Crush

Jaxon reaches down to help Grace from the hole I created for her, he wraps his

arms around her and presses her body to his. And I begin to see red, even before

he leans down to kiss her, and every ounce of chill—and emotional self-

preservation—I have goes out the fucking window.

My hands curl into fists, my fangs explode in my mouth, and though there

were a million other ways I was hoping to break my newfound knowledge to

Grace, the words come out before I can even think about stopping them.

“Jaxon, if you wouldn’t mind, take your fucking hands off my mate.”

Grace thinks and then says, “I do, yeah.”

And just like that, my hands are shaking, when they never shake. I can’t

figure out what to do with them, so I shove them in my pockets. And wait.

“Yes, Hudson. I trust you.” It may be the most ridiculous decision of my

rapidly draining life, but I do trust him. I do, more than I ever would have believed possible even a couple of short days ago.

“Do you remember that night we went to the library?”

“Which one?”

He rolls his eyes. “The night Jaxy-Waxy got you those street tacos.”

“It’s not about believing in you. It’s about the fact that I can feel your father’s venom moving through me. You can’t fix that.”

He squares his jaw. “You don’t have a clue what I can do.” He doesn’t say it

to be mean. I know him now. He’s trying to convince himself.

“No,” I respond after swallowing the lump in my throat. “Why didn’t you

tell me what a good person you are?”

Startled blue eyes find mine and our gazes lock, hold.

For a second, Hudson slows down so much that he nearly trips over his own

feet while Macy and Jaxon demand to know what’s going on.

He doesn’t answer them. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all—and neither do I. We just stare at each other as a strange understanding passes between us.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he tells me as he starts walking again.

“There isn’t going to be a later,” I answer quietly, “and you know it.”

He starts to say something, then breaks off. Swallows. Starts to speak again,

then breaks off again.

I know what Hudson is doing. I can feel the fury coming off him in waves.

He wants to tear down the arena where people sat back and watched Cole try to

kill me. Watched Cyrus actually kill me. And they did nothing. But he’s not

hurting them. I don’t even have to look to know he’s not. But he certainly is putting the fear of God into them, and honestly, I wouldn’t be lying if I said they

might deserve it just a little.

The amount of power it takes to tear the arena down and hurt no one. The

amount of control. I smile.

he scoops

me up into his arms and carries me across the field. “You having a concussion.”

Jaxon and Macy finally get to us, and Jaxon demands, “Let me have her,”

but Hudson barely glances his way. He just keeps moving. He’s not fading, but

he is striding out of the arena like a man on a mission.

I’ve got to say, for someone who’s always prided herself on being

nonviolent, these last few punches and kicks have made me entirely too happy.

Then again, payback’s a bitch, and I’ve had just about enough of being poor, weak little Grace.

I want to look for my people—for Hudson and Jaxon and Macy

I mean, it’s definitely function over form

here, but the crowd doesn’t seem to mind, finally sounding like they’re on my side.

Especially when a giant piece of ice goes whizzing right by my head. Thank

God. Death by ice cube is no heading for an obituary.