Chapter 20: Briar

brIAR

"Time to wake up, baby girl. Dinner's in a few minutes," a growly voice rumbles in my ear. A warm hand softly strokes the side of my face. I lean into the touch for a moment before fully waking up. Usually, I startle awake at the sound of anyone near me, but this voice makes me feel… safe. I take my time opening my eyes.

When I blink my eyes open, I see I'm lying on a pair of black trouser-clad thighs. I bolt upright, not remembering falling asleep on anyone. The last I remember, I was just next to Malachi, not on top of him. I bite back a groan at the stabbing pain in my side at the sudden movement.

Turning to look over my shoulder, I come face-to-face with Malachi. His mouth is tipped up in a small grin. But his eyes are creased with worry, like he can't decide whether to be amused or concerned. "You okay?" he asks me gently, like I'm a wild animal he's scared of spooking.

I barely manage to hold back my eye roll at him treating me like I'm fragile. Just because he now knows what Patrick does doesn't mean I need kid gloves. I'm the same Briar I've always been.

"Yeah." My voice is rough with sleep. Realizing I should probably get off his lap, I place a hand between his legs to push myself up. I'm careful not to touch any part of his lap as I do so. He probably wouldn't appreciate a fist to the groin.

Facing forward, I'm startled to see my feet are in Xander's lap. One of his hands is resting on my ankle. His thumb is rubbing small circles over my sock. He's staring at me unblinkingly. I freeze, wondering what alternate universe I woke up in that Xander let me nap partially on his lap and is touching me willingly.

"Um, hi?" I half say and half question, dazed by Xander's proximity.

"Sleep well?" he asks with a tilt of his head. At the reminder of sleeping, I realize I'm still on both of their laps.

"Yep," I chirp as I try to scramble off both him and Malachi without accidentally squishing anyone's dick.

With my usual grace, I end up rolling off the couch and falling to the navy rug covering the hardwood floors. The short fall knocks the breath out of me and jostles my broken ribs. With the cushioning of the rug, I don't think I reinjured anything.

After landing on my back, I stare at the ceiling for a second, wondering how I've survived this long being so clumsy. If Patrick doesn't take me out, gravity might one of these days.

"Need a hand?" Bastian asks as his face appears above me. He looks like he's trying to hold back a laugh at my expense.

Huffing, I nod and stretch up my hand. His calloused hand engulfs mine and hauls me to my feet effortlessly. Bastian pulls a little too hard, and I end up crashing into him. He puts both of his hands on my waist to steady me. My breath stalls in my chest as I press against him, feeling every hard ridge of his body against mine.

I tilt my head back to look at him and see him staring down at me. All amusement is wiped from his handsome face. Instead, he's looking at me with unmistakable hunger. My eyes stay locked with his, trapped in the depths of his forest green gaze.

Someone clearing their throat jars me out of my trance. I rip myself from Bastian, flinging myself toward the door. Walking out of the room as fast as my aching body allows, I fight the urge to turn back around and beg him to hold me again. I've never felt as safe as I do when any of the Wyldhart brothers wrap their arms around me.

It would be so easy to get used to it, but I can't afford to let myself need them like that. The only person I can count on is myself, and my stupid heart needs to remember that.

"Wait up, pretty girl!" Bastian calls as I reach the stairs. Stopping at the top of the staircase, I pause so he can catch up with me. I have zero clue where we're eating dinner. It's either waiting for him, or I can wander aimlessly in this small city they're trying to pass off as a house.

"Shit, you walk superfast for having short legs." Bastian slings an arm around my shoulders as he reaches me. He steers me down the stairs, and we take a right when we reach the bottom. I should push off his arm, but I don't. I like it too much.

"I do not have short legs!" I'm half offended and half baffled at being called short. "I'm four inches taller than average for a girl." When I towered over the other girls and some of the boys my age, it was hard for anyone to call me short. Freakishly tall? Yep. But short? Nope, I can't say that's been tossed my way.

"Yeah, but you're still short compared to us." Bastian grins at my exasperation. I shake my head at him and look down to hide my smile. He knows how to lighten the mood in pretty much any situation.

We slow down as we reach a wall with multiple sets of double doors. With his free hand, Bastian shoves open a large, intricately carved walnut door that reveals a formal dining room. My eyes widen as I take in the cream paneled walls and burnished dark wood floors. The ceiling is dotted with gold-brushed medallions that have glittering chandeliers hanging from them. An antique oak table large enough to seat at least twenty dominates the space.

