by T. L. Martin
“What happened to your elaborate plan?” I flick my gaze around the space, taking in the lack of screens. “Felix hasn’t released anything to the media yet. And not so long ago you risked everything to kill Murphy yourself.” Stepping aside, I gesture toward the limp body. “Now’s your fucking chance.”
We both want our revenge; the chance we missed with Katerina. Why isn’t he taking his?
Raife glances at the crates then back at me. “Plans change. This morning has been . . . illuminating for me. As you know, I’m not always a selfish man, Lucas. I’ve brought you a gift. Two, really. The chance to end Misha and Katerina’s bloodline—personally.” He steps toward me, his chin dipped. “So you see, I’m choosing our brotherhood over my own desires. Will you do the same?”
I stare at Murphy, compelled. My fingers twitch with the impulse to grab my knife. Murphy is mine. But so is Emmy. And the weird stabbing sensation in my chest when I see her in that crate is fucking painful.
“Give me the key.”
“Key? What key?”
“The fucking key, Raife. Give it to me before I cut your damn throat.”
A smirk lifts his lips. “There is no key. Don’t you remember how efficient I am at hiding them?”
I prowl toward him, braced to knock him on his ass, when my fucking phone dings. I’m tempted to ignore it, but Felix wouldn’t text unless it was urgent. With a frustrated breath, I click open the message.
Felix: Watching the cameras and something’s not right. Two shady SUVs are coming straight for us. Fast.
With my grip tightening around the phone, I slowly bring my gaze back to Raife’s. “You didn’t cover your tracks?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he tips his chin toward Griff. Griff bumps my shoulder and walks around us.
“Brother.” Raife clasps his hands in front of him. “It’s time for this thing between us to come to a head. You and I have had our differences long enough, and frankly, I fucking miss the old you who wasn’t so”—his face twists—“uptight. The one I set loose when we first got out. But the fact is: we’re down to the last few people on this list of ours. We all need to move on, one way or another.”
I shift when something drips behind me. Frankie’s sobs get louder, and rage boils beneath my skin, making my muscles spasm. Griff is holding a container, encircling both crates in one thin stream of gasoline and, in the process, drenching the air with its stench.
“We don’t have much time,” Raife continues, rocking back on his heels. “Murphy’s people will be here any moment, ready to lock us up or kill us. And you, Lucas, have a pressing choice to make. You can save Sofia and her cousin. Or, you can choose our brotherhood and finally taste the revenge on Murphy we’ve been craving for years.”
Griff’s mouth twists up as he moves to Murphy and encircles the column in a matching thin stream of gasoline.
“But we don’t have time for both.” Raife glances from the crates to Murphy, and he rubs his palms together. “So, what will it be? The rotten girlfriend, or the man responsible for endless suffering?”
I work my jaw, watching the man I’ve called my brother since I was a kid with new eyes. This is low, even for him. “I make my own calls.”
His eyes flash. He whips something out of his pocket and shrugs. “Tell that to your precious Sofia.”
With a single flick, the lit match is on the floor and a low ring lights up around the cages. One more flick, and the ring around Murphy does the same.
“Oh, shit.” The female voice snaps my attention to the doorway, where Aubrey stands with her jaw dropped.
“Get the hell out of here,” I growl, my knife already in my grip. “Now.”
She stares between my knife and the crates then nods before rushing back upstairs.
Emmy’s humming grows louder, her rocking faster. I lift my foot to step toward her, and the flames spread when Griff pours another short stream of gasoline. I freeze, my vision clouding with fury.
“My bad,” Raife murmurs. “Forgot to mention that every step you take in that particular direction earns the girls another dose of gasoline, closer to their crates.”
When Griff tips the container to add more, I charge.
He stumbles back at the impact, the open container dropping from his grasp and sliding across the room until it crashes against the wall. The spilled petrol branches out and connects with the ring around Murphy. Flames shoot in a thick line from Murphy to the container before erupting in tall bursts along the left wall.
