I probably shouldn’t have gone anywhere with Grayson Hawthorne, but I knew that Oren would follow, and I wanted something from Grayson. I wanted to look him in the eye. I wanted to know if he’d done this to me—or had any idea who had.
“You’re injured.” Grayson didn’t phrase that as a question. “You will tell me what happened.”
“Oh, I will, will I?” I gave him a look.
“Please.” Grayson seemed to find the word painful or distasteful—or both.
I owed him nothing. Oren had asked me not to mention the shooting. The last time I’d talked to Grayson, he’d issued a terse warning. He stood to gain the foundation if I died.
“I was shot.” I let the truth out because for reasons I couldn’t even explain, I needed to see how he would react. “Shot at,” I clarified after a beat.
Every muscle in Grayson’s jawline went taut. He didn’t know. Before I could summon up even an ounce of relief, Grayson turned from me to my guard. “When?” he spat out.
“Last night,” Oren replied curtly.
“And where,” Grayson demanded of my bodyguard, “were you?”
“Not nearly as close as I’ll be from now on,” Oren promised, staring him down.
“Remember me?” I raised a hand, then paid for it. “Subject of your conversation and capable individual in her own right?”
Grayson must have seen the pain the movement caused me, because he turned and used his hands to gently lower mine. “You’ll let Oren do his job,” he ordered softly.
I didn’t dwell on his tone—or his touch. “And who do you think he’s protecting me from?” I glanced pointedly toward the banquet hall. I waited for Grayson to snap at me for daring to suspect anyone he loved, to reiterate again that he would choose each and every one of them over me.
Instead, Grayson turned back to Oren. “If anything happens to her, I will hold you personally responsible.”
“Mr. Personal Responsibility.” Jameson announced his presence and ambled toward his brother. “Charming.”
Grayson gritted his teeth, then realized something. “You were both in the Black Wood last night.” He stared at his brother. “Whoever shot at her could have hit you.”
“And what a travesty it would be,” Jameson replied, circling his brother, “if anything happened to me.”
The tension between them was palpable. Explosive. I could see how this would play out—Grayson calling Jameson reckless, Jameson risking himself further to prove the point. How long would it be before Jameson mentioned me? The kiss.
“Hope I’m not interrupting.” Nash joined the party. He flashed a lazy, dangerous smile at his brothers. “Jamie, you’re not skipping school today. You have five minutes to put on your uniform and get in my truck, or there will be a hog-tying in your future.” He waited for Jameson to get a move on, then turned. “Gray, our mother has requested an audience.”
Having dealt with his siblings, the oldest Hawthorne brother shifted his attention to me. “I don’t suppose you need a ride to Country Day?”
“She does not,” Oren replied, arms crossed over his chest. Nash noted both his posture and his tone, but before he could reply, I interjected.
“I’m not going to school.” That was news to Oren, but he didn’t object.
Nash, on the other hand, shot me the exact same look he’d given Jameson when he’d made the threat about hog-tying. “Your sister know you’re playing hooky on this fine Friday afternoon?”
“My sister is none of your concern,” I told him, but thinking about Libby brought my mind back to Drake’s texts. There were worse things than the idea that Libby might get involved with a Hawthorne. Assuming Nash doesn’t want me dead.
“Everyone who lives or works in this house is my concern,” Nash told me. “No matter how many times I leave or how long I’m gone for—people still need looking after. So…” He gave me that same lazy grin. “Your sister know you’re playing hooky?”
“I’ll talk to her,” I said, trying to see past the cowboy in him to what lay underneath.
Nash returned my assessing look. “You do that, sweetheart.”
