Page 13 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

“The FBI has a warrant out for my arrest. How did you expect to dig up any more information on Stephen and the Halo with them sniffing around like hungry dogs?” I counter. “I needed to disappear. This was our best bet.”

“For you,” he says around the smoke floating around his face, eyes hardened in my direction. “It was best for you. Telling us, including us in your hideaway plan, would have been best. Disappearing without a trace was for you—don’t get that twisted, selfish prick.”

There are many days out of the year that I question how Rook and I are still friends. It’s rare we agree on things and even more rare that we actively get along.

But for some reason, I still protect him. All of them.

It had been the only thing on my mind after I found May. Making sure that they were protected, unscathed from whatever blowback this copycat murder was trying to cause.

“They would’ve found me if you knew.”

“Yeah? How? Because you don’t trust us enough to keep that secret? Your god complex is unreal—you expect us to trust every motive you have without question, and the most insane thing is we fucking do.”

“Don’t question my—”

“Why’d you come back?” Alistair interrupts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “If that was your plan, why are you here?”

The question hits harder than the punch, the…disbelief in his tone. As if no matter what my answer may be, he won’t believe it, already counting my words as a lie.

Contrary to Rook’s statement, I’ve never questioned them. Their methods? Sure. But not their motives, not their fragile fucking feelings. Never once.

I look at Alistair, eyes cold.

“I never questioned you when Briar got involved. I didn’t like it, but I let it happen without so much as judgment. It was me who stayed in the hospital when she was sedated while you handled Dorian and your parents. I’ve followed you blindly for years,” I spit with hateful venom.

If they want to play, we can play.

“And you.” I turn my gaze to Rook, hiding behind his smoke. “Who never questioned your need to hurt? When you showed up at my door, begging me to slice you open, I gave you what you needed. Put my life on the line to kidnap a cop for you to exact revenge for a girl, and you didn’t even have to ask me.”

The words settle into the air like particles of dust, swinging between all of us like a pendulum, and I’m just waiting to see which one of us gets cut the worst.

I’d been loyal to them for almost my entire life, and this is their repayment?

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked me if I did it. Slaughtered my own grandmother. I mean, could you put it past me? It’s not like you trust me.”

“Thatcher—”

“I’m the villain now. How very interesting. Here I thought we were all on the same side,” I hum. “Maybe you do take after your father, after all, Caldwell. Traitor seems to run in the gene pool.”

Rage, molten and hot, pours from his eyes. I can feel it burning in the air. That’s the thing about being close. You know which cut hurts the most, which words will slice the deepest.

I hear the chair squeak and smell the weed as Rook walks closer, prepared to be the buffer between the two of us. His hit earlier was a warning. There’s no doubt Alistair would break my face if given the chance. I’ve watched him fight men twice my size and leave without a scratch.

But I don’t even need to touch him to inflict pain. That’s not how his mind works. It never has. He’d deny it, of course, but if I walked away from him, from them? It would destroy him.

Because I’m the ice that chills the fury in his veins. The one who let him sneak into my window when his parents were home. I’m the one who showed him how to bandage his wounds. I’m the person that let him sleep on my floor, the person who stayed awake until he fell asleep.

I didn’t do it ’cause I cared.

I did it ’cause he needed it. I’m always handling the things they need but don’t have the guts to do for themselves. Alistair’s rage, Rook’s pain, and Silas’s demons.

I’m his—he knows it—just as much as he is mine, but the difference? I don’t need him.

I don’t need any of them.

“Just answer the fucking question, Thatcher.”

Tilting my head, I hear the satisfying noise of my neck cracking before I reply.

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