The formal dining room is tasteful and absolutely beautiful. Patrick should really hire whoever designed this place to transform his God-awful house into something nice. It'd do wonders for the tomb vibe his house has.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see Malachi and Xander having a hushed conversation a few paces behind us. I strain to hear what they're saying, but they're talking too softly.

Malachi notices me looking and says something to Xander before striding toward me. He brushes past me and heads to a chair near the far side of the table. Pulling it out, he orders, "Sit."

Usually, I'd just roll my eyes at Malachi ordering me around. Tonight, it grates on my nerves. I'm not an obedient little soldier he can command to do his bidding without question. I'm not anyone's to command. I'm my own person.

Giving him a sweet smile, I walk toward him. Reaching the chair he pulled out for me, I continue going around it until I get to the other side of the table. I sit across from him with the saccharine smile still on my face. Malachi releases a low growl at my defiance, his eyes narrowing on me as he clenches his jaw. My smile grows into a genuine one.

Bastian barks out a laugh. He jogs over to me and takes the seat to my right before Malachi or Xander can. "Is there something wrong, brother dearest?" Bastian asks with a shit-eating grin.

"No," Malachi rumbles. His sapphire eyes are fixed on me, promising retribution for my stunt. With the mood I'm in, I'd welcome a fight with him. I'd rather feel anger than the crushing hopelessness that's trying to swallow me whole.

Finally telling someone about Patrick feels like the beginning of the end. Not for him but for me. My bruises and broken bones pulse in phantom pain at the thought of the vicious beating I'll get when Patrick finds out I told someone. And he will find out. If he found out about Ronan and Rory, I have no doubt he'll find out about this.

Archibald walks through the door to my right, ripping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I notice Malachi's opposite me and Xander's across from Bastian.

Walking over to my left side, Archibald stops next to me. "Before we begin dinner, I would like to know your favorite and least favorite foods, madam. I like to tailor meals to every participant."

"You can just call me Briar, Archibald." I start thinking over my preferences.

"I will as soon as you call me Archie, madam."

"Deal," I respond with a smile. "My favorite foods would probably be lobster, white pizza, and anything made with chocolate." If I could only eat one food for the rest of my life, it would hardcore be chocolate. Death by chocolate would definitely be my preferred way to go.

"All good choices," Archie says with a serious nod.

"For least favorites, I'd have to go with rosemary and grapefruit. They should call it demon fruit, not trick you into thinking it tastes like grapes." I shudder at the thought of the bitter citrus.

"I quite agree, Miss Briar. Dinner will be out shortly," Archie informs us. With a dip of his head, he strides back the way he came.

"Lobster, huh?" Bastian playfully nudges my shoulder. He's careful to be mindful of my bruising. "You have some high-class tastes."

"Yeah," I croak. "I grew up on the East Coast, so lobster was a staple in the summer." A lump forms in my throat at his teasing. We had lobster all the time, especially when it was hot out. It's my mom's favorite food, so I feel closer to her whenever I have it.

Bastian frowns at my pained expression. I'm saved from any further discussion by four uniformed household staff bringing us our first course. After five delicious courses, I'm so full I feel like I'm going to explode. I wish I were wearing pants that I could unbutton instead of my uniform skirt.

"Everyone done?" Malachi asks the table as the staff clears our dessert plates.

I nod along with the twins. Bastian offers me his hand to help me up. Smiling softly at his thoughtful gesture, I gratefully take his hand. He helps me get out of my chair with minimal pain.

We walk around the table and out of the gigantic dining room. I'm heading toward the stairs when Malachi grates out, "I need a word with Briar. Alone."

Bastian turns to me, raising a questioning brow. I can handle his bossy brother on my own. Giving him a half smile to let him know to go on, I watch him and Xander head up the stairs. I then turn to Malachi.

Malachi growls as he steps into my space. I back up to avoid being bumped into. He capitalizes on this and advances on me several steps until I'm against a wall. Malachi plasters his front to mine. He slaps one hand against the wall by my head and places his other hand around my throat.

What is it with this man and grabbing my neck?

He gives my throat a warning squeeze when I don't immediately look up at him. My eyes snap to his.

"Are you incapable of following directions? Or is it just me you ignore?" Malachi hisses as he leans down until we're nose to nose.

My eyebrows raise at his irritated tone, and my anger quickly follows. "I can follow directions just fine. I can also choose where I sit. Just. Fucking. Fine."

