Page 129 of Wrath

I squeeze his hand. “Confession time?” His eyes flicker to mine, his mouth curving slightly in a way that makes me want to bite it. I say, “Me too.”

Miller grins. “Maybe we should try it again. Just for practice. I’ll go first.” He looks into my eyes. Then he squeezes my hand again. “I love you.”

I rasp, “I love you, DG.”

“I love you more,” he says.

“Well…you can’t.” Igive him a big smirk that’s fighting to become a grin. “Because I love you more.”

I’m hard for him. The biscuit’s warm against my abs, and my heart’s beating too fast. Miller folds my hand between his and kisses each one of my fingertips.

“I want you,” he whispers, sucking on one.

It makes me groan, so he stops, grinning wickedly.

“I can pull over,” I whisper.

“Not yet.”

He won’t tell me where we’re going—he just tells me when to turn—but I catch on as we roll into the cul-de-sac of a little side street near the red dirt cliffs that overlook the lake. Out in front of us, behind a rickety old gate, is an orchard. Lots of huge trees—maybe pecan?—all spaced evenly. They roll on for a few acres.

“Stop in front of the gate,” he tells me, and when I do, he gets out to open the thing. It’s not locked. I know that firsthand. He swings the gate open and motions for me to drive on in. I do, and he shuts the gate and ducks back into the car.

“You’ll drive on down this little dirt road. You see the house?”

I can feel his eyes on my face, and I wonder when he’ll realize this is where I parked my Jeep the day we met. I nod, because I can see the old house from here. “Yeah, what is this place?” I ask him.

“The old Isabella mansion. A man built it for a woman named Isabella back in the 1800s. It’s been almost fifty years since someone lived here, so it’s gotten more and more run down. You’re supposed to keep away unless you have a key to the gate from the historical society. There’s a cemetery back here that they hand it out for—you know, so tourists can see. But they leave the gate open most of the time.” He shrugs.

The house looks like a red-brick dollhouse. It’s two stories with a dark roof, lots of iron accents, and atower up top that’s got a little roof shaped like a witch’s hat. The building’s on the verge of being more ruin than house, with boards missing near the roofline and big chunks of the shingles gone.

Still holding my hand, DG waves right. “I know the pebble path goes left, but veer to the right into this grass so no one sees my car from the road. Doesn’t matter about trespassing—my mom’s friend is in charge of the keys to this place—but just…you know. Common sense and all that.”

Yes. Because Miller is my stepbrother, and once we’re out of the car, odds are good I’ll end up with my arms around him.

My heart races a little, wondering again when he’ll realize that I parked here to access the trestle bridge the day I moved here. But I try to stay in the moment. I’ve realized I’m pretty shitty at it, but I’m trying more—for Miller. So he won’t have to spend time with a zombie who’s always stuck in a loop in his own mind.

Mills tilts his head at me, like he can hear me thinking. Then he’s unwrapping his biscuit, and I’m doing the same.

“Fuck. This tastes like heaven,” I say, between chewing.

He grins. “I know.”

I polish off a few bites and turn my wide eyes on him. “Why’s it so good, dude?”

“I don’t know. Some magic shit.”

It feels good to be full—yet another thing I’m working on.

“Whatchu thinking?” Miller murmurs, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

I shift my gaze to his. “You.”

His cheeks color. He gives me a goofy smile. “What about me?” He looks so shy right now.

I reach out and cup his jaw. “Just you.” I rub a finger over his brow. “Blue eyes.”

He shuts them, and I lean over, kissing his eyelid.

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