Page 56 of Hell Hath No Fury

He peeks an eye open, then closes it as he mutters, “I’m going to fucking kill her.”

I smile, this not being the first time I’ve heard these words. “Did she fucking deck you?”

He gives me an impatient look. “It would appear so.”

I laugh, and Tony quickly joins me, always one to enjoy witnessing Darius’s embarrassing moments. Then Camilla asks from the doorway. “What the fuck did you do to earn that?”

“I tried to tell her she couldn’t take the prisoner out of the basement and jet off with Lilith to take care of shit.”

“I can see why that might upset her. But what did you say to make her actually deck you?”

Darius scowls, then mutters, “I may have threatened to physically restrain her if she refused to do as she was told.”

Camilla cackles. “Well, that was dumb.”

“Obviously, I could have worded it better,” Darius concedes. “Regardless, I’m sure they took that piece of shit out of the basement, and now they’re in the wind.”

“She did what?” Tony’s humor vanishes, and his words come out cold and angry. He moves closer to Darius, frowning down at him as if he was the assaulted party and not Darius.

“Oh, so she didn’t bother even telling you two?” Darius responds with a sour laugh. Tony extends his hand toward him, and he takes it, allowing Tony to assist him to his feet.

I shake my head. “Lilith caught us in the walk-in fridge and locked us in without any comment at all.”

“So that copycat prick isn’t even here?” Camilla asks sullenly, her glare directed at Darius.

Sighing, Darius looks to Camilla and then to Tony, his hands coming up in front of him as he sputters, “I don’t know why you two are glaring at me. I have nothing to do with their insane plan.”

“I need to talk to that fucker.” Camilla’s words are defensive, and Darius snorts in a decidedly un-Darius-like fashion as he retorts, “Yeah. Me, too. But I guess we’re gonna have to go to the back of the queue because fuck only knows where they are now.”

Camilla turns to me. “Come on, Matt. Find them.”

They’re all staring at me now, and I roll my eyes as I turn and walk out of the closet, then out of the room and down the hallway to my own room.

I attempt to let the door close behind me, but the group of them are right on my heels, and no sooner have I picked up a laptop than Darius is holding a tablet, poking at it as if he has the first clue what he’s doing. “Fuckin’ hell, Dare. Cut it out.”

He gives me a good side-eye, then continues to poke around my apps as if the answers are just going to jump out at him. I attempt to yank it from his grasp, but he jerks away at the last second, his expression turning smug as I curse loudly.

“Darius,” a voice shouts from the lower level, drawing my attention away from Darius and my poor, abused electronic device.

We all turn to the doorway, listening intently, and then we hear it again—louder this time—punctuated by heavy footfalls hitting the stairs, quickly growing closer as they sprint down the hallway.

Then Declan is there, rushing through the doorway, a look of panic on his face. He looks around the room wild-eyed until, finally, he spots his brother frozen in place with a tablet still in his hands.

Declan stops a few feet from Darius, staring at him with an expression that’s half-pained, half-relieved. Scanning him from head to toe and back again, Declan takes a halting step toward him before stopping again, eyes squeezed shut.

Darius deflates right in front of my eyes. His shoulders sag, his head hangs, and his breath catches. Then, without comment, he drops the tablet on the table, steps into Declan, and wraps his arms around him, yanking him close.

Declan doesn’t even pretend not to be moved by having his brother back. He’s not at all restricted by the need to keep his emotions in check or to put on an act of misplaced machismo. No, Declan hugs Darius tightly, pressing his face right into his neck and letting months and months of torture loose in a silentsob that has his shoulders shaking, his hands gripping Darius’s shirt.

I turn away, blinking back the sudden burning in my own eyes. I glance at Tony, noting he’s doing the same thing. Camilla sniffles beside me, then leans her shoulder against my arm as she watches them, unabashedly wiping tears from her cheeks.

Laughing, I shake my head, and Tony nudges me. “What the fuck is so funny?”

I motion to Darius and Declan, and then to Camilla, and finally to the two of us, both standing there obviously on the brink of our own emotional breakdowns. “What is not funny about a bunch of fucking criminals boohooing like crybabies?”

Camilla punches me in the arm, then whispers, “I’ll have you know there aren’t many things more attractive than a man who’s in touch with his emotions.”

“That may be so,” Tony responds. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t deny it around outsiders.”

---