Page 63 of Ruthless Reign

“You’re a fuckin’ dead man,” I told him, pointing my bloody blade at his face before bringing it to my mouth, licking off the blood to spit it in his direction. A threat. A promise.

His son stared at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Aodhán. Séamas’ son. The one who shot Kaleb. I’d take him slow. Make it hurt. They were all dead men walking, they just didn’t know it yet.

“Not today,” Séamas said, inclining his head behind me, to the horror I couldn’t bring myself to look at again. “Tonight it was your brother’s turn to meet his maker. I’m afraid I’ve made a deal with mine and he won’t take me until I’m through.”

My eyes stung and I blinked, curling in on myself as his words sobered my wrath enough to bring the anguish into stark, brutal clarity.

Séamas whistled. “Pack it up, boys!”

As the two Irishmen let my father up, he thrashed to get their hands off him, racing to Kaleb on the ground.

“Same time next month, Damien. No tricks or next time I won’t be so merciful.” I doubted Séamas’ words made it to my father’s ears as he dropped to his knees opposite Ma in the red-stained dirt. Ma, who was rocking Kaleb like he was still two years old. Ma, who had a dead look in her eyes. Ma, who was humming something that prickled at the furthest parts of my memory.

A lullaby she would sing to us to block out the sounds of our father trashing the house just outside our closed bedroom door.

“Sloane,” Dad croaked. “Sloane, let go. Let go, baby. I got him.”

“No. No, don’t touch him!”

Distantly, I heard vehicles retreating. Their headlights, left on for the meet, gone with them, plunging us all into darkness.

“Where was his vest?” Dad was shouting. “Hardin. Hardin why the fuck wasn’t he wearing a vest?”

I felt my own chest, bare beneath the thin fabric of my t-shirt.

…because I wasn’t?

Because I never did.

And he’s my little brother.

I wanted to claw out my own heart. Give it to him to replace the one they broke.

A tortured, ragged breath stole all the air from the desert and suddenly I was there, beside my little brother as his eyes rolled open and he coughed, choking on the blood in his mouth.

I shoved Dad out of the way. “Get the fucking car.”

I slapped Kaleb’s cheek, bringing him around.

“Kaleb,” I growled. “Kaleb, hey, look at me. Fucking look at me.”

Ma had her red hands covering her mouth and I growled at her to keep pressure on the wound and I knew she was back. Whatever black hole she’d chucked herself into spit her back out as she knelt on her shattered knee and pushed hard into Kaleb’s chest.

“Fuck,” he cursed as she staunched the flow of blood.

The roar of an engine met my ears, and I snarled at Pope to get the fuck out of the way as I lifted him.

Kaleb groaned through clenched teeth as I hefted him up and muscled him to Dad’s car. Ma was there, sliding into the back seat on the other side, waiting for him. I lifted him onto her knees, and she hissed, but the only words that fell from her lips were reassurances to Kaleb as she took the shirt I ripped from my back and pushed it to his wound again.

“Drive,” I snarled as I got in, kicking Dad’s seat forward to make room as I dragged Kaleb’s knees onto my legs.

The tires peeled, kicking up dirt as my door shut.

I prodded at Kaleb’s back, recalling in the riot of inconsistent thoughts in my skull that the bullet went through.

“What are you doing?” Ma snapped at me as Kaleb made sounds of discomfort with every prod of my fingers.

“It went through.”

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