Page 20 of Small Town Beast

“Dead.”

Roman looked stunned. His dark eyes went into shadow. “I’m sorry, man.”

“He was old. It happens,” said Saverin brutally. Poor Fang, having his miserable company for the last two years of his life. Awash with sudden self pity Saverin reached for the vintage whiskey, which was exactly where he’d left it twenty-four hours ago. It was like he was living the same day all over again. He’d felt like that since his brother died. But if only he could go back one turn of the clock to the day Sam had gone up to Roman’s house to meet his end. If only he could go back to that morning and trade places with Sam. He was the one that should have taken the bullet. Sam should have been mourning with Fang.

Everybody dies, boy.

“Get out,” he said to Roman. He wanted to get drunk.

He wantedher.

Better than whiskey…

“I need to hear you say you won’t go after the Snatch Hills again, Saverin. I need you to swear it.”

“Get out of my house.”

“For two years you’ve been holed up here drinking your feelings. Come back to us. You know I see you as my own brother –-”

Saverin threw the bottle at Roman with all his strength. It smashed against the wall, shattering the family picture of the Baileys instead of Roman’s skull. Roman had ducked just in time. The fucker always had the reflexes of a cat. Ancient whiskey rained down the wall.

The McCall stooge came running. “What happened? What’s going on in here?” he bellowed stupidly.

Saverin pointed the Kimber at his cousin’s chest, trying to recall if it was loaded. The stooge scrambled for his own gun but Roman stopped him.

“We’ll leave,” the McCall leader told Saverin slowly. “If that’s what you want. We’ll go. Alright? Now just put the fuckin’ gun down.”

“I’m not your brother.” Saverin could barely form words. “I had only one brother. You— you’re nothing to me.”

More than anything he wished the bottle had found its target. He could recall seeing his brother’s head like a burst melon — the pictures—

“Saverin,” said Roman. “Saverin, just hold the fuck on.”

“You McCalls…You sleekit bastards would have never risen so high without us. Every step of the way, we Baileys had your back. Like faithful hounds. It ends here and now.”

“Hounds,” said Roman. “That’s the word. You know what we do to mad dogs?”

“Get off my land.”

“It didn’t have to be this way.”

Saverin stood up. “What did I say?”

“You’re off the roll,” said the clan leader, “Until you can control your temper.”

“I realize my shares,” Saverin snarled. “I quit the business. I wash my hands of every McCall.”

“Be damned to you, then.” Roman backed away from him, looking sick. “You’re my brother, maybe not in blood, but we raised up together. You think I don’t wish it was different? I sent him to his death— you think that means nothing to me? I don’t sleep, I don’t eat, I think of them I killed. Your brother— Sam—”

Saverin’s finger flinched on the trigger. Roman had benefitted the most from his brother dying. Sam died to protect Roman’s woman, and now Roman got to live happy and freewhile Saverin’s whole family was buried in the dirt. He deserved to live with the guilt, if Saverin had to live without Sam.

Roman saw the intention in his cousin’s eyes. It was the first time he truly understood that the rift between them would never be healed. Sorrow filled them both in that moment; words were not enough and they would never be. The ages-old alliance of McCalls and Baileys was done.

Roman turned with his henchman and left.

Silence,again.

He was back on the couch.

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