Page 35 of Brotan

She touches the edge of the bandage. "Thank you. For being here."

I nod, not trusting my voice. The anger from our earlier confrontation hasn't disappeared, but it's transformed into something else—a current of awareness that makes my skin hum wherever she touches me. My gaze traces the delicate line of her jaw, the curve of her neck, the way her pulse flutters visibly at her throat. She's close enough that I can see water droplets clinging to her forehead, the slight tremble in her lip. Close enough that I can't help remembering the taste of her, the sound she made when I kissed her outside Gus's cabin.

The same kiss I used to drive her away. To show her exactly what kind of monster I am.

Her hands remain gentle on mine, but there's tension in her frame, a coiled energy that mirrors my own. The rhythm of her breathing changes, becomes shallower as our eyes lock. The scent of her vanilla mixed with the lingering smoke fills my lungs with each breath.

Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and the hunger that surges through me is almost painful. The air between us thickens, charged with something electric that makes my skin prickle. I'm intensely aware of every small movement, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, the faint flush creeping up her neck.

My body shifts toward her, drawn by a pull I can't fight anymore. Her pupils dilate as I lean closer, her breath catching in a way that makes the beast inside me snarl with triumph. My uninjured hand rises of its own accord, fingers itching to touch her face, to feel if her skin is as soft as I remember.

Outside, a car door slams. Someone calls out, a neighbor drawn by the commotion. The moment shatters.

Reality crashes back. What the hell am I doing? Nothing's changed. I'm still the same damaged monster I was yesterday. Still, the worst possible thing for someone like her.

I pull back like she's burned me all over again. "Stay inside," I say, standing abruptly.

"Crow..."

"Please." The word costs me. "Lock your doors. Stay away from windows."

She hesitates, then nods.

I leave through the back door and retrieve my bike. An older woman, wearing a bathrobe, inspects the charred remains with a flashlight. She startles when she sees me.

"Is Dr. Johnson alright?" she asks.

"She's fine. Fire's out. Might want to keep an eye out, though. Call if you see anything unusual."

She nods. "Should we be worried? Was this intentional?"

I try to soften my stance to reassure her. "For now, it was just an accident. But best to play it safe."

I wait until she returns to her house before starting my bike. The pain in my hands throbs with my pulse, but it's nothing compared to the ache in my chest. I sit for a long time, staring at Maya's darkened windows, wondering what would have happened if that car door hadn't slammed.

Wondering if I would have had the strength to walk away if it hadn't.

The clubhouse is quiet when I return. I stare at my phone for a long moment before making the call I know I can't avoid. Hammer needs to know what's happening.

He answers on the second ring. "Any new developments?"

"Someone tried to torch Maya's place. Tonight."

A string of curses flows through the line. "The worksite fire wasn't enough for these bastards?"

"Apparently not."

I hear the clink of a bottle on his end. "Give me the rundown. Don't spare the details."

I give him everything—trash can wedged against her house, gasoline stench, deliberate placement. He listens, occasionally grunting in acknowledgment.

"We need to find the sons of bitches behind this," I assert.

"And we fucking will." His voice hardens. "How's the doc handling this shitstorm?"

I think of her standing in the yard with the hose, refusing to back down. "She's goddamn reckless. Takes risks no sane person would." The memory of our almost-kiss burns hotter than my hands. "Not sure she gets what she's up against here."

Hammer's rough laugh cuts through the line. "That's exactly why I dragged her ass there."

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