The Fire We Started | Wildfire Series Book 2

THIRTY-NINE

Brodie's retort was on the tip of his tongue, but I interrupted. "Ya know, I saw your friend Quinton do that to Madie once. He pulled on her hoodie and choked her."

Brodie's mouth snapped shut, but his hard stare didn't waver. Not that I really expected it to. So I kept going.

"But I heard that you told her she was making shit up about what he did to her."

His attention shifted away. "Yeah, well—"

"I don't fucking like that."

Icy blue eyes flew back to mine. "I don't give a shit what you like."

His voice echoed in the entryway of the athletic complex. Huge glass windows stretched two stories upward, and our words were bouncing off of them. The football team was quiet, watching on without any intention of intervening.

"You should," I said, soft enough that only the two of us would be able to hear. This wasn't between anyone but Brodie Thompson and me.

His brows drew together. "Why?"

I tilted my head to the side. "You know why Quinton is in jail?" I asked lowly.

"Because your bitch of a girlfriend—"

"I swear if you—" I bit my tongue. It was hard enough that the metallic taste of blood filled my senses. Blood. Spilling, seeping blood. "No," I spat out instead of what I'd been about to say. "He's in jail because he shot me."

That got a reaction out of Brodie. He drew back a little, his eyes furrowing into a deeper v.

"So I'm a little more prepared now," I explained with a cold smirk. I slipped my hand back into my pocket to emphasize the point, drawing my tux jacket back with it.

It had the effect that I was going for; Brodie's eyes flicked down to my visible gun before rising back to meet my unwavering gaze. Without hesitation, I stepped toward him, leaning in.

"Do you know what it's like to think you're going to die?" I asked quietly, unable to keep the menace out of my voice. I was barely holding it together. I wasn't bleeding, dying by gunshot. But hell, I was dying to give this guy what he deserved. I was dying to make every asshole like him pay, including my dad. Quinton. Fucking all of them.

"Do you?" I asked again when he didn't answer. Brodie's steely stare wandered over my face, but he seemed to be out of words.

So I continued.

"Do you know what it's like to watch someone die? To see life literally fade? It happens in the eyes," I said, tapping the corner of my eye with one finger. "They're bright for a moment, the neurons in the brain still firing off. You don't need a fucking EKG to see the electrical impulses in the heart as it fights to live. It's all in the eyes. And then...they turn flat. An unmoving line."

Brodie was squinting at me now, taking me in with odd fascination. "You have?" he asked. "Watched someone die?"

"Yes."

His expression sprung into disbelief as he peered down at my gun once more. "You expect me to believe that you—"

"My dad killed my mom in front of me. So no," I cut him off harshly. I hadn't killed anyone. Not yet, anyway. "And I'd like to keep it that way. So don't touch Madie. Don't go near Madie. Don't even think about Madie. Because I really never want to see your face again. Got it?"

Brodie's mouth twisted. His eyes glazed over as he stumbled back from me. It was a stronger reaction than I'd been expecting, and I frowned, even as Brodie nodded. It was done absentmindedly—as if he was in a daze.