I knock Griff to the floor and slam his head against it, trying to knock him out instead of having to use my knife. He curses and grabs my neck, squeezing hard before rolling us over so I’m on my back. A sharp spasm works up my spine. He tightens his stranglehold, and my lungs close up. When I’m on the brink of passing out, I use all my strength to drag my knife across his stomach.
“Fuck.” He releases me to clutch the wound. Blood seeps through his shirt and onto his hand. “Just let the bitch burn, you pussy!”
His eyes widen, and before he can make a move, I jump to my feet, yanking him up and lugging him closer to the column. The fire is climbing, but the excess chains dangling from the knot behind Murphy are long enough to reach safely. I shove Griff onto the floor so he’s sitting upright then secure them around his torso and arms, less than a foot from the flames.
“Fuck you,” he spits, grimacing as the metal digs into his wound.
“Pretty sure you’re the one getting fucked.”
I wipe the sweat from my forehead and glance at Raife when my phone dings again. He’s clenching his teeth while he watches Griff, but he makes no move to interfere.
He’s too stubborn. And too naïve if he still thinks I’ll play to his tune.
Checking my phone, my gaze shoots across the smoke-fogged screen as quickly as possible.
Felix: Get the hell out. Murphy’s men are in the front house. Ten of them. All packing.
I spot Murphy from the corner of my eye, looking beautifully helpless. After years of orchestrating everything Katerina did, then getting away with it and living like the god he thinks he is, he deserves to fucking die the most painful death. He’s practically moving my legs for me when I shift toward him. Then Emmy’s form flashes in my mind, bound and shaking within a low ring of fire, and a stronger force urges me to go the opposite direction.
Shit.
Revenge is all my soul knows. It’s the only thing I’ve lived and breathed for almost as long as I can remember. With a painful swallow, I tear my feet away from him. It kills me, two different instincts seizing my bones. I pull at my hair, trudging toward Emmy because she fucking owns me.
A chuckle rips through it all, and my movements slow when my gaze lands on Raife’s.
Shaking my head, I’m tempted to change course and smash his face in. But he’s a distraction, and if I let him win, I won’t get Emmy out in time. Instead, I position my knife, aim, and throw.
Raife’s hands shoot up to block his face. “Fucking fuck!” He slowly lowers his arms, peeking to his left where the knife landed in the wall, two inches from his ear. “Well, shit.” Panting through coughs, he wipes his sweat-drenched forehead with the back of his hand, then slinks along the wall till he’s standing in the doorway.
I reach Emmy in the same moment Raife glances at the crates, the fire, then fucking smirks. “Tick tock.” And the asshole is gone.
My fists clench, a snarl working up my throat.
“The flames!” Frankie’s shriek tears through the basement. She coughs, pointing to the wall across the room. “They’re coming closer!”
Flames eat up the left side of the room, inching toward us, and smoke clouds the air. I move forward when a low choking sound snaps my attention to Murphy. His head is still slumped forward, his eyes closed, but his brows are puckered and broken moans escape as he slowly comes to.
Well, shit.
“Hurry, get Emmy,” Frankie cries. “Please, hurry.”
Emmy. My head
pounds as sweat drips down my hairline. I flick my gaze across the room, searching for something to open the crates. After a second, I bolt toward the exit and enter Room Two, where my table is. Yanking out the bottom compartment, I shove the drill aside and grab two nut wrenches, then race back into Room Three.
“Get me the fuck out of here, asshole! Stupid damn—” A coughing fit takes over Griff’s snarl, and I don’t bother to look at him as I pace straight to Emmy.
Thank fuck the giant flames by the wall haven’t yet reached the low ones circling the crates. My shirt clings to my damp shoulders and back, and my lungs burn with each inhale. I try to focus on the tool in my grip instead of the blurred images of the past bleeding into my mind. Stepping over the orange blaze, I place both wrenches on either side of the padlock’s ring and shove them in opposite directions. The lock snaps open, and I pull Emmy into my arms.
I hold her close, feeling her melt against me, and carefully peel the tape from her mouth. It comes off easier than it should from the sweat dampening her skin. Shit. My pulse skips a beat as I breathe her in. Every bone in my body throbs, and I know it’s not just from exhaustion.
My forehead touches hers.
