Page 62 of Rebel Revenge

By the time we got back to my flashy new house in Providence though, Fang had me worried. He’d taken the last two corners unusually slowly, and by the time we stopped in front of the house, and I got off to say goodbye to him, his eyes were unfocused.

I peered at him in the darkness, his face barely lit by the automatic porch light. “Get off.”

He blinked, albeit slower than usual. “What?”

“Get off. I can’t believe I just let you drive me home. Do you have a concussion?”

He shook his head. “No.” But there was a wince in his voice.

“Can you shake your head like that again?”

“I’d really rather not.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Off. You’re not going back to the clubhouse. I’m not gonna be the one responsible for you riding your bike off the bluff road because you got too dizzy to see.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got a big-ass bed in there, just waiting to snuggle in.” I knew it was the one thing that would get him to stay.

He looked up. “You want to snuggle? You, Rebel Pixie Kemp?”

I shoved my hands on my hips. “That’s not my middle name, you know. And I snuggle!”

He chuckled on a laugh. “About as much as snakes do. But hold your tits, I’m coming. Just give me a minute for the world to stop spinning.”

Kian pulled up in the driveway a moment later and wandered over. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Fang snapped.

I rolled my eyes. “Quit being a dog pissing on your territory. Kian isn’t trying to hump my leg; he’s allowed to ask what’s going on when we’re blocking the doorway to his house.” I turned to Kian. “I think he’s got a concussion.”

Kian peered at him and held up one finger. “Can you follow this?” He moved his finger to the left an inch.

Fang glared at him, making no effort to perform the simple task. “Can you follow this?” He flipped him the bird and waved it around in his face.

Kian laughed, but I huffed out a sigh of impatience.

“Just do it, Fang.”

Fang nodded at Kian. “Fine. Do it again.”

Kian held his finger up, moving it side to side.

“What’s the prognosis, Doc?” Fang scrubbed a hand wearily over his face. “Is my brain any more fucked up than its usual messy state?”

Kian shrugged. “Fuck if I’d know. I don’t even know what I’m doing, but it’s what my coaches used to do to me. You can follow my finger, so I’m assuming if your brain is fucked up, it’s probably just your usual state of being.”

“I want him to stay here tonight. So I can keep an eye on him.”

Kian nodded. “Probably a good idea. No sex though.”

I frowned. “Did your coaches tell you that too?”

“No, but I’m right next door and I don’t want to hear, ‘Oh Fang! You’re so big! Fuck me, Daddy!’ all night.”

Fang’s mouth flickered in amusement, and I widened my eyes at him more than Kian’s overly girly and way-off-base impersonation of me. It was unusual for Fang to be anything other than a monosyllabic grump.

But I couldn’t let the comment pass without addressing it. I leaned on the wall, crossing my arms beneath my tits, and grinned at Kian. “Why? Jealous?”

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