Thorne
The rage was a living, breathing thing inside me. It curled hot and sharp in my chest, clawing at my ribs like it wanted out. My hands flexed at my sides, and the bones in my knuckles cracked from the tension. Somehow, I kept my composure. Barely.
My brothers' voices grated in my ears—demanding, pressing Josie for an explanation. I could hear them as clearly as if they were right in my head. Hell, with the way my pulse was pounding, they might as well have been.
"What did you do?" one of them demanded.
From where I stood, I could see her shoulders stiffen. She didn't cower. She didn't even look guilty. Instead, her chin lifted, and there it was—that fire in her eyes. Defiance. Unapologetic, burning defiance.
It only stoked the fury twisting in my gut. The kind of fury that made me want to grab her, shake her, make her see sense. But I didn't. I didn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me lose it completely.
Instead, I turned and walked away.
