Page 50 of The Spider & the Storm

“I knocked louder this time,” she said, approaching me like one would a wild animal. A sly smile tugged at her lips, painted black and glossy. “You didn't answer.”

“Obviously, I'm a little busy,” I replied in a low tone I thought—Ihoped—sounded menacing to her ears.

But still, she came nearer.

Her long black coat hung to her knees. The buttons were undone, leaving it open to reveal a sheer black top embroidered with spiderwebs. The coincidence of our coordination—her in cloth and me in flesh—wasn't lost on me as I struggled to not stare at the black patent bra, bejeweled navel, and heavily tattooed skin beneath the patterned fabric.

She turned her head toward Luke's bike, and a light breeze lifted her ebony hair from her shoulder, revealing her left ear. Between the countless piercings and gauged lobes, there was enough metal there to set off airport security, and I fought against an amused smirk at the thought.

“Nice bike,” she commented, nudging her chin toward the Harley.

“It's not mine,” I felt the need to say.

She looked back at me with a raised brow. “No? You stole it?”

“No.”

“Hmm,” she muttered, nodding at the bike again.

“What?”

“Oh, I'm just thinking, I wouldn't be surprised if you had.” She looked back to me, her mouth twisted to one side before saying, “I mean, you're a pretty scary guy.”

I snorted a sardonic laugh and shook my head as my hands loosened just a bit from my grip on the axe. She had no idea just how scary I was capable of being, and suddenly, I didn't want her thinking that side could—or would—come out around her.

“No, seriously,” she went on with widened eyes, like I needed clarification, “that guy was ready to piss himself when you had that knife to his throat. And, man, you'refast. You just came out of nowhere, like a fucking ninja.”

I pulled in a breath while giving myself a quick reminder that I wasn't here to make friends. Hell, I wasn't even here to make casual acquaintances—Ivan not included. I was living my life as quietly as I'd always wanted it to be, away from everyone who'd ever wished ill on me or my family. Conversation with this strange, gorgeous, and disturbingly brazen woman didn't fit into that plan.

“What did you—” I began, only to be cut off again.

“So, whose bike is it then?”

She turned to run her hand over the polished handlebars, and my shoulders stiffened as a protective streak bristled the hairs at the back of my neck.

“Hands off,” I demanded.

She pulled back her fingers. Not with the hurriedness of someone frightened though. She looked back at me with an apologetic nod of her head.

The gesture was at least appreciated, and to show her as such, I responded, “It's my brother's.”

Just acknowledging him out loud to someone was enough to scrape at the wound on my heart, barely beginning to scab. Mentioning I had a brother, mentioning he existed, brought on a consecutive thought that she would look at him the way I knew I'd looked at her just moments ago.

Lustful. Longing.

Pathetic.

Women had always loved Luke. They'd always been drawn to him like the night moths to the lantern outside my door. He might've been my brother, but I understood his appeal. He wasn't the type of man women made a family and a life with—he'd made sure of that, the fucking asshole. But he was the one they wanted an experience with. The bad boy with the cigarettes and motorcycle, the one with the tattoos and a love affair with recklessness. He reeked of it, and women wanted to bottle it up, wear it for a night, and leave after it faded, long before their disapproving daddies could find out that it'd ever happened.

I was nothing more than a shadow, lurking in the distance and fading with the absence of his fiery light.

“I didn't know your brother lived here too,” the woman replied, seemingly surprised. “I thought you were all alone here.”

“I am.” I swallowed hard against the pain of missing my wonderful asshole of a brother. “I'm just looking after it for him.”

She lifted her chin as she acknowledged me, and for a second, I thought maybe she could see the ache glowing bright and hot beneath my skin.

“Where is he?”

---