

I focused on the object of my disdain. Of course, Jaxon looked good enough to eat. Tall and broad-shouldered, he stood on the landing outside my door with his massive arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at me with brooding intensity. That look was permanently stitched onto his beautiful, yet masculine face.

Now what had I done? I attempted to avert my eyes from those distracting biceps of his.

“Can I help you?” I questioned, looking up at his perfectly sculptured features. By Jove, he was fit. Why, oh, why couldn’t he have been ugly? Ugly was so much easier to live with. Cohabiting with a boy who was sex-on-legs made me irrationally nervous.

I rubbed my tired eyes, staring at him wearily. I hated the fact that he was so pristine at such an ungodly hour. Jaxon was a military man and used to rising at the crack of dawn. He had probably already made his bed and bounced a bloody coin off it. Just like those drill sergeants did in those war movies my dad used to watch. At the thought of my father, I felt a wave of discomfort.

Jaxon looked me up and down before tilting his head and attempting to see behind me into my room. I reduced the crack in the door. Nothing was worse than a nosey parker, especially one who came calling at seven in the fricking morning. It was Sunday, for pity’s sake, God’s Day. Was a lay-in at the weekend too much to ask? The sun wasn’t even fully awake yet.

The boy was like a machine. One with a set routine that I had always thought was the other side of sane. No wonder he was such a grumpy fucker all the time. Although, as usual, he was bright as a button, not a hint of sleep deprivation was showing on that sinfully good-looking face of his. Typical.

“Well?” I prompted in my best snooty voice. This encouraged him to arch an eyebrow as he continued to glare down at me from his lofty position. My stepbrother was well over six feet tall and in his prime for a twenty-four-year-old man. He was a Physical Training Corps Instructor for the military, so he had to be in tip-top condition.

Unfortunately for me, he wasn’t one of those guys who were all muscle and nothing else; he was shrewd and intelligent and full of lethal charm.

Everything about him was large and overstated as he towered over me. His tanned skin glowed with health. I was small and thin and dull in comparison; in a bright light, you could just make out the veins beneath my pale complexion. They used to call me Snow White at school. Jaxon looked like a bronzed gladiator. Yes, he was infuriating but he was also downright intoxicating. Fit as fuck.

“If your shithead of a boyfriend uses my razor again, I’ll break his fingers,” Jaxon huffed grumpily. Talk about Mood Swing City.

Here we go again. Jaxon had a huge problem with Dominic. And to think my boyfriend had attempted to play nice at first, possibly over-egging it.

“If I had a good side, that’s not the way to get on it,” he commented. At last, something we could agree on.

As he had demonstrated many times before, there was no good in Jaxon Savage, he was mean to the bone. What can I say? He lived up to his surname in spades.

“Fine, duly noted, I’ll have a word,” I replied with a sigh, adopting a fake accommodating tone.

“I mean it Wynter, he touches my shit again, he dies.”

As usual, Jaxon saw right through me, and that square jaw of his was clenched. He was so astute; he had sussed out all my fears and aspirations from day one. Again, as he articulated my name, I got the shivers. I rubbed my arms to eradicate that tingly feeling.

It was way too early to lock horns with this person, especially when I could tell he was spoiling for a fight. This stepbrother got off on conflict; it was an addiction for him—a drug. Usually, I instantly took the bait, but today I was so tired, I ached. Attempting to write a newspaper article until three in the morning does that to a person.

Jaxon’s eyes were a steely grey, but just then they looked like a cloudy sky with a hint of blue.

“Is he in there now? I can deliver the message in person if you’d prefer. Cut out the middle man,” he grunted, attempting to see past me again.

“No thanks. I promise to pass the message on,” I said as I went to close the door. Annoyance flickered over his face, and I banged my elbow as he shoved his booted foot against the wood, stopping me from closing it.

My nose wrinkled. His actions pissed me off, and I loosened my death grip and pursed my lips.

“How do you know it was Dominic, anyway?” I asked, attempting to look superior.

Jaxon cocked his brow. “The bristles, brainiac,” he sneered. My stepbrother had a point as Dominic was a redhead and Jaxon’s hair was as black as mine, but his locks gleamed, not dissimilar to a blackbird’s feathers. My hair, well, that was another story. Too long, too thick, and currently resembling a bird's nest, to put it bluntly.

It couldn’t have been my other stepbrother either as his hair was blonde.

Bearing in mind they were full brothers; they were opposites in appearance. Jaxon was tall, broad, and dark like their father. Christopher (aka Chris) was tall and slim with fair hair and pale skin. They did share the same grey eyes though. A feature they had inherited from their late mother, my mum had told me.

So, Dominic was again on Jaxon’s shit list, or should I call it Razorgate? Not out loud, of course, that would make fun of the situation and this man didn’t possess the healthiest sense of humour. Not where I was concerned anyway.

Talking about his shit list, my name was always on there, right at the top and underlined. In the eyes of this boy, I couldn’t do anything right.

I released my hold on the door and stepped back, folding my arms over my chest, and attempting to look in control. Jaxon watched the movement through narrowed eyes.

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