Griff’s coughs jerk my head up, and my own lungs start to close as the smoke becomes almost unbearable. With my gaze fixed on Emmy curled in my grip, I stand and move toward the exit.
I’m getting you out this time. I’m fucking getting you out.
“Wait! Don’t leave me!” Frankie is staring at me, her cheeks red and wet, her eyes round.
I growl, everything inside me burning to get Emmy the hell out of here before it’s too late. Risking it once was enough. I start to leave again because I’m not in the business of saving goddamn lives when Emmy’s moan makes me stop. Her hair covers her face, her limbs weak, and fuck, she’ll never forgive me if I leave her sister.
Stalking toward the exit, I lower her against the hallway wall, my hold on her lingering longer than it should. I lean forward, brushing the hair out of her face and cupping her cheek. Sweat and tears wet my palm.
I press my lips to her ear. “I’ll come back for you.”
Her eyes remain closed, and she doesn’t respond. Swiping my thumb across her jaw, I tear myself away, my pulse hammering as I dart back into the room. I bust Frankie’s crate open and pull her out, then lift her over the flames and release her.
“Fuck you, Lucas Costas!” Griff’s choked bellow pierces my ears, and my spine stiffens. “I’ll fucking kill you and your little whore!”
My shoulders constrict. “Frankie, stay with Emmy.” She nods and rushes toward her sister.
When I turn around, it’s not for Griff. The asshole paved his own path. Instead, I lift my shirt collar high enough to cover my nose, partially blocking the smoke from hitting my lungs, and pace toward the coward sagging against the column. The lucky shit passed out again. Fumes and flames lick at my skin and seep past my nostrils, the blistering heat pure ecstasy as I imagine what it will do to Murphy.
He isn’t going to miss his own show.
I strike him across the cheek, then grab him by his shirt and shove his spine against the pillar. Finally, he groans and his eyes slowly open. He squints, then immediately joins Griff’s coughing fit. When his brows shoot to the ceiling and the panic takes over, I step back. “Welcome to hell, motherfucker.”
After pulling my knife from the wall, I exit the room without looking back and shut the door just as muffled cries of pain spill through the cracks. Frankie sobs harder, but she’s wrapped her arms around Emmy and managed to lift her sister off the ground. She takes a step forward, toward the exit, and yeah, no fucking chance.
I pry Emmy’s body out of Frankie’s grip and haul her into my arms. I try not to think as I lead them around the corner and toward the garage exit. When gunshots ring from upstairs, I tense. Fucked up or not, I just lost one brother. And the bumps racing down my arms at the shots fired make me wonder if I’ve lost a second.
And Murphy. It still wasn’t the death he deserved. My muscles are close to crippled with the anger that seeps into my veins at that. For the second time, a leader of Misha got off too fucking easy.
Kicking the back door open, we enter the underground garage. One, two, three cars are already pulling out, blondes behind each wheel and filling the back seats. My adrenaline kicks up as I watch them go and realize I don’t have my keys since I never leave the damn house.
A black Mercedes comes to a screeching halt in front of us. The driver’s window rolls down, and Aubrey jerks her head toward the vehicle. “Get in.”
Felix grins from the passenger seat. “Yeah, man. Right about now would be great.”
Frankie is already opening the door and sliding across the seat to the other side. Ice cold air from the A/C blasts on my damp skin when I slip in after her, hugging Emmy to my chest and closing the door. My back sticks to the leather as the wheels tear against the pavement, and I use my knife to free Emmy’s hands from the rope.
I’m still on edge, every part of my body on high alert. My arms are stiff around Emmy, and I look down. Her eyes are closed, her long lashes casting a shadow above her cheekbones. Her breathing is even and peaceful, no sign of the shit she barely escaped from. With a tightness in my throat I’m fucking sure I’ve never felt, I sweep the loose strands of hair from her face.
My pulse slows as I watch her. The pace of my breathing falling into sync with hers.
I press her into me and dip my head, letting my lips graze her forehead. Letting her scent, her softness, her breaths fill me. She’s delicate in my grip, so much like the mouse she tries to portray.
