“Isn’t that just sadder? You don’t even like the only people who want to put up with you?” His eyes narrowed at her. “You sticking around here isn’t going to suddenly make me behave myself.”
“Are you trying to get hit? Because that’s all you’re going to accomplish,” she shot back, hands curled into fists at her sides. “Didn’t think it was but you seem about as short on friends as me and I refuse to back down and let you use that as validation for being by yourself. You don’t scare me, Wilder.”
“And how many of those people actually want you around? Or are most of them obligated to deal with you because you’re family?” he returned. A hollow laugh escaped him. “I don’t act like a jackass. I am a jackass who sometimes manages to act nice, but I don’t fucking have that in me today. So fuck. Off.”
That stung, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “I don’t exactly like being around my family, so try something else.” That was true, at least, but it was mostly because she just felt out of place with them. “No. I don’t know what your damage is but I’m not running away from you just because you’ve got a shit attitude.”
“I have plenty of finesse. But you’re just so much better at it than me, so why wouldn’t I let you do it?”
“Flattery will only get you hit. Save the charm for someone you’re actively trying to nail or manipulate,” she laughed, holding her hand out for the gun. She had one of their grandfather’s old guns, so she knew a thing or two about keeping them working well.
