Page 39 of Stone

He glances at Mr. Personality.

“He’s telling the truth.” He speaks to his partner, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine.

“You shot my brother.”

So, they’re brothers. I drag my finger over my lip. “I did.”

“And you saved him.”

I nod.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you save him?” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

Slowly, I scrub a hand over my head, then I shrug, deciding to hit them with my honesty. “It felt right.”

“Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?” So, they know I could have killed him and chose not to.

My throat becomes dry, and I struggle to clear it. “It felt wrong.”

He drags his hand over his jaw, then nods toward his brother, who places a file down in front of me.

I stare at it blankly.

“Go ahead and open it.” He motions with his hand.

Sweat gathers on my forehead as heat spreads through my veins like wildfire.

Whatever is in here is the key to my past, and for the first time ever, I’m more terrified of that than my future.

I shake my head, and he sighs.

“Your name is Keenan O’Connell, the youngest of the O’Connell brothers.” My eyes ping-pong from one man to the other. “Our brother.”

I suck in a sharp breath.

“Then where the fuck have you been?” I snap and stand quickly, sending my chair backward as my muscles bunch tight to the point of pain. “Huh? Where the fuck have you been?” My voice grows louder, and I unravel in a frenzy, pacing the room as I tug on my head. “Where?” I bellow.

“The important question is, where have you been?” Mr. Personality’s words still me, and I turn to give them my attention. My quizzing glare encourages him to elaborate almost immediately. “Where have you been, Keenan?”

“My name’s fucking Stone!” I jab my finger in my chest. “Stone! Say it!” I roar.

He swallows harshly and remains calm. “Where have you been, Stone?”

“I’ve been in literal hell, motherfuckers. Now, tell me everything I need to know,” I demand, and my pulse pounds in my ears.

“When you were fifteen years old, you were shot at our family warehouse. You weren’t meant to be there, and as far as we were aware, you were dead. We later discovered it was our uncle who shot you to cover up his”—he clears his throat before continuing on—“untoward behavior.”

I scoff.Is this prick for real?“Untoward behavior? Seriously?”

“He was a trafficker who raped our sister-in-law and mother. He’s a sick son of a bitch that died too quickly.” My eyebrows raise at the hatred pouring from him. “His death should have been more excruciating and painful, and I wish every fucking day I could have made him pay.” The leader speaks up, and my heart races at his admission.

“So, this uncle of yours wanted me dead, and I survived, huh?”

“Ours, you said uncle of yours. He was our uncle, yours too.” His eyes hold mine, but I refuse to be drawn in.

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