Page 75 of The Butcher

Even with a mask covering half of his face, seeing him in the light of the shop, he’s beautiful. In a menacing kind of way, but he is. I don’t need to see more of him to know that, as I only needed one more face-to-face to know Bram is mine.

All three of them are mine, and what I just saw pass over his expression confirms that he feels it, too.

My gaze drops as the fingers on Bramley’s left hand twitch, flexing all the way before he balls his hand into a fist at his side. Right above the dustpan sitting on the floor at his feet.

Why is he behaving this way?

Clearly, he knew the dustpan was there, all he had to do was bend down and pick it up, or hell, he could have just pointed, but he couldn’t even let himself do that. The same way he isn’t letting himself have anything to do with me. And that pisses me off.

Fine.

“May I have that, please?”

His brow furrows, and he stares for a few beats, but the alpha says nothing.

I’m not sure what outcome the only other men in my life were hoping for by doing this, but Bram doesn’t really strike me as someone who’s into chatting about the few topics I’m familiar with, nor is he going to go on sharing stories about his childhood. How the two of us are going to get to know each other in any capacity, or the big beast is going to miraculously warm up to me, I have no idea.

“The dustpan right next to your big ass boot. May I have it?”

Bramley’s left eyebrow lifts, but still, he says nothing.

I’m starting to see why Nash is always so annoyed by this big oaf.

“Fine,” I grunt as I lean the broom against the counter and take a few steps toward him. “You had plenty of words for me the other night, but you can’t say shit to me now.”

Bending to pick up the cleaning supply, I flinch when Bramley’s big ass boot sends it skidding across the floor toward the complete opposite side of the room, then shoot to my feet and scowl in his face.

Well, I scowl into his chest, but still.

“Was that necessary?”

Both brows raise as he takes one step toward me, something clearly meant to intimidate me, but I don’t back down. I’ve never stood up for myself before, never even had the chance, really, and something about Bram is making me not only want to do that, but smack him around a little bit in the process.

He’s mine, he knows he’s mine just like I know I’m his, and he still insists on acting like an ass.

“Mona was right,” I huff as I turn and make my way to the dustpan. “You are acting like a big baby.”

“Excuse the fuck out of me?”

That got his attention.

“Ever since I’ve been here, she’s talked about you like you shit gold or something.” Well, that’s new for me. Can’t say I’ve ever talked like this to anyone before. “Except when it comes to me. Mona said you’re acting like a baby, and I can absolutely see it.” I bend to grab the dustpan but don’t get the chance.

Instead, I’m spun around and shoved against the wall, Bram staring down at me through narrowed eyes, both of my wrists pinned above my head in one huge hand while the other points a finger in my face.

“Leave Nan out of this.”

I roll my eyes and scoff. “Why? Because she’s right, and you don’t want to hear it?”

He steps a little closer as my heart starts to pound against my ribs. “Because she’s my grandmother, and I said to leave her out of it.”

“Out of what, exactly?” I wiggle around, trying to loosen his hold so I can stand taller, but it’s no use. He isn’t hurting me, but I couldn’t get Bramley to let go of me without taking a cheap shot, and I won’t do that to him.

Even if a part of me wants to.

Bram continues to stare, his chest heaving, my breaths matching his without even trying. He’s angry, not any more than normal since I think this man has been walking around in a perpetual state of pissed off for a long time, but there’s something else there. Something fueling the way he keeps staring at me as if I’m some intricate puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

Curiosity? Intrigue, maybe?

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