Page 42 of Agony

It had all happened during their parents’ divorce. When his mom got custody of the three of them, he remembered being happier than he’d ever been to finally be away from their father.

It didn’t last long and that was because his deadbeat dad hadn’t given a shit about divorce papers or the outlined custody agreement. The man had come to the house even before the ink had dried on the papers and had tried to take him and Rip from their mother.

At the age of nineteen and on leave back from basic training, Wrath had been strong for his age and had tightly grabbed hold of him. With one arm wrapped around his waist, Wrath caught Rip’s jacket and held on. Their little brother kicked at their father and Wrath managed to wrap his other arm around Rip, trying to keep them all from the monster on the front porch.

Justice would be forever grateful that he had not been taken.

Rip hadn’t been so lucky.

Justice still remembered his thirteen-year-old brother’s screams as their father carried him away. He still remembered his mother’s sobs and the wounds on her knees when she had fallen in the street while running after the green beat-up truck.

“Justice.”

Wrath’s murmur jerked him out of the past and he stared at his brother, holding his gaze across the small kitchen bar.

“You okay?”

“Yup.” Avoidance was natural and he jerked his eyes away. Neither one of them wanted to rehash the past. “Why do you live like this?” Frowning, he glanced around the shabby living room with its scarred coffee table, sunken-in sofa, and crappy sand-colored carpet.

“Because I don’t want any roots.” Wrath slammed the coffee grounds into the maker and flipped the switch on. Justice hoped that the grounds inside the white paper stayed put.

He got that.

They were opposites as a result of their childhood and that was because they both handled what had happened in completely different ways. While he wanted a permanent house and home, his brother made an art out of never staying long in one place. Wrath had moved three times in the span of one year and all within the same damned city.

He wanted to ask Wrath if he knew about Fisher’s past. If Wrath knew about Fisher, Rogue, and Echo, and what they’d gone through. He wanted answers.

But what he wanted more was for Fisher to be the one to tell him his story.

And right now, that sure as fuck wasn’t going to happen. Not after the way Fisher had come at him in the parking lot. He rubbed his fingers lightly over the bruise on his cheek.

“Tell me about Rogue,” he said instead.

“Why?”

“He’s going to shoot me.” He’d seen the rage in Rogue’s hooded gaze and he knew without a doubt that if it had only been the two of them, Rogue would have taken him out, or tried to take him out.

Wrath frowned and then shot him that damned smirk again. His brother shook his shoulder-length blond hair back and reached up to grab two coffee mugs from the cupboard.

“I’m serious. He left me a note.” He flopped against the back of the sofa, sinking into the broken-down cushions and stretching out his legs.

“A note?”

“Yeah, I thought you knew that.”

“It was pretty chaotic that day in Savage’s office. Tell me what the note said.”

“It said to watch my back.”

Wrath filled their cups before the pot stopped brewing, but that was fine with Justice, he liked his coffee dark.

“I doubt it was a threat.”

“What other way can I take it?” Justice took the cup his brother handed him when he walked into the small living room.

“A warning about something.”

“I doubt that. I had just fucked one of his best friends.”

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