Wren
His jaw ticks, hands bruised and balled up by his sides.
“Baby,” I whisper, pushing to my feet.
Before I fully stand though, he’s on me in a minute. “Sit. Don’t move, you’re hurt.”
A small chuckle slips past my lips. “My arm is hurt, not my legs.”
“If I had my way, you wouldn’t be hurt at all. So sit.”
I don’t fight him. He’s worked up already, angry lines form between his brows, and his jaw doesn’t stop ticking.
“It’s only a graze—”
“He shot at you.”
“If he wanted to kill me he would. I think he just wanted to scare—”
“He. Shot. At. You, Wren.” Ezra punctuates, eyes darkening.
He zones out for a bit, and I can only imagine that he’s back there in front of Reggie, hitting him until he’s unconscious.
Sure, I’ve seen Ezra violent before. I’ve watched initiation nights, I’ve
