Page 47 of Drift
The door clicked shut behind us, muting the crash of waves outside. The house felt smaller now—quiet except for the uneven rhythm of Alanna’s pacing across the hardwood floor. Her bare feet made soft sounds against the boards, her hands twisting together as she moved from window to window like she could outrun the tension still hanging in the air.
When she turned and saw me, her eyes widened. “Chance!”
She rushed across the room before I could even take another step. Her palms skimmed my jaw, tracing the bruise forming across my cheekbone. The worry in her face hit harder than Jax’s fist had.
I caught her wrist lightly, but she was already glaring over her shoulder at her brother. “You hurt him, you jerk!”
Jax blinked, clearly not expecting that. His shoulders snapped back a little, eyes narrowing as his mouth opened in disbelief.
I couldn’t help it—a low snort escaped me. The sound came out dry, laced with dark humor. Like hell he’d hurt me.
Jax’s mouth twisted into something dangerously close to a pout. “You don’t even care that he tried to beat the shit out of me? Your only brother?”
Alanna spun on him, her eyes blazing and her chin tipped up. “You’re acting like a spoiled child.”
For half a heartbeat, the room went dead quiet. Then Jax’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. It was that thin, bitter curve he wore when he’d been pushed too far.
“Right.” His voice was low and dripping with sarcasm. “Sorry for not throwing a welcome party for the guy who’s screwing my sister.”
Alanna’s breath caught, her eyes flashing and color flooding her cheeks. I didn’t give her the chance to answer. The sound that came from my throat was guttural—more instinct than thought. The kind of growl that made rooms go still. My body moved before my brain caught up, shoulders squared, fists curling at my sides. Jax’s gaze snapped toward me, meeting mine with that same stubborn fire, neither of us backing down. And for a split second, we were right back on that beach, one wrong word away from round two.
The air thickened, heavy enough to choke on.
Before either of us could take that next step, Kane’s voice sliced through it—calm and cold—the kind of tone that made men shut the hell up. “That’s done. We’ve got bigger shit to deal with. You can work this out once Alanna’s not in the crosshairs.”
The silence that followed wasn’t peace—it was a ceasefire.
Then the air shifted—still charged, but cooling. Jax’s jaw flexed as he looked away, the fire in his eyes dimming to embers.I forced a slow exhale, every muscle still tight, but the message had landed.
For now, we’d all focus on what mattered most—keeping her safe.
18
ALANNA
Relief flooded through me as Chance guided me to the couch, his palm warm against the small of my back. With his split lip and red knuckles, he looked rough, but his touch was careful. I hated that he’d let Jaxton hit him and hadn’t even swung back right away. Not that I wanted my brother to get hurt, but it hadn’t been a fair fight when Chance had practically tied his own hands behind his back from the start.
He pulled a blanket over me, and I curled against his side, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady under my cheek. Outside, the ocean crashed in slow, even pulses, the sound threading through the uneasy quiet that hung between all of us.
“You shouldn’t have let him do that,” I whispered, tracing his knuckles with my finger.
Jaxton was near the window, but he must’ve heard me anyway because he scoffed.
Kane pushed away from the wall, his voice threaded with authority. “Let it go, boys. You’re bruised egos can wait.”
Chance exhaled slowly before lifting me onto his lap. Then his lips brushed my forehead.
“Tell her, Jax,” Kane ordered.
My brother hesitated. For a moment, he just stared at me. Then he exhaled through his nose.
“Your apartment was broken into. Completely trashed.”
The words hit hard. My breath caught, and everything inside me went cold. “What?”
Chance went rigid beside me. His whole body tensed, muscles coiling like he was seconds away from launching himself out the door.
Kane’s steady voice cut through the rising tension. “No proof it was him yet. Acting without it just tips our hand.”
