Page 73 of The Players We Hate
I stopped at the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. Behind me, he didn’t move, heavy and unshakable.
“Because in my world,” I added, quieter now but sharper, “you never did.”
Then I walked out, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. If Talon wanted a fight, he had one. And while I was walking away this time, I wasn’t the one backing down.
Chapter Twenty-One
Talon
I stayed rooted in place, watching her vanish into the dark, as if she hadn’t just knocked the ground out from under me.
She tried to act like she was unaffected by everything, but I wasn’t buying it. If she really didn’t see me, she wouldn’t keep finding ways to crawl under my skin, wouldn’t keep pulling me in, no matter how hard I tried to push back. And I wasn’t about to let her walk away again. Not without answers.
I shoved off the post and went after her, gravel crunching under my boots as the barn noise dulled behind me. She wasn’t hard to find—pacing by the cars, arms crossed tight, jaw set like she was ready to go another round.
Good. So was I.
She whipped around at the sound of my steps, shoulders snapping straight.
“Are you kidding me? You’re following me now?”
“You bailed mid-conversation, dodged my question. Looked a lot like running.” I kept walking, closing the space one step at a time. “So yeah, I followed.”
“I needed air.”
“Don’t feed me that BS. You’ve been circling something, and I want the truth.”
Her eyes cut into me. “And you think I owe you answers?”
“I think you’re in over your head.” My voice dropped. “And I need to know what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.”
She crossed her arms, chin tilting up. “So you corner me at a party to play interrogator? Real subtle.”
“I don’t care how it looks,” I shot back. “I’ve watched you slip around, asking questions, showing up where you shouldn’t. And every time, I’m left wondering what the hell you’re chasing.”
Her nostrils flared, but she didn’t move when I stepped in, pressing her against the cold side of Kade’s truck. The barn lights hit her face just enough to catch the sharp set of her mouth and the tremor in her breathing.
“You don’t affect me,” she said quickly, like she wanted to get ahead of me.
Her voice cracked, giving her away.
“Then why do you look like you’re one step from running?” I asked, breath brushing close.
“I’m not.”
My gaze dipped to her mouth, then dragged up slow enough that I caught the shiver she tried to hide.
“Liar.”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “You’re full of yourself.”
“No,” I said evenly. “I just know what it looks like when someone’s pretending. And you’ve been pretending a lot lately.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off.
“What are you caught up in, Wren? What aren’t you telling me? What the hell’s going on?”
“I’m not—”
