Page 83 of Choices

“I don’t know. But they’re a dead man walking. I got a text to get her from downtown.”

“Don’t stand here and talk like I’m not in the room.” I pull away from Cutter’s grip and take the glass from Callan, gulping the cool liquid and exhaling when it coats my throat.

“Talk to us, Kit,” Callan demands, broad arms perched on his hips. Cutter looks like he’s going to tear out of his skin, the vein in his temple fluttering madly.

My body aches. Every nerve feels stretched beyond its limits, and all that's left are cuts and bruises.

A pang of nausea crawls up from my core—fear and anger course through my blood. I was so foolish with Michael tonight, leading with my libido and not my brain. I want to scrub my skin until it breaks away for even letting him touch me.Fucking bastard.

My hand squeezes the glass of water until pain radiates in my palms.

"Kit?" Cutter says firmly.

Darting my eyes between the two foreboding figures waiting for answers from me, I swallow past the stone lodging in my throat.I want answers too!

“What happened to Nicolas Carnell?” I ask.

The atmosphere shifts, tension rolling in like a storm front.

“Why?” Callan asks, bracing his legs apart, his arms now over his chest. Gone is my big brother. I’m now facing the VP of the kings of Sin motorcycle club.

Cutter reaches out. Taking my arm, he lifts my wrist under the light, the red circular bruising already darkening. His gaze hardens, pierced with accusation. “Did Michael Carnell do this?” His voice is so cold, death himself would tremble.

“What happened to Nicolas? Was it the gang?” I beg to know. “Something went down that night and I thought it was a police raid.”

“It was.” Callan’s gaze flits to Cutter.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. I’m so sick of the lies!” I cry out, snatching my arm back and dumping the glass on the counter.

“Why would she be with Michael Carnell?” Callan ignores my outburst, directing his question to Cutter.

“They met at a club tonight.”

Fucking Claire.

Stepping between them, I growl, “Answer me! Did Nicolas ever leave here that night?”

“No,” Cutter says as Callan says, “Yes.”

Ringing shrills through my skull.

“Cutter,” Callan warns, and my shoulders sag.

Oh my god.

“He attacked Claire and got violent with me.” The crystal blue of his eyes bleeds into me, truth evident.

“You killed him,” I summarize, my mind a turbulent sea of thoughts.

“Cutter,” Callan says through clenched teeth.

“Something fucking happened to her, Callan. I’m not going to lie to her anymore. Did Michael do this to you?”

At my silence, Cutter’s fists clench. “I’m going to separate the bastard’s fucking head from his shoulders.”

“Kitty—look at me.” Callan fastens a hand around the back of my neck, turning my body to his.My big brother is back.“Was it Michael?”

“What will you do if it was?” My words are numb. This is so fucking bad. A flood of overwhelming emotions engulfs me. A haunting look passes through Callan’s eyes before he tugs me against his body. His scent fills my nostrils, the strong embrace offering safety and loyalty.

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