Page 173 of The Spider & the Storm

He ordered Stormy to get a bottle of water from the kitchen as Ray entered the living room, instantly startled and concerned about the scene playing out before her as her husband laid me back on the couch while I struggled to control my seizing lungs.

“What's going on?” she asked before ordering Noah to keep Miles away for a bit. She hurried over to the couch and knelt beside Soldier.

You fucking asshole, Luke. You fucking asshole. You weren’t supposed to do this to me. You weren’t supposed to do any of this to me.

“He’s hyperventilating,” Soldier said. “Charlie, man, come on. Breathe with me, okay? Inhale … exhale …”

I squeezed my eyes shut, seeing Luke's cocky grin and quickly shaking it away.No. I focused on pulling a shaky breath in, another shaky breath out. Slowly, I calmed my lungs, focused on Soldier, and then …

“I will see you again.”

“No, you won't, Charlie.”

“Oh God.” My eyes squeezed shut to the abrupt downpour, a deluge of tears, spilling messily into my hair and ears. “God.”

I balled up my fists, pressed them to my eyes, and replayed that last day. Over and over and over, if only to ingrain the sound of his voice into my head, knowing that one day, I wouldn't remember it at all.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CONNECTICUT, AGE THIRTY-THREE

Somewhere in this room, a kid was crying for their daddy. Couldn't tell if they were a boy or girl—it didn’t really matter either way. That kid's dad was a prisoner, and why he was a prisoner also didn't matter, not in this circumstance. Because what mattered to that kid—a toddler, from the sounds of it—was that he or she would have to walk out of here and go home to live life without their father. That kid didn't care about why their dad was locked up, didn't care what he had done. All they cared about—all they'd probablyevercare about for the foreseeable future—was that they couldn't betogether.

To that kid, there was nothing more unjust than that.

Fuck, every single guy in this place was a husband, son, father, friend … abrother…somethingtosomeone. Somethingimportant. But the people out there, beyond the concrete and bars and barbed wire …

They didn't give a fuck about that. There was no compassion to be found within their so-calledgoodandforgivinghearts, none at all. To them, these guys were no better than rabid animals that deserved nothing more than to be put down.Monsters.

Like me.

God, I'm no fucking better than these guys.

“Charlie!”

The crack of Luke's voice pulled me back down from the black cloud that had taken up permanent residence over myhead. I snapped my gaze away from the dirty window to stare at my brother, and the deep concern reflected in his eyes.

“W-what?” I stammered, blinking the image of Tommy's blood mixed with mine away from view.

He studied me for a moment, tipping his head as his worried gaze bounced around my face. I couldn't tell what he was focused on more—the deepened circles carrying the weight of my tired eyes, the length of my ratty beard, or the unkempt tangle of hair touching my shoulders—but I guessed it didn't matter. I knew he looked cleaner,better, than me, and so did he. But could anyone blame me? Kinda hard to sleep in the same house where you’d almost lost your own life—and where you had taken someone else's.

It was even harder to sleep when, in your heart, you felt you deserved to behere. Locked behind bars with the other monsters.

“You're really freaking me out, man,” Luke said quietly, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear his concerns. “Tell me what I can do.”

I couldn't help laughing, shaking my head and looking away. There wasn't a shred of humor in that laugh. “You can't do shit, and you know it.”

“I can try—”

“Oh, fucking hell, Luke. Stop trying to be the goddamn hero, all right?” My eyes dragged their way back to him. “You're not a fucking hero. You'rehere.”

The worry on his face wasn't wiped away by my brashness. “Yeah, and?”

“You're amurderer,” I spat, so bitter.

“I'm aware,” he said, still quiet, still gentle, stillworried.

“You fuckingfuck.” I laughed again, rolling my eyes to the water-damaged ceiling tiles. “You know, Luke, if you had been as worried about yourself as you are about me, then maybe you wouldn't be here. And I wouldn't be here. And I wouldn't …” I ground my teeth hard into my bottom lip, hating myself immediately for the crack in my voice and the flood in my eyes.

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