“They’re just excited it put LDZ in the lead.” Killian glares at another passing group of guys over his shoulder. “But if those Beta Rho fuckers don’t stop looking at your ass, I’m going to stab their eyes out.”
I touch his lower back, fingertips idly pressing into the skin above his waistband. His jealousy streak seems worse lately, but I know my stepbrother now. A few soft touches can settle him, if I place them just right.
We’re almost to the truck, chatting about a party the Barons are throwing over the weekend, when Killian freezes. I almost run into his back, but Dimitri stops me, pulling me up short.
“No fucking way,” Killian says, voice low and tight. “No fucking way he’s here right now.”
It isn’t until he begins marching forward that I see it: a man leaning casually against his truck, arms crossed, face tipped up toward the afternoon sun.
Nick.
When Killian reaches him, he takes a fistful of his shirt and jerks him upright, hissing, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Nick’s eyes flick down to Killian’s hand, but he looks distinctly unimpressed. “Obviously, I came to see you and yours.”
“Here?!” Killian’s narrow eyes ping around the parking lot. “You can’t be here, motherfucker. You stick out like a sore thumb!” He flicks the tattoo inked into Nick’s temple, but Nick shrugs him off.
“Where else am I supposed to catch you?” His eyes find Dimitri, and then Tristian. “You never reply to texts during class. No one ever answers at your house, and you stopped coming to South Side when you buried a bullet into your old man. Turns out, hiding under a rock like a giant pussy kind of makes it hard to conduct business.”
Killian plants his fist into Nick’s shoulder, knocking him back into his truck’s door. “No one here needs your commentary on shit you know nothing about.” They stare at each other down in that way guys always do—the one that looks like they’re about to kiss. The thought would make me laugh if seeing Nick here, in this world—our world—didn’t make my stomach churn nervously.
Nick’s the first to break their staring contest, abandoning Killian’s glower to look at Dimitri. He thrusts his chin up. “It’s your business I’m here about, anyway. Got a minute, or what?”
Dimitri steps forward, but I grab his arm. “What kind of business?”
Nick barely spares me a glance. “South Side business. None of yours.”
“Fuck that.” Tristian shakes his head. “Any business you have with him, you’ve got with all of us.”
“This doesn’t concern either of you.” His blue eyes flick to each of the Lords before stopping on me. “And it definitely doesn’t concern your piece of ass. So why don’t you just—” Nick’s words cut off when Killian’s hand shoots out, clamping hard around his throat.
“If you like having a tongue,” he sneers, knuckles going white, “then you want to watch how you’re speaking to us.” He leans in closer, voice turning deadly. “And if you like having something between your legs, then you really want to watch how you’re talking to her.”
My big brother has been quick-tempered all week. I’m not sure if it’s because of his birthday—the banquet—coming up and the fact he’s officially quitting football to dedicate his life to South Side, or something else, but it’s like he’s dialed up every impatient and threatening part of his personality to eleven.
I begrudgingly decide to intervene. “Killian, stop.”
Nick reaches up to pry Killian’s fingers from his throat. “You don’t scare me, baby Payne. But relax, alright? I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Mouth pressed into an annoyed slant, Dimitri says, “Just tell me what the fuck, Bruin.”
But now Nick’s the one looking shifty, glancing around the lot. “Not here. You got room for one more in there, or what?” He nods to the truck and Killian makes a sour face at the suggestion. Nick gives him a cold smirk. “What’s wrong? Afraid the smell of South Side will rub off on the leather?”
“Just get in,” Killian growls, wrenching the back door open. Dimitri climbs in after Nick, but when I go to follow, Killian grabs my elbow, nudging me toward the front. “Up here. With me.”
Christ, it’s like having a guard dog.
I settle in the front with him while Dimitri and Tristian bracket Nick in the back. It’s comical, the three of them crammed back there, elbows fighting for dominance. The first thing I see when I glance back is Nick’s knee, jutting out of a hole in his jeans. For the first time, I wonder who he is. Where does he live? What does he do for Daniel? Why is it his brother, Simon, is all clean cut and on the road to academic excellence and Duke’s royalty, and Nick is a thug?