Page 536 of Rage

Nobody had called me on my shit in months. It had been almost a year since Oz disappeared, and the reminder of my oldest brother’s take no shit attitude was just too much.

I broke down, the first time I’d cried since Mama’s funeral, and after a while, Liam wrapped one arm awkwardly around my shoulders. It wasn’t a hug, but it was more than I’d had in what felt like an eternity to my eleven-year-old self.

He said nothing else, and I was okay with that. I don’t know if I would have fallen in love with him so completely if he had.

Instead, I wiped my tears, slipped from under his arm, whispered, “Thank you,” and sprinted back to my room, likely leaving wet footprints the whole damn way.

From then on, I was smitten. Every time Liam came around, I’d spy on him, never where he could catch me, but always watching. The way he only laughed when it was really earned, usually at some crazy thing Xander said or did. The way his eyes would cloud every time he looked at the pool or when Eddie brought up his dad. And his routine of sneaking out back with a bottle of something expensive, needing a break from even his best friends.

Eventually, the boys graduated high school, and Liam came around less. Eddie moved out after college, I got my first boyfriend at sixteen, and that was that. Crush gone.

It’s been six years since I last saw Liam O’Connell and Xander Liu. A lot can change in that time.

I know I did. At twenty-two, I’m nothing like the girl they remember.

I’m tougher. I can take care of myself in ways they couldn’t guess, and there’s a good chance I’ve got as much blood on my hands as they do, if not more.

Now when I go for a swim, I do it like a normal person, stroking across the top of the water or lounging on floaties in a bikini with a drink and my friends.

The trunk flies open, snapping me out of my memories. Not surprising me at all, the lumpy shadow of Liam flings himself at whoever is waiting. The unmistakable sound of a scuffle makes it into the trunk as Xander twists and wiggles to the edge, making space for me to follow.

Then, the crack of gunfire rings out, and Xander freezes, his bound hands raised in awkward supplication, half out of the trunk.

“Is Liam down?” I yelp, terror whooshing to my toes.

I might not like what I’ve heard from him so far, but I have zero desire for the guy to die.

“Shot, not fatally,” Xander answers, all business, his feet trying to push me farther back into the trunk to safety. “Let me tend to him,” he says to whoever is out there.

“Out, but no helping him,” the familiar voice of Pinky directs, and moving slowly, not spooking the gun toting bad guy, Xander rolls out of the trunk, landing without much grace on the ground. “Cartel, you tend to him,” Pinky says.

I’ve never been straight up called by my family’s business before, and the casual drop verifies what I’ve feared. They knowexactlywho I am.

I scoot to the edge, taking a moment to evaluate my surroundings. Gray scrubby plants and rocks descending into nothingness as the mountain falls away from the plateau we’re parked on. The lights of LA are not visible on the horizon.

Nowhere near home.

Xander squirms over to Liam and presses on the bullet hole, despite the guard’s orders. Liam glares at Pinky, begging for a fight even as blood soaks through his designer jeans below his knee.

Not fatal, but he’s not making his escape by foot anytime soon.

Choosing expediency over grace, I fling myself from the trunk, landing with a grunt, then drag myself by my elbows to Liam’s damaged leg. “Any first aid supplies?” I ask Pinky. He doesn’t even swing the gun toward me, focused on the guys instead.

I work best when I’m underestimated, so I’m not going to complain about the lack of respect.

The guard nods at my dress. “You’ve got more than enough bandages there.”

“Have you ever tried to tear silk? It’s the strongest fabric out there.”

He just glares, so I flip up the ridiculous skirt and start yanking the underskirt loose. It’s tulle-free where it touches my thighs—some silky synthetic that stands a better chance of removal. Not that it’ll do much to absorb the blood. Luckily, Xander figures that out without me saying anything and strips off his burgundy T-shirt, tearing it apart so he can jam it against the wound.

If we were in a less dire situation, I’d take more than a moment to admire the grown-up version of Xander Liu that’s across from me.

Because, yum.

A gunshot wound takes precedence, though, so I force myself to focus.

It takes long enough for me to yank the tulle off that I’m wondering if they’d prefer Liam bleed out over my helping him, but eventually, I get the dang thing free. Xander works with me to tie it tight, his dark eyes serious, each of us one-half of a functioning set of arms as we squeeze the fabric between Liam’s bound legs. Damn zip-ties.

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