Page 14 of Grave Intentions

"We'll make sure he understands the gravity of his actions," Mr. Wilson says, his voice dripping with barely contained fury.

My stomach twists. I know that tone—it used to precede the worst beatings. But something's different now. Mr. Wilson's hands shake as he gestures at Talon, and he keeps his distance. The memory of those bullies' broken bodies flashes through my mind.

Talon towers over our foster father, his shoulders broad, arms corded with muscle. The last time Mr. Wilson tried to hit him was over a year ago. The bruises on Mr. Wilson's ribs took weeks to fade.

Mrs. Wilson touches her husband's arm. "Richard, perhaps we should?—"

"Shut up, Margaret." He jerks away from her, but his eyes never leave Talon. There's fear there, buried under the anger. He's realized what I already know—Talon could kill him with his bare hands.

Talon stands perfectly still, but tension radiates from every line of his body. His eyes are cold, calculating, fixed on Mr. Wilson's throat. The air crackles with violence, waiting to explode.

"Let's go," Mr. Wilson barks, but he backs away first, creating distance between himself and Talon. His attempt at authority falls flat, undermined by his obvious fear.

I hold my breath, watching Talon's face. Will this be the day he snaps? The day he finally gives Mr. Wilson what he deserves? Part of me hopes he does, which terrifies me more than anything.

11

LENA

FIFTEEN YEARS OLD

One year later…

The fluorescent lights of JJ’s Grocery Store buzz overhead as Angela, Kelly, and Helen toss snacks into our cart. I trail behind them, my heart racing every time we turn down a new aisle.

“We need chips. The good ones, not those cheap knock-offs,” Kelly says, pushing her blonde hair behind her ear.

“And don’t forget ice cream.” Helen grabs a bag of M&Ms. “Movie night needs chocolate.”

I scan the store, catching glimpses of dark hair and broad shoulders stocking shelves. Talon. My stomach twists.

“Earth to Lena.” Angela waves her hand in front of my face. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Just tired.” I force a smile.

We round the corner to the chip aisle, and there he is. Talon’s muscles flex under his black t-shirt as he arranges bags on the shelves.

“Oh my God, he’s so hot,” Kelly whispers. “That’s your foster brother, right?”

I nod, unable to speak. Talon’s eyes flick our way for a fraction of a second before returning to his task. No acknowledgment. No hint of recognition. Just like every time I’ve seen him this past year. Despite aging out of the system, he rents a room from the Wilsons. God knows why considering they still treat him like shit and overcharge him for the room, which he’s rarely even in. And when he is at the house, he’s like a ghost.

“He used to be different,” I mumble.

“What do you mean?” Helen asks.

How can I explain the way he used to look at me? The electricity when our eyes met across a room? For a while now, I haven’t looked at Talon as a brother. Especially as I got older and started to have dreams about him—sinful dreams. My stomach flutters even though I know it’s wrong. We’ve grown up in the same house as kids, but I guess being in such an abusive situation has twisted me up in ways I never imagined.

“Let’s just get the chips and go.” I grab two bags of Doritos and toss them in the cart.

As we pass him, his shoulder brushes mine. The contact sends sparks through my body, but Talon doesn’t flinch. He might as well be stocking shelves next to a stranger.

“Cool Ranch? Really?” Angela examines my chip choice, oblivious to my internal turmoil. “Get the Nacho Cheese ones instead.”

I let them drag me toward the checkout, but I can’t shake the chill of Talon’s indifference. The boy who once warned me to fear him more than anyone else now acts like I don’t exist.

“Wait!” I call to my friends. “I forgot the French onion dip.”

Angela rolls her eyes. “Hurry up. We’re next in line.”

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