Dallas squeezed my shoulder tight, his entire body going tense—more tense. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that—”

I cut him off, my gaze stuck on his brother. “Fuck you too. I’m glad I don’t know you. You’re a grown-ass man acting like a little kid.”

When Jackson dropped his fork and leaned forward onto the table, his hands grabbing hold of the sides, I didn’t flinch.

“Jackson, back up now,” Dallas growled, already shoving his chair back.

He didn’t move and neither did I.

“Jack,” Dallas repeated in that bossy voice of his, getting to his feet.

The youngest Walker didn’t move an inch, the expression on his face said that he wanted to hit me. I’d seen it on another man’s face before, and I knew it for what it was. Violence. Anger. The difference was that I wasn’t the same person I’d been before. The difference was that I cared about the person this jackass was constantly hurting. Maybe Dallas felt so guilty he wouldn’t tell it to his brother like it needed to be, but I wasn’t afraid to.

“You don’t know shit, you Mexican bitch,” the man spat, staring at me with those eyes somehow so much like Dallas’s and so different at the same time.

“Say one more fucking word, and I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.” Dallas’s voice was so low, so purred that I couldn’t catch my thoughts for a second.

But once I did, I raised an eyebrow at Jackson and tipped my chin down in an “oh really” face, my hand going to rest on Dallas’s forearm. “My brother died two years ago. I know that I would do anything to have him back in my life, and you have one in yours who loves you and puts up with your bullshit even though you don’t deserve it with the way you act, jackass. I miss mine every single day of my life, and I hope one day you don’t regret pushing yours away for something he did twenty years ago that doesn’t require forgiveness.”

The leer on his face should have warned me he was going to take his assholeness to a different level. I really should have known. But I wasn’t prepared for Jackson snorting as he dropped into the chair and leaned against the back, his expression a horrible one.

“Get the hell outta here,” Dallas told him. “Now.”

But like most younger siblings, he didn’t listen.

The younger Walker snarled. “What’d your brother do? Kill himself eating too many tacos?”

It was easy to remember when you weren’t angry that people say things they don’t mean when their feelings are hurt. It wasn’t so easy when you were a breath away from taking a butter knife and using it to stab someone. Somewhere in the back of my head, I realized that Jack didn’t know anything about me and my life, or me and my family.

By some miracle, out of the corner of my eye, I caught two big hands gripping the edge of the table, I caught a “Jack” out of Dallas’s mouth that didn’t sound human. It didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to figure that Dallas was on the verge of flipping it. It could only be that extreme love you could have for someone who had come out of the same womb as you—or been born from someone who had—that could persevere in a situation like this. I couldn’t blame him. He loved this jackoff, asshole or not.

But I’d learned over the last few years that the only person who could fight my battles was me. And even though I was sure I would later regret him not defending my honor and taking this matter into my own hands, I brushed Dallas’s forearm with the back of my burned hand before reaching over to grab a cup of something red with ice that Jackson had brought to the table. Dallas’s eyes met mine even as this sickening feeling filled my belly at his brother’s thoughtlessness.

His hands loosened a moment before I faced Jack again and tossed the liquid inside the cup at his face, watching the red go everywhere—his face, ears, neck, and shirt. His mouth dropped open like he couldn’t fucking believe it.

Good.

“He had a traumatic brain injury, you insensitive, immature asshole,” I spat out, wishing there was another cup of red liquid to throw at his stupid face again. “He slipped on some ice, fell, and hit his head. That’s how he died. There weren’t any tacos involved, you prick.”

Fuck it, I wish there was a Slushie so I could toss that at him instead.

Angrier than I’d been in a long time, the muscles in my arms and neck were tight and my stomach hurt.

“Oh, hey, Diana, let’s go see what Ginny’s doing, what do you think?” a voice asked from behind me as two hands settled on my shoulders and literally yanked me back. “I got her. Dallas, deal with him.” Trip’s voice was right by my ear.

I was mostly numb as Trip steered me through the crowd that had been watching what had happened so quickly. I didn’t like being the center of attention, but if I’d had to do it again, I would. Damn it, I wanted to do it all over again.

It wasn’t until we were halfway to the salon that my poor hand gave a dull throb, reminding me that I’d used it to grab the cup. “Damn it,” I hissed, shaking it, like that would do something to help the pain.

“You all right, honey?” he asked, looking down at my hand.

“I used the wrong hand.” I shook it again and gave that wrist a squeeze with my good hand. “Oww.” It had been getting better, but I had gripped the cup too hard.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. “One minute, I saw you sitting there with Dal, gigglin’ like a girl, and the next, you’re both standing up, you start yelling at Jackson and throw Hawaiian Punch at his face.”