Shock and Awe (Enhanced Book 1)

Chapter 21

"You motherf—" Someone swears from the doorway.

I blink against the light streaming from the window, trying to gain my senses. Despite the lessened headache, my brain still feels foggy. My eyes land on the figure standing by the door, a strange sense of familiarity hitting me.

I suddenly realize it is Forrest and he is glaring at the man beside me in the bed — the shirtless man beside me, also shirtless.

My brother stalks forward and grabs his best friend by the shoulders, ripping him from the comfort of the bed.

Kingsley yells out in shock, but Forrest pins him against the wall with one arm across his throat and a hand over his mouth.

"Not. A. Word." Forrest briefly looks back at me, and I yank the covers up to cover my chest. "Are you okay, Sage?"

"I'm fine, For," I hiss. "Nothing happened."

"And how would you know? You have a concussion! He could have taken advantage of you."

I don't even doubt whether Kingsley tried to pull something — I know he didn't. Not just because my sweat pants are exactly tied to my waist where I've had them, but because King would never do anything inappropriate to me.

He doesn't even like me.

"What did you do?" Forrest demands from his friend, removing his hand, but not his arm. He keeps Kingsley pinned against the wall of the bedroom.

"Nothing," Kingsley spits. "You're the one who left her bleeding and throwing up on the couch. Couldn't even give up your bed for her?"

"Why? So you could snake your way into it?"

Kingsley rolls his eyes. "You're being ridiculous. Look, if she was going to be in anyone's bed, wouldn't you rather it be mine?"

Not the right thing the say, King. Not at all.

Forrest wraps his free hand around the back of King's neck before pulling him off the wall and slamming him back into it again. The drywall cracks behind his head. "Bastard!"

Kingsley, not happy being manhandled, clenches his jaw in anger. His eyes darken as he stares at Forrest with contempt. "You do not want to do this, Forrest. You can trust me."

"My sister is not a play thing for you to hit and quit," Forrest yells in King's face, spit flying and face turning red. "You're a womanizer, and I won't let you use my sister—"

Forrest's yelling is cut off as Kingsley's jabs him in the stomach, then flips them around so that Forrest is the one pressed against the wall. Another crack appears on the wall, and I see Forrest shake his head in pain.

Kingsley is taller, so he has Forrest on his toes to make them eye level. His arm is placed exactly like Forrest's was and he applies steady pressure to pin him against the wall.

There's a strange buzzing in my head and I try to physically shake it away. It stays, humming like an old TV.

King's back muscles shift with each heaving breath he takes, the lighting bolt tattoo rippling. He slept in his jeans, and they're hanging low on his hips with the band of his boxers peaking out. I notice a healing scar on his back hip that disappears underneath the clothing as well as a bruise on his ribs. When did he get those?

"I'm not using her," Kingsley's growling words pull me back into the present. "I like her, man. I don't know when or how or why, but I have real feelings for your sister. I would never hurt her."

"What?" Forrest questions aghast.

"I'm not sure when it happened — maybe it was when she almost kicked me in the head in the back of your car, or maybe it was when she made us have a funeral for that damn turtle while wearing pink dresses." He loosens his hold on Forrest to look back at me. "Maybe it was when you argued with me about who would carry Forrest when he was sick, or when you almost spat that sushi on me without even tasting it." His chest heaves with heavy breaths as his eyes remain trained on mine.