Page 47 of Brutal Reign
“No thanks,” River answers, throwing Jake a look that I can’t quite read.
He bristles as he turns his gaze back on her. “Why not?”
“Think I’m gonna take my bike,” she murmurs.
Something’s up. It’s not in River’s words; it’s in her body language. I’m picking up on her ‘fuck off’ vibes from all the way over here, so the fact that Jake’s acting like he’s oblivious to them is a red fucking flag.
I glance up at Seb as I flick the tattoo gun off, subtly nodding my head in Riv’s direction. He slyly shifts his gaze that way, joining me in eavesdropping on her conversation with Jake, who is still trying to get River to agree to ride with him to Summervale.
The way Seb’s jaw clenches as he watches their interaction solidifies that I’m not imagining things– there’s definitely something screwy going on there.
Despite our pact to keep our distance, the way we found River on Saturday night didn’t sit right with either of us. She seemed rattled when we approached her in the barracks, andwhile the thin strap of her top could’ve easily torn at any point, her reaction when Seb confronted her suggested it wasn’t merely an accident.
She hasn’t given us any indication since then as to what might’ve gone down, but as I watch her back and forth with Jake, an infuriating picture starts to form in my brain.
“I think something happened between those two last weekend,” I murmur, keeping my voice low.
“Didn’t you hear Gus mention something about Jake trying to come onto her?” he growls back.
“Yeah,” I breathe, recalling the conversation I walked in on Gus and Kendrick having in the showers yesterday morning. “Think he got rough with her or something?”
Seb suddenly whips his head around, glaring daggers at Jake’s back as he barks, “Riv!”
Her eyes ping over to meet his for a fraction of a second before she quickly looks away, pointedly ignoring him.
“River!” he calls out again, his tone laced with agitation.
She doesn’t bother looking over at him a second time, raising a hand to flip him the bird instead.
I can’t help but snort a laugh, even as a growl of frustration rumbles in Seb’s chest. He shoves his arm back into his sleeve, shifting forward on the couch like he’s about to stomp over there and drag her back kicking and screaming.
In an effort to prevent that scene from happening, I aim a weighted stare at River, compelling her to meet it. The moment she does, I beckon her with a lift of my chin. “C’mere, babygirl.”
Her cheeks turn red, but embarrassing her by using the old nickname is what it takes to finally get her attention. She pushes up to her feet with an annoyed grunt, shouldering past Jake and marching her sweet ass across the lounge toward us.
“What do you want?” she grits out as she approaches, folding her arms over her chest guardedly. Her gaze drops to the tattoogun still in my hand, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Did you call me over here for a tattoo?” she asks, hazel eyes lighting up as she dances her fingers along her ribcage. “Because I’ve always thought about getting a little something on my side. Maybe a phoenix, like my Aunt Quinn.”
“Mm, if you want a phoenix, I think your hip would be better,” I muse, my gaze unwittingly dropping down her body as a design starts to take shape in my mind. “We could sweep the tailfeathers down into a killer thigh piece…”
“What? No!” Seb snaps, eyes darkening as he jerks his head toward me. “She’s not getting a fuckin’ tattoo.”
“Why not?” River scoffs.
“Yeah, why not?” I drawl, smirking back at him smugly. My fingers are suddenly twitching to get her skin beneath them, to watch my art come to life on her body’s canvas…
He frowns at me, jaw clenching as he turns his gaze back on River. “That’s not why we called you over,” he growls darkly.
“Then what do you want?” she huffs, meeting his stare with an arctic glare of her own.
“What’s the deal with you and Jake?” he asks.
Riv’s brows shoot up in surprise, but she quickly schools her expression, rolling her eyes. “How is that any of your business?”
“Answer the question,” Seb grits out.
She lifts her chin defiantly. “No.”
“Just tell us,” I sigh, setting my tattoo gun down on the cushion beside me. “Did something happen on Saturday night?”