Page 57 of Splintered Desire

These guys shouldn’t be allowed to look this good. It’s a fucking trap, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s a damn good one.

Jace peeled out of here, pushing his bike to the fucking limit before we so much as had a chance to talk about what to do with our current situation.

It’s well enough; if he hadn’t gone to get her, Kol would have, and though he would have claimed it wasn’t for the same reason, he’d be lying.

Kol can hide and lie and curse her, but I see through him; I always have. You don’t grow up with someone, dependent on them to survive through the abuse of life and our father, to have a bond like ours and not learn them inside and out.

Honestly, some days I’m pretty sure I know my brothers better than I do myself.

That’s the only way to explain why I almost blew everything apart at the seams yesterday.

I’d been so close. The urge to fuck her right there in that changing room was so overwhelming, but more than that, I wanted to taste her. To press my lips to hers and have her melt against me.

Would she?

We might never know now, and that’s probably for the best, but I’ve never wanted anything more than I’d wanted to kiss her in that moment.

Disgusting.

“I want to know who he is,” Kol snaps, turning his phone my way to show me a picture of a guy. I don’t need to ask to know that’s who Zela is with; if his piss-poor attitude wasn’t enough to clue me in on the fact that she’s partially in the shot.

Nobody should be attractive with the way she dresses.

That’s the whole fucking point, yet I can’t stop the way my eyes eat up even that little glimpse of her.

I’d attempted to convince myself that this is our job. That as her ‘brothers,’ we’re supposed to look out for her and keep her away from boys that will hurt her. So why am I so eager to hold her close, knowing the three of us are probably the worst thing that will ever happen to her?

“Send it over,” I tell him, pulling my phone from my pocket just as it vibrates with his message.

It doesn’t take long. While Kolson paces like a caged animal, muttering and mumbling, I toss the photo into one of the many facial recognition programs I have, and his information pops up in just a few moments.

“Josh Williams, twenty years old, freshman in two of Zela’s classes,” I read aloud for him, and he freezes to listen.

“What the fuck could she possibly see in him?” he snaps before he’s once again pacing.

“Maybe a friend to study with?” I suggest, even knowing that’s not at all what it is.

Well, probably not, at least not with the look in his eyes as he no doubt looks at her. The picture is a candid one that someone probably snapped for Kolson and sent his way in a hurry, but there’s no denying that the look in his eyes isn’t just one of friendship.

I should know. It’s the same one Jace has had ever since she stabbed him, only less unhinged, more mushy.

The glare Kolson shoots my way lets me know he doesn’t believe me either.

The roar of Jace’s motorcycle interrupts whatever it was he planned to say, and without a word we’re moving. We make it down to the living room just as Jace all but drags her in, damn near kicking and screaming.

“Get the fuck off me,” she growls, shoving at his chest. Jace doesn’t seem the least bit put off; instead, he looks like the cat who got the cream.

He stops in front of us, swinging Zela around so that she stands between the three of us. Jace at her back, and Kolson and I in front of her.

Kolson moves in a flash, his hand snapping out to grip her face, tilting her head back until she has no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You're a DuPont now. You can’t just go slumming it up with whoever you want anymore,” he hisses, his lip pulling back as if just the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

“I’m not a DuPont, I’ll never be a DuPont, and I’ll slum it with whoever. The fuck. I. Want.” Her eyes blaze as she holds his gaze, as if daring him to say otherwise. And if he doesn’t, I will.

“Wait,” Jace says, tugging her back a step, replacing Kolson's hand with his own to tilt her head so far up that it rests on his chest as she looks up at him. It doesn’t look comfortable, yet she shows no signs of discomfort. Though that might just be because she’s stubborn.

“You’ve slept with him?”