As I enunciate my response, Malachi's hand flexes on my throat. He squeezes hard enough I won't forget where his hand is but not enough to cut off my airway. "I have yet to see you following any directions without protest. Why does every goddamn thing have to be a fight with you?" Malachi's voice rises as he demands an answer.

"I'm the problem?" I ask incredulously, my volume increasing to match his. "Have you tried, I don't know, not ordering me around every other sentence!" Yelling at him probably isn't the most mature way to handle this, but it sure is satisfying to take my pent-up frustration out on him.

"I don't order you around all the time!"

"You do!" I respond like a petulant child, continuing to handle things like the mature adult I'm not.

"I don't!" he shouts at me in exasperation. Malachi visibly tries to collect himself before continuing. "Why can't you just listen to me? It's like you want to fight! Why pick a fight with me tonight?"

"Because I'm scared!" I scream at him and instantly regret it. I close my eyes and thump my head against the wall behind me. Letting my anger loose also let other emotions creep out when I wasn't paying attention. In my emotional response, I revealed way more than I wanted to.

I'm not ready for anyone to see the fear that lives inside me. The fear that's my constant companion. The fear that makes it hard to breathe through the stranglehold it has on my chest. I fucking hate Patrick for turning me into this weak, useless creature who can't think straight through the fear. I'm supposed to be stronger than this. Ava needs me to be stronger than this.

"Of what?" Malachi asks softly, causing my eyes to pop open. I watch the anger and frustration drain out of his expression, replaced with something infinitely worse. Pity.

"Dying," I croak.

"Why?"

"Patrick," I grit out, barely able to force the words past the sudden rage choking me. Rage at the unfairness of it all. The unfairness that Patrick gets away with what he does to me. The unfairness that I might not make it to my twenty-first birthday. The unfairness that everyone else gets to plan for their future. Unlike them, I have to plan for Ava's future to ensure she'll be fine when I'm gone.

How the fuck is this fair? I want to scream to the universe. But I already know the answer. It isn't fair. I know better than anyone that life's rarely fair.

"Briar…" Malachi starts, shaking me out of my internal pity party.

"I don't need your pity," I growl at him. I can't decide who I'm angrier at—him for pitying me or myself for being pathetic enough to earn his pity.

I need to buck the hell up and stop complaining. My whining isn't going to change anything. All it does is make me sick of myself. Gritting my teeth, I mentally shove my thoughts about not wanting to die into the farthest corner of my mind.

"Good thing I'm not pitying you," he rumbles back at me.

I scoff in disbelief.

Malachi squeezes my throat gently in warning. I wish he'd stop doing that. Each time his hand flexes on my neck, liquid heat pools low in my stomach. I know I shouldn't be getting turned on by it, yet here I am.

I clearly have fucked survival instincts if this is what gets me going.

Christ. My own emotions are giving me whiplash. I can't decide if I'm angry, scared, horny, or all three at the same time. "Can you stop grabbing my throat?" I ask, trying and failing to keep my voice steady. It comes out breathy instead.

"Why?" Malachi probes.

I groan. I walked right into that one. No way in hell am I telling him it's because it turns me on. Instead, I press my lips into a thin line and look away.

Malachi tightens his hand around my throat to get me to look back at him. An embarrassing little gasp escapes past my lips. My cheeks flame as my eyes bounce back to his. Whatever he sees in my gaze has a slow smile spreading across his face.

He applies a little more pressure to the front of my neck, and I involuntarily moan. Malachi chuckles softly, the sound oozing masculine satisfaction. "You like it, don't you, baby girl?"

I grind my teeth together, frustrated that I'm so transparent. Here I thought I was a master of stealth and deception. Apparently, I can't keep a secret from anyone. Not seeing any point in lying, I give him a jerky nod.

"Mm, that's good to know," he rasps. His low, husky voice sends a shiver snaking up my spine.

Malachi flicks his gaze between my eyes a few times before continuing. "As I was saying, I don't pity you. You, Briar Wylder, are one of the strongest women I've ever met. I could never pity you. I will, however, make sure that fucker doesn't get a chance to hurt you again."

My cheeks warm at his praise. I glance down, unsure how to handle his compliment. "Don't make promises you can't keep," I tell him softly while staring at his shoes like they're the most interesting thing on the planet.

"I don't," Malachi says simply. With one last squeeze to my throat, he steps back and offers me his hand.

I look up at him as I hesitantly place my hand in his. He intertwines our fingers and tugs me toward the stairs.