Page 81 of The Brotherhood

“The Chaos Pillars lost everything and now, we’re on our way to you.”

A slow exhale. Not relief. Not yet. “I look forward to being in the same room with the man who took my wife.”

Sinrik’s dry chuckle came unbidden at that gem. “Tell me.Bishop. Does she get her way everywhere she goes?”

He waited two seconds and got, “I think you already know that answer.”

Sinrik’s grin slowly came then faded. “Yes. I do.”

The hum of the jet filled the momentary silence while neither of them spoke. Two men who didn’t waste words. Two men who knew the conversation wasn’t about Beth. And yet was.

“See you tonight,” he said, or warned, ending the call.

Sinrik stared at the phone for many seconds as everything in his mind slowed down till it barely moved. He sat there, letting himself stand in it. It wasn’t any place he ever remembered being. Skin between skin. Air between air, doors between doors.

All of it leading to nowhere.

****

Sinrik keyed the door panel on the private cabin, and it slid open with a soft hiss. The air inside was warmer, but Beth still lay curled under the heavy blanket, her back to the door. The dim light cast long shadows across the walls, the hum of the engines filling the silence between them.

He stepped inside and stared at her. Small and yet bigger than life. Weak and yet stronger than any power he’d ever seen. Simple and yet… sofuckingcomplicated. Too good. Too sweet. Too taken.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he murmured, putting the single desk chair near the bed and sitting.

She didn’t move right away, then slowly faced him, her eyes swollen and blotchy, that soft fire still holding on. “I am resting.”

Sinrik exhaled lightly and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms over his hollow chest. “You’ve been crying.”

Beth scoffed tiredly, staring at the ceiling. “And what gave that away?”

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, selfishly. He didn’t care about making her feel better. He just wanted to hear words wrapped in her voice.

Fuck, what was he doing? Having a memorial?

He watched her lips press together and her forehead crimp. “I—I didn’t mean to do it,” she barely strained.

Sinrik stayed silent, watching her fight whatever was clawing up her throat.

“I—don’t know…I didn’t know that would happen,” she whispered, blinking tears. “I didn’t think it would—I just—” She sucked in a breath, shaking her head. “I would never try to hurt anybody like that.”

Sinrik moved to the bed and sat next to her, locking down his touch urges.

“I’m not—I’m not a vindictive person,” she whispered, barely looking at him. “I don’t hurt people. Are they okay?”

Her genuine concern felt like a hot poker in his chest. “Those old fucks are fine,” he muttered, returning to his chair before he touched her. “Probably their first true experience with actual chaos. And I think it was supposed to happen,” he added, urging her to look past her guilt.

She eyed him. “Really? Why?” she whispered hope peeking in.

“So they’d meet the Creole Kings. And so you’d meet me, of coure.”

He said it as a joke while eyeing her for confirmation. Or explanation for her obliterating presence inhislife.

Her brows drew together and she looked right at him. “Itwasyou,” she whispered, nodding. “I was supposed to… help you. Somehow.”

He lowered his head, agreeing but not for the same reasons.

“Did I?” she asked, hopeful. “Help you? Somehow?”

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