But she’s never been a mouse. Maybe she was never a lion either.
With the number of times she’s been burned and risen from the ashes, I’m starting to think she’s an entity all on its own. I’m a mere mortal next to her. And fuck if I’m not her willing prey.
“Life is going to break your heart.
Remember to say thank you.”
—Maya Luna
My weight sinks into something hard, a chest rising and falling against my cheek. My eyes are so heavy I want to keep them closed forever. But soft bumps vibrate beneath our bodies, rocking me, and I force my eyes open to take in my surroundings. My hazy gaze takes a second to focus on the blacked-out window across from me. The backs of leather seats to my left.
I’m in a car.
Blond hair moves into my line of vision, and Frankie’s glossy brown eyes meet mine. “Emmy,” she whispers, a fresh tear spilling over her lashes. “It’s okay now. We’re going home.”
She scoots closer and curls an arm around my waist. I want to respond. I feel like I should. But I’m disconnected from my body, the images in my brain so fragmented and overcrowded that exhaustion whirs through me at just the thought of trying.
Pieces still flood me in waves. Some connected to voices. Others drowned out by bold colors. None stringing together in the clear path I need.
After shifting my gaze up, my heart squeezes when I find Adam staring down at me. His deep blue eyes are intense but tired as they scan my face. His thick hair is tousled in all directions, his body tense beneath mine. Behind those distressed yet piercing eyes is a soul that speaks to parts of me I don’t quite understand, but I certainly feel.
I see a man.
I see a boy.
I hear sweet words and feel the way a smile once played on my lips for him as he sat behind bars and gave me things no one ever had.
Friendship. Hope. Trust.
But then the betrayal sinks in. He didn’t just earn my trust. He ripped it straight from my five-year-old chest.
My eyes flutter shut as I fall back against him, the weight of a thousand bricks pressing on my heart. As I drift away, I wonder what’s going through his head when he looks at me.
I wonder if he sees them.
The bruises he left on my soul.
I shift my head against the pillow, the mattress dipping as movement stirs beside me.
A sigh pours from my lips while I stretch my arms. I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days. My brows knit as my sister’s face materializes in front of me again. Except this time, it’s comforting. This time, I reach for her hand, and a soft smile lifts her lips. My body relaxes when she strokes my hair with her free hand, and I think my eyes are wet.
“Frankie,” I whisper, my throat dry. “I’m so sorry. Everything that happened, it was all because of me. Because of who I am. None of this would have happened to you if I didn’t show up at your door that day—”
“Shhh.” Her smile spreads, but her eyes are wistful. “You don’t ever need to apologize to me. I should never have let Mama treat you the way she did.” She swallows, her gaze darting between my eyes. “There are so many things I wish I could go back and do differently. So many things I wish happened differently or didn’t happen at all. But not one of them involves you becoming my sister. I’ll happily sneak you paint and canvases for the rest of our lives.” I choke out a laugh, and her eyes water. “No, fuck that. No more sneaking around. I’ll cover Mama’s trailer walls with blank canvases and fill the floors with buckets of red paint for you.”
A sob strangles my chuckle, and she smiles, wiping a tear from my cheek with her thumb.
“Frankie?”
“Yeah?”
“Where the hell are we?”
She snickers, her shoulders shaking softly. “Well, we’re back in Mississippi. Remember that inn? Buffalo Creek?”
My nose scrunches, and she laughs.
“Yeah, it’s crappy, but it’s quiet too. I think we all needed a little time to ourselves anyway. Two days was just right.”
“Two days?”
She shrugs. “A day of straight driving, then a day here—”
My eyes widen, and I start to sit up, but she pulls me back down. “Adam—”
“Adam’s here.” She tips her chin toward the bedroom door. “He’s barely left your side since we arrived, except to pace through the living room. And let me tell you, the man looks like he’s about to punch something. I tried talking to him, but . . . he’s not much of a talker, is he?” I swallow back a laugh, and I hate that my body vibrates with the deep-rooted need to see him. I don’t want to want him after what he did to me. “He’s kinda scary, actually. But, like, in a highly fuckable way.” She grins.