Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 33- Callie

I know nothing about first aid.

Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration. I know how to clean a wound and put a band aid on it. Wound might be a bit too severe. I can handle a paper cut and that's about it, all while biting my tongue at the sting when the alcohol cleans it.

I know my limits.

Truly this is a peace offering. For a man I'm not sure even deserves it. He's just so infuriating. Still, it would be wrong to ignore the way he was quick to defend me even against his friend when he thought the worst. He can't be all bad.

Time repeats itself, though instead of avoiding the guitar and the man who plays it, I find myself hovering in front of his door. My hands are sweating as I tighten my fingers around the handle of the kit. The melodious notes, so warm and comforting, slow as I war with myself. This was a stupid idea. He doesn't want me here and now I'm trying to intrude upon his space. Surefire way to cement his opinion of me. Trouble. An interloper to their brotherhood.

Raising my hand to the wood, I hesitate once more as the notes cut off altogether. My skin barely grazes it before it's wrenched open and I'm looking up into the harshest moss green eyes I've ever seen. His mouth twists into the annoyed sneer I'm becoming painfully used to seeing on his handsome face. With the way he's going, it'll eventually get stuck that way. Serves him right though. I've done nothing to deserve his abrasive attitude towards me except exist in his presence.

"Wrong door sweetheart. Pretty Boy is down the hall," he says dismissively as he starts to close the door in my face.

"Wait," I call out, sticking my hand out to halt his progress. He turns a disgusted glance at my hand, waiting for me to remove it. Why is it that he's so much more intimidating up close? I had psyched myself up that this would go fine. I'd say my peace, doctor him up, and then- to be honest my brilliant plan hadn't gotten much farther than that, but I figured we could at least call a truce.

My nails dig into my tightly coiled fist and my teeth grind together as I fight to keep the easy going smile on my face. Something about him makes it hard to remember who I am. Violence is not me, but he inspires it. A fierce need to not back down against his antagonistic nature.

He doesn't answer, just staring me down expectantly. He's going to make me do all the work. Not surprising. I was the one knocking on his door, but my tongue has gone still and the words are there on the tip just waiting for me to speak them.

"Cat got your tongue, little girl? Or did my brother just fuck you stupid," he asks, voice drawing out the words lazily as his eyes dance over my body. Unlike the heated looks I catch on Jaxson and Dario's faces, sometimes God too, though I'm not too sure about that one, Rave looks like he wants to step on me and then scrape me off his shoe. My responding shiver is one of annoyance at myself for ever having found this man attractive.

"Urgh!" I grit out. "Forget it. You don't deserve my thanks. I hope your knuckles bruise and swell to the point that jacking off hurts," I say, spinning away.

His low chuckle accompanies his firm hand around my arm. "And what is it you're supposed to be thanking me for?"

"Do you really not know or are you just torturing me by making me say it?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you suck at thank you's? If not, I'm glad to be the first."

Deep breaths Callie. He's bigger by a lot and you were never that great at climbing trees. Not quite broken tailbone level when I had inevitably fallen out of said tree, but somewhere in the bruised region. I was stuck sitting on a pillow way too many times, had to retire. I'd probably break a hand trying to punch his arrogant face. Hollow inside, but solid outside. Cracking my knuckles and imagining a WWE level smackdown I am in no way capable of doling out will have to suffice.