Page 62 of Ruthless Reign

Dad sobbed into the dirt.

Pope had his hands on either side of his head, staring down at Kaleb’s pale form like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Like he might be sick.

Because Kaleb…

My little brother…

“No.”

Distantly, I heard my own voice.

I shook my head.

“No.”

Not him.

He didn’t…

He wasn’t…

He was.

I didn’t remember taking the switchblade from my pocket, but there it was in my hand, the tactile response of the blade flicking out like a cut string, setting me loose.

I saw nothing but red. Red and black and rage as the shriveled thing in my chest broke. It was pain. Not physical. The other kind. The kind I thought I’d almost forgotten the feel of. I bellowed into the desert, my throat raw from the abuse of forcing such a loud sound from lungs that’d only tolerated silence for so long.

My muscles ached, burning as they filled with the acid of adrenaline.

The raw, broken sound echoed back to us and there was blood on my blade.

Blood on my hands.

Hot, but quickly cooling as I swung again.

Again.

The resounding bang of a gunshot slapped me, bringing me back from that dark place long enough to see. Really see.

They shot me.

No.

No, there was no wound.

“Fuck, Jack!” Zade called and I spun on my heel, finding the corpse of an Irishman at my feet, an angry slash in his neck. Looking up, I saw where Zade knelt over the corpse of Jack Green. But the bullet hole in his temple and the vacancy in his eyes told me he was already long gone.

“Stop!” Dad shouted, his voice pleading in a way that made me sick to hear it. I’d never heard him sound that way. Not ever. And whatever pieces of me remained unbroken shattered at the sound. “Stop this!”

A hammer cocked back, and when I looked back, I found no less than seven guns aimed at my head.

But theirs weren’t what bothered me. What bothered me was where Séamas O’Sullivan had his pointed.

Directly at my Ma, who sobbed quietly over Kaleb in her lap.

His eyes were trained on me, but I knew his aim would stay true. “I can do this all day, son,” he taunted. “Put away the blade. It’s done.”

A wave of barely restrained fury rolled up my spine and I bristled at the effort of tempering it.

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