Set Me Free

Fiery Angel

Braxton

I stand with my arms crossed in the kitchen. Logan leans against the counter, his posture seemingly relaxed, but I know better. He's coiled tight as a spring, his gold-green eyes dark with contempt. Girly stands beside me, twistin' locks of her thick hair, nervous, though I can see by the set of her jaw and the narrowin' of those baby blues that she's just as ready to battle as us Stone men.

Can't help but smirk. Never knew when I put in a tag for her she'd be this wild, this willin' to fight. Scrappy one, but she needs to be in this world. Johnston sets the black bag on the table, riflin' through it, pullin' out all sorts of medical shit. Strater idles around the living room, that spoiled smirk still plastered to his face. Won't be there much longer if he keeps up that struttin'.

Our of my peripherals, I watch as he reaches for a small wooden box on the mantle.

"Touch anythin' of mine, I'll break your fingers with my teeth," I hiss. He whirls, pupils dialatin' in fear. He brushes it off with another smirk, thuddin' back to the kitchen. Johnston sighs, shakin' his head again. Least he knows I mean what I say. This fuckin' kid will have to learn the hard way.

Johnston pulls out a file, flippin' through it.

"Sofia Lewis, correct?"

I glance down at Sof, catchin' her peekin' up at me, her cheeks another luscious shade of red. Never thought I'd enjoy such a color, more into blacks and grays and blood. But when that pink tinges her cheeks, blossoming from one shade to the next, I feel it thuddin' in my chest, as though that color is its own entity entirely.

She slides closer to me, bobbin' that little head of hers. In my shadow, she seems to grow into somethin' else—somethin' stronger. I catch myself smirkin'. She knows already I have her back, but she knows she don't need me to fight her battles when she is clearly ready to do it herself.

"Have a seat, if you would," Johnston says, keepin' his voice mild and kind. I appreciate him more now than I ever did. Sof obeys, the scrape of the wood legs against the wood floors shockingly loud in the tenseness of this moment. She plops herself down, crossin' her arms, castin' Johnston and Strater a glare.

Johnston pulls up the chair next to her, settin' to work, checkin' her heart, blood pressure, eyes, ears, nose, throat. He pricks her finger, the drop of blood oozing forth before he presses it to an identification card. He hands her a cotton ball, and she takes his lapse in concentration to stand and dart back over to me. I replace my hand at the back of her neck, knowin' it ain't over.

Johnston frowns, both of us at a stalemate with Strater standin' there like the pompous, smug asshole he is. Johnston leans forward, elbows on knees, speakin' directly to Girly now. Logan shifts, uncrossin' his ankles, the tightness in his shoulders makin' him quiver in rage-filled anticipation.

"How old are you, Sofia?"

I feel her shiver beneath my fingertips, her skin flashin' with heat.

"Twenty."

"Before your capture, were you ever intimate?"

My jaw pops from the force of grindin' my teeth. She shakes her head, shrinkin' more into my side, the swish of her thick, wild hair ticklin' my knuckles. I can hear the wind leavin' Logan's lungs, but I can't look at 'im. He's fond of her already, as a big brother is of their little sister, even though he's two years her junior.

Johnston's eyes snap to mine. I give the most subtle shake of my head I can. He sees it, and the resignation is there in his gaze.

"Strater, take these men outside."