“Back off or I swear to fucking God I will throw you against your car.” My hand is a white-knuckled fist. If he protests, I’m swinging. His brows pinch, something flickering in his eyes. He’s studying my features. “Banks?” I stiffen. I forgot that I’m my brother, and I didn’t think, out of everything, that my shorter fuse and blistering wrath would cause suspicion.
