Page 6 of Riot

I spread mayo on bread, stacked turkey and cheese, cut the sandwich in half. My hands were steady. At least I had that going for me.

Miguel tipped the bottle toward me. “You seeing anybody?”

There it was.

The conversation he’d been steering toward since following me into the kitchen. His compliments, wrapped in that low voice, his inquisitiveness, and his focused attention had all been leading to that single question.

I grabbed the sandwich and put it on the plate. “Why?”

“Just asking.”

“Don’t.”

His brows lifted. “Don’t what?”

“Ask.” My limit had been reached, and it made my brain forget to keep my mouth shut. Miguel was that quiet kind of danger, but I was so pissed Ramos was back. He was already flipping my life on its ear.

He hadn’t been this way when our father was alive. Ramos had been an ordinary kid with an ordinary life. Until an impatient driver in a pickup thought the shoulder would get him around traffic. Dad had gotten out to grab something from the back while no one was moving. Witnesses said he never saw the truck coming.

Now, Ramos did what Ramos wanted, as if a leash had been removed from around his neck.

For a second, Miguel just watched me, like he’d been doing since I’d walked through the door. Then he took another drink. “Touchy.”

I opened the fridge again and took out the container of potato salad I’d made a few nights ago.

Better eat it before Ramos inhaled that too. I scooped some onto the plate, replaced the lid, then licked the spoon. Still delicious.

Miguel still hadn’t moved.

Jesus Christ.

I grabbed a fork from the drawer. “Didn’t Ramos beckon you?”

Oscar shouted something explicit at the television, which made Miguel huff a quiet laugh. I wanted to break dishes until all three ran from the house like I was crazy. Unfortunately, I wasn’t destructive. Also, the thought of breaking a dish my father used to eat from made my entire body clench.

“Thought I was hanging out.”

“With me, in here? Why? I’m the most boring person ever. Ramos and Oscar are way better company than me.” I didn’t think I was boring, but if that kept the crazy away, consider me drying paint.

Finally, I looked at him, just long enough to make my point. Big mistake. A spark flared in his eyes that chilled me. Slowly, realization dawned on me.

I was no longer a gangly teen, which meant I was officially on his radar.

Fuck. My gaze lowered to the sandwich I no longer wanted.

He pushed off the counter at last, moving with a little swagger to impress me, maybe. I wasn’t impressed. I wanted out of the kitchen.

“Relax, Calvin.” His mouth twitched.

I hated it when he said my name. He always made it sound filthy in a sexual way.

“I am relaxed.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He reached past me again, this time for the pack of cigarettes on the table. His hand brushed the counter near mine. I took a step back, uncaring how that made me look.

He noticed. Of course, he did. This was a sick game that only he knew the rules to.

Something smug flickered in his expression. I wanted him out. Wanted all of them out. Wanted my house back.