Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(28)

“It wasn’t like that, Kens. I promise,” she starts, but I hold my hands up, then I shove her back on her feet. I move her, and she lets me, until she’s at her opened car door.

“Just…go, Gaby. Please…just go,” I say, my head shaking, and the tears filling up the corners of my eyes. Gaby’s face is a reflection of mine, but I have no sympathy for her. I want her to feel the pain of a million needles—I want her heart to ache and her breath to choke her. I want her to cry and never stop. And I want my mom to feel better. I want to move back to the city, away from this place. But I can’t even do that, because that’s where Gaby is, where Dean is.

She climbs back in the car and slowly moves away. I break, reaching down and filling my hands with small rocks from the side of the yard. “I hate you!” I scream, my voice cracking from the force, and I let the rocks fly at the front of her car, pelting it and leaving small marks behind. I reach down for another handful, and cock my arm, ready to throw.

“Don’t,” Owen says, his hand wrapped around my small wrist, locking me up, unable to move. I snap to his eyes, and they’re no longer void of feeling like they were this morning. There’s sympathy in them, and that’s the only reason I let my muscles relax. “It won’t make you feel better. Let her go.”

The stones fall from my fingers, and I bring my hands up to my head, scratching into my hairline with frustration as I pace. “What will?” I ask, and he quirks an eyebrow up. “Make me feel better. What will make me feel better?”

“Nothing,” he says, and his answer comes so fast that it makes me sad. I’m sad because I get the sense that Owen is right, and he’s speaking from experience.

“I’m. So. Angry,” I say between deep breaths, letting my guard down a little more, but tensing when I realize that the guy who was in the truck with him is still here, standing a few feet away. Owen follows my gaze, the corner of his lip raising slightly, then lowering fast.

“That’s my brother, Andrew,” he says, and the younger version of him nods once in response, stepping forward and reaching out his hand. His manners feel so natural, and strange, given how much he looks like his older brother.

“I’m Kensi,” I say, shaking his hand.

“I know,” he says, smiling enough to show his teeth. Owen gives him a sharp look, and he scrunches his shoulders up defensively. “What? I know her name. So what?”

Owen keeps his disapproving look on his brother for a few more seconds, and I can sense a silent exchange happening between them.

“You ever hit someone?” Owen asks, making a sharp turn in the conversation, his eyes back on mine. They’re still bright, and…gorgeous. But there’s also a challenge lingering in them, this flare I see every now and then, when he’s confronting me, taunting me—pushing me.

“No,” I say back, my response clipped and short on purpose. He doesn’t like it when I talk to him this way. I can tell because he stutters on his feet a little, like he’s not used to someone being so blunt with him.

“Hit me,” he says, and now I’m the one falling on my feet.

“Are you nuts?” I ask, and his brother chuckles behind him.

“Haven’t you heard, Kensi? We’re all f*cking nuts. Harper boys are all f*cked up in the head,” Andrew says. Owen is quick with his reach, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and jerking him slightly. Andrew continues to laugh lightly, but he straightens up fast and starts to kick at the driveway, moving toward the truck and away from Owen and me.

“I’m being serious. Hit me. You need to feel something,” Owen says, stepping a little closer—a little too close—to me.

“Owen, I don’t want to hit you,” I say, letting out a long breath and feeling my arms tingle in fear at the thought of doing something so…so...violent.

“Yes you do,” he says, taking another step, his chest now completely blocking my view of his brother.

“No, I don’t,” I say, shoving him off balance. He steps back quickly with one foot and looks down to his feet, his lip curling on the corner into that smile again, and soon his feet are back where they were, his eyes wide and intensely looking at my face.

“You sure about that?” he asks, moving an inch or two closer, close enough that I notice the scent of his shampoo, his cologne, and the way I remember the inside of his truck smelling.

“What are you, in fight club or something?” I tease, trying to bring lightness to the most awkward and heavy conversation I’ve ever had with a boy.

“Something like that,” he says, stepping nearer. “Go on, Ken Doll. Hit me. You want to, and it will feel soooooo good.”

He’s so close that I feel the tickle of his breath now. His brother is still close enough that I know he’s watching him lure me, and I wonder how normal this behavior is. His right hand reaches to my shoulder, pulling a wave of my hair into his fingers, and he twists it slowly, his eyes moving from his hands to my lips and back again.

“Come on, Ken Doll. Hit me,” he says, practically a whisper. He brings his mouth lower to my neck, his hand pulling the wave of hair back until it falls from his fingers completely.

He reaches in again, sweeping a pile of my hair out of his way, his eyes daring mine, that wicked look growing stronger until I can no longer see them, his mouth and nose lost under my chin, his lips almost touching me. I haven’t breathed since he started this game.