Page 9 of What Lies Within

"Hey." Hands before him, Connor nods at the ornate hilts protruding beside his ribs. "Let's not get to that, huh?"

"I will put a goddamn bullet in your fuckin’ head before you get the chance to twitch your motherfuckin' fingers, you bottle-fed waste of space!" Spit flies from my brother's mouth, giventhe way Connor leans away from his verbal assault. “Try me again, you shithead. Fuckin’ make my day better.”

“Location, for one hour with Rae.”

The sounds of mayhem echo off the surrounding stadium of trees—a crack of flesh on flesh, the rustle of boots sliding through grass. Tyke has Connor against the building, hand to his throat and gun at his temple, while Rae screams at them to stop. It's the inch of Connor's hand upward that has me step into the fray.

I lunge forward and pin his hand against the siding, disarming him of his blades and handing them off to Rae.

She stares down at the oxide in her palms, mesmerized by the weapons that no doubt held her prisoner on more than one occasion.

“Give us the location, or walkin’ under the power of your own two legs is a fast-fadin’ memory,” Tyke warns.

Connor hesitates, head still, as he no doubt attempts to read the severity of my brother's threat. The nudge of the gun tipping his head off balance should give him the details he misses in the dark.

“I could say anything,” Connor states, eerily level, “and you’d have no idea if it’s the truth or a lie until you’re a hundred miles away and I’m using these fucking legs to run back home.” He pauses. “How do you trust what I say is the truth?”

I catch Rae's slight movement in my periphery but pay her no mind, glued to the interaction between her ex and my brother. That is, until she steps into the line of sight, one blade held firm in her fist.

"His legs aren't what matters most to him," she says softly, moving to stand beside me, directly in front of the arm I still pin to the building. "It's his hands."

The whites of Connor’s eyes reflect the pithy moonlight. “Baby…”

His head jerks again with another warning shunt of Tyke’s gun.

"Which one makes it easier to throw your knives, Connor?” She lifts the tip of the blade to tap each splayed finger in succession, pricking the point of the blade against the fleshy pads.

He carefully curls his fist, avoiding the sharp edge and protecting his assets. “You wouldn’t.”

“Want to show them the scar where I did before?” Her shoulder brushes against me.

It takes all my self-control not to replace his arm withheragainst the wall, jerk those fucking jeans of hers down far enough to show her what this display of bravery does to me.

“You were scared,” Connor hisses. “You knifed me that night in a blind panic.” He drops a derisive laugh. “You couldn’t do it now. Conscious and aware. Premeditated.” He sneers the last word, leaning his head closer to her.

Tyke's gun tracks the movement, pressed flush against his temple. "You sure about that?" He turns his head and regards the beauty between us. "Strange things happen to people when you hurt them one too many times, Connor. Things like developing a thirst for revenge." He utters the last words at Connor.

“That what this is?” Kid has no idea. “Revenge?”

"Depending on what's happened to Maddie while you've been fucking us about," Rae utters. "It could be justice." She lines the tip of the blade with the side of his index finger. A silent but clear message.I can take it off, even in a fist.

“Fine.” Connor’s head hits the wall as he slams it back. “Fuck, fine.” His voice cracks. “He’s holed up with her at our Kenley Road property.”

“Kenley Road,” Tyke repeats. “You fuckin’ bought them out too?”

“Dad did. Yeah.”

The Kenley's have farmed grain since—fuck—as long as I can remember. Their fields were always a captivating study on the changing seasons during the bus ride to and from school back in the day. Five generations, if I remember right, and all it took was two dry seasons and a devil with no conscience for the hard work of their forefathers for all that to mean shit.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to leave," Connor states. "Without injury. No better way for the old man to start asking questions than have me arrive home with a missing finger missing, right?"

Fucker has a point, but still. “How do we know he’s not lying?”

“I can tell,” Rae whispers, backing away to retrieve the knife she’d dropped on the ground. “He’s telling you the truth.”

“Kenley’s makes sense,” Tyke affirms, shoving off the guy hard enough that Connor chokes from the pressure on his throat.

My brother strides along the tree line, jerking his phone from his pocket and bringing it to his ear. The word will spread, and brothers will be at the property before the hour is up. I note how Tyke scrubs his free hand over his head, shoulders hunched inward. It’ll hurt him, not being the first person she sees, but the club is closer to where they hold her. It makes sense for one of the others to be her hero, to be the one who rescues Maddie, even if that means a missed opportunity to show his girl how important she is to him.

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