Page 67 of Bend

The second the accusation leaves my mouth, I know I’ve crossed a line. I see it in her face.

It’s not dramatic, she just tenses, and her eyes empty in a way I don’t like.

“Is that really what you think of me?” she asks.

Her tone is quiet, which somehow makes it worse.

I don’t answer right away, because the truth is uglier than I want it to be. I don’t know what I think of her. That’s the fucking problem. If I thought she was harmless, this wouldn’t be bothering me. But she’s anything from harmless. I knew that the moment I kissed her that night. The fucking second our bodies touched I knew she was dangerous because I knew I wanted more.

That I needed more.

“I think my team comes first, and right now, you’re stirring shit up among us.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No, but it’s the answer you’re getting.”

She looks at me for a long moment, and there’s hurt there now under the anger. I wish I didn’t notice. I wish it didn’t affect me.

“It must be nice,” she says finally, “to live in a world where everything is that simple.”

“It’s not simple.”

“Looks simple from here. Protect the team. Don’t trust anyone. Assume the worst. Very fucking efficient, Draygon.”

My mouth pulls into something that isn’t quite a smile. “It is. Why do you think we’re as close as we are? We’re a family because we protect each other.”

The words are barely out before they hit me sideways.

Family.

Talon and Sayshen.

Her family.

Her only fucking family, as far as I know.

And just like that, something in my own argument shifts shape. Because of course she’d want in. Of course she’d want to be near them, near this place, the people they trust and the world they move through. Not because she’s calculating, or trying to sink her claws into anything. Because she’s standing on the outside of the only family she’s got, trying to figure out how the hell to get close without getting cut to ribbons.

Fuck. I’ve been standing here acting like that instinct alone makes her dangerous.

Something flickers over her face. Maybe she sees the exact second it clicks for me. Maybe I’m just projecting because I suddenly feel like a dick.

“I’m not trying to hurt your team,” she says.

You mean your brothers, too.

I rub a hand over the back of my neck, suddenly restless in my own skin. The lot feels different now. Same cracked concrete. Same rusted fence. Same city air. But the conversation has shifted somewhere I’m not equipped for, and I hate being unprepared.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I say.

The words come out rough, low.

Her eyes flick to mine, and I get the sense she wasn’t expecting that. I don’t blame her. I’m not exactly known for tenderness.

She shrugs, but it’s brittle. “Me too.”

Then she lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “You really are exactly the kind of man I thought you’d be. Sometimes.”