Page 65 of Claimed By Rage

I lick my lips, a shot of adrenaline coursing through my veins. “I killed him.”

The confirmation rocks through her body like a bullet, jolting her backwards, the chair rocking into the wall. “Oh, Jimmy. You fool.” She shakes her head, but I catch the swell of tears in her eyes. Jimmy cried too, near the end. Mother and son have that in common.

I rise from my seat and cross the rug toward her. It’s also white. So much of this house is white. And beige. And cream. Wicker furniture. Things that stain easily.

“Where is your brother?” Mrs. Morrel asks suddenly, her hands shaking around her glass. “He’s supposed to be here, isn’t he? He’s supposed to speak with me. You don’t go on these visits alone, do you?”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Then call him!”

“He’s probably busy.”

Which can’t be right, because he picked Celia up this morning. Neither of them have come home yet, and the sun willset within the hour. He can’t be busy, because there’s nothing for him to be busy with when he’s with Celia.

“I’m not supposed to hurt you,” I tell her. “We’re supposed to talk.”

“You’re bad at talking.”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily, slumping in her rocking chair. “Jimmy did his best, you know. For the bratva. For this family.”

I know that she believes that, so I don’t say otherwise.

My phone vibrates in my pocket while I’m standing in front of Mrs. Morrel. When I’m on the job, I usually leave it in the car, on the floor, on the counter. Somewhere out of the way, where it can’t buzz at me. But the only ones who contact me are Ezra or my brothers.

And lately, Celia.

I take the few steps back to the couch and sit down. Mrs. Morrel visibly deflates like a balloon, flattening into her chair, forgetting to rock. Her breathing is shallow, but she keeps her eyes on the fire, like its presence is going to make a difference for what happens tonight. Or maybe she’s trying to see the future. Forget the past. People do strange things before they die, so I keep my eyes on Mrs. Morrel to find out what she’s going to do next.

My phone buzzes again, so I fish it from my pocket and squint at the screen. Rebel is spamming our group text with messages.

Rebel:

you mofo

where are you?

its been all goddam day

hello???

Then, in our group chat with Celia:

Rebel:

baby, u ready 2 come home?

I can cook u dinner

Rage remains silent. Celia doesn’t reply. It’s like they’re keeping us out—which goes against our new rules. I send a message to our private chat without Celia.

did she choose you today

Rebel:

fuck no, she didn’t choose Rage

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