{18+ COMPLETE} For the past three years, Bren Hadaway has been preparing to die.
When he was sixteen, he watched his dad murder his mom. And ever since, he's been counting down the days until it was his turn to be at the end of a gun. And Bren has...
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"Who the hell are you?"
It took everything in me not to punch this guy's face.
He looked enough like Quinton to make my skin crawl—blonde hair, blue eyes, and arms that looked like they could crush me. Bro probably skipped leg day to overwork his biceps. And if the similarities to Madie's ex weren't enough to make me want to break Brodie's nose, the expression on his face undoubtedly did the trick.
But beating the shit out of Quinton only landed me in more trouble. It hadn't helped Madie a fucking bit. If I had been able to control my temper when Quinton burst into the emergency room that day, his ass probably would have landed in jail a lot sooner.
So even though I wanted to fuck up Brodie Thompson, I kept my balled fist in my pocket.
It took everything—absolutely everything—in me.
"Bren," I said, managing to my voice even. "Bren Hadaway."
One brow raised on Brodie's oversized forehead—as if my name meant something to him. But his gaze said otherwise; it was cool when he said, "That doesn't answer my fucking question."
I took a measured step toward him. He didn't budge, didn't flinch or move a muscle. "I'm the guy whose girlfriend you've been harassing," I said.
At my words, Brodie's eyes flickered with...something. I wasn't sure what it was, but it told me that he knew exactly who I was talking about. He knew I meant Madie.
And that pissed me the fuck off.
But not nearly as much as when Brodie's face changed. With an exasperated and over-exaggerated roll of his eyes, he turned away from me.
I snapped. Despite all of my level-headed intentions to not put my hands on this asshole, I grabbed the hood of Brodie's sweatshirt as he spun around. And then I yanked him back with a hard tug.
Because the conversation wasn't fucking over.
"What the—"Brodie whipped toward me again with anger blazing in his eyes. His fist pulled back, and it was leveled at my face. I dared him with my gaze to hit me.
"Don't, man." It was Grayson, suddenly at Brodie's side, holding his arm so he wouldn't unleash on me. But Brodie jerked him away.
"Fuck off, Gray," he bit out, dropping his fist and straightening his sweatshirt out. The blue and gold colors made my stomach tighten. A wave of nausea threatened to knock me down. My throat clenched. But I swallowed, pushing it all away.
Meanwhile, Grayson fell back, shaking his head. I didn't miss the look in his eye, though—a mix of irritation and worry.
"We weren't done talking," I cut in coolly, giving my attention to Brodie again. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that it's dumb as shit to turn your back on a guy with a gun?"
