She hesitates in the doorway, her big brown eyes darting between each of my brothers. There's fear in her gaze, her eyes wide and uncertain, and I hate the thought that she may be scared of them.
I reach out, my hand extended toward her, offering a silent promise: You’re safe. You’re mine. Come to me.
She takes my hand immediately, and the possessive burn inside of me eases. I pull her close, pressing her to my side and wrapping an arm around her waist.
“Hello there beautiful, I’m Ryk—” Ryker greets her, a stupid grin on his face as he extends his hand and steps up to her. I lash out before he gets the chance to finish his fucking name.
My hand closes around his throat, and I slam him into the nearest wall. The impact echoes through the kitchen like a crack of thunder.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” I snarl, the sound inhuman, laced with the threat of violence. I may love my brother, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with his hands on her.
The son of a bitch is grinning like the fucking Cheshire cat, both of his hands lifting in surrender. “Easy there, King Kong,” he rasps, barely able to breathe with my grip still clamped around his throat.
From the corner of my eye, I see Wren take a step back, her eyes wide with uncertainty.
Hunter immediately walks up to her, sitting next to her legs and leaning gently against her like a weighted anchor.
Good boy.
Wren crouches down, her delicate hands brushing through Hunter’s fur, seeking comfort in the softness of his thick sable coat.
I turn my gaze back to Ryker as Torin steps in. One of his scarred hands settles on my shoulder, the other on my arm, applying slow, firm pressure to pull me back from the edge.
“You just have to push his buttons, don’t you?” Torin’s voice is tight with irritation.
“Just—” Ryker coughs, struggling to breathe, “—being friendly.”
I release him with a shove, leveling him with a cold stare before turning away and walking back to Wren. She’s still crouched beside Hunter, petting him like he’s her new best friend.
I reach down and scratch behind his ears, then take Wren’s hand in mine. The second our fingers lace, that feral tension in my chest loosens.
“I see you’ve met Hunter.” I smile at her, nodding towards the handsome guy sitting between us. “The best boy in the whole damn world.”
She smiles up at me. “He’s amazing. I love dogs so much, and he’s so soft… and so handsome.”
Hunter wags his tail, recognizing the wordhandsome, since we use it with him so often. He looks up at Wren like she hung the moon, and my heart beats a little faster.
“And these are my foster brothers,” I say, jerking my chin toward the others. My eyes catch Ryker’s, and I give him a silent warning.
He smirks, the cocky bastard. The urge to backhand him just for fun is hard to ignore.
“I’m Torin.” He introduces himself first, running a heavily scarred hand through his brown hair. He’s never been comfortable meeting new people, because they tend to ask him questions about the scars all over his body.
Our sociopathic foster mother used him like a fucking ashtray. His hands are mottled by cigarette burns, but his back is the worst. There are layers upon layers of deep scars, courtesy of our foster father, who beat him with whatever cruel object he could come up with while in a drunken rage.
He’s the only one of us that never got any tattoos.
Wren just smiles at him like she doesn’t see any of it. Like the scars don’t even register. Her kindness punches through my ribs, straight to the heart.
Old, pale scars are scattered all over his face and neck… I’m not sure there is any part of his body they didn’t ruin. He’s covered in scar tissue.
“My name’s Ghost.” Our ridiculously intelligent hacker introduces himself next, nodding once. His shaggy black hair falls over his forehead, brushing dangerously close to those pale blue eyes.
His ink is thousands of dollars worth of devotion; a story written in circuitry, code, geometric patterns and an assortment of moths.
“His real name is W—”
Ghost smacks Ryker across the back of the head before he can finish. Ryker has the audacity to laugh.