This is a side of Warner I haven’t seen before.

My domineering brother steps around me, practically flexing his muscles in an intimidation move. “And I’m supposed to let you do that?”

Warner scoffs. “As if I need you to let me do anything.”

Courtney bounds up the steps to stand beside me, wearing a delighted smile. “If I’d known your place was so interesting, I would’ve come over weeks ago.”

I don’t have the mental capacity to respond, my brain too focused on how to defuse this situation. Things only get worse when Byron, Carver, and Donovan step forward, leaving behind their spectator roles in order to back Abram up.

Four against one. Warner will still win.

I care about all five of them. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.

The thought pisses me off because they’re all being so immature.

Abram steps up in Warner’s space. “You’d better be happy I’m letting you leave here with your face intact.”

They’re so close, and it’s as if the pin on a grenade has been pulled and we’re just seconds away from a bloody explosion.

There is no doubt in my mind that there will be blood.

Since my brothers have abandoned the doorway, I’m clear to sprint inside. I search the cabin for some solution to the shitstorm brewing outside.

A mixing bowl full of soapy water and the sight of my crafting supplies give me inspiration. I grab the bowl, along with a container I set on the kitchen table earlier.

Back outside, the men are so wrapped up in making my life decisions for me that they haven’t even notice I stepped away.

“Zoey’s been doing fine, making her own choices these past few weeks without you looming over her,” Warner snarls, nose to nose with Abram.

My brother lets out a hard laugh. “Like I’m supposed to believe you and your biker thug friends haven’t tried anything?”

When he lifts his arms, ready to shove Warner, I lose my last twinge of hesitation.

I step up to the edge of the porch and fling the water from the bowl, taking half a second to admire my accuracy. The wave beautifully hits my target—their heads—soaking them both.

“Yeah! Hose ’em down, girl! I want to see some mud wrestling!” Courtney claps me on the back as the two men blink in surprise.

But I’m not done. Water is too easy to ignore in the heat of anger.

“Heads-up!” I call, and they’re both dense enough to look my way.

They each get a face full of glitter.

The sparkles engulf them like a fairy princess bomb went off. Every shimmering bit sticks to their wet skin, clothes, and hair. They’ve gone from two irate, intimidating men to two disco balls. They belong in the middle of a pride parade.