Page 43 of It Shouldn't Be You
I sob into his chest, mourning the pain and heartbreak this will bring. For his brothers, who—fuck—won’t handle this well. But mostly, I weep for the life he’ll never get to live, the dreams he’ll never get to chase, and the moments he’ll never experience. A life so full of potential, now forever gone.
Chapter 36
Before we even set foot on the compound, I know something is wrong. Call it a gut feeling. The radio silence from Peter, Cole, and Abigail says it all. And as we pull through the unguarded gates, the chaos confirms it.
Men are gathered in clusters everywhere. Despite the late hour, the streets are lined with people looking frantic as hell, yet not one of them thought to call me or Alex.
“What the fuck is going on?!” Alex snaps, like I have the answer. Fuck, I wish I did. As soon as we step out of the car, a hush falls over the crowd. All eyes are on us.
Double fuck. When do you ever see a group of men unanimously fall silent?
“Someone want to explain what the fuck is going on and why I wasn’t informed?” I growl into the heavy silence. No one speaks, so I pull out my gun, fire a shot into the sky, and roar, “Do not make me repeat myself. What the fuck is going on, and where the hell is my wife?!”
“Sir, there was an attack. Your wife is… okay, but her guard—”
Before the soldier can finish, I’m sprinting into the house, my heart pounding in my ears. The sight in the living room stops me dead. Abigail sits on the floor, clutching Cole’s lifeless body. Her knuckles are white, her once-white shirt soaked in blood.
She’s anything but “okay.”
In no world should my wife be sitting in a pool of blood, pale as a ghost, clutching a dead body, with a goddamn wound bleeding through her side while those fuckers outside act like it’s business as usual.
“What the hell happened? Who did this to you?” I rasp, dropping to my knees in front of her. My hands tremble as I gently lift her shirt to inspect her wound.
“He shot me. Then he killed Cole.” Her voice wavers as she continues, “He was barely nineteen, Logan. He had his whole life ahead of him. He wouldn’t have even been here if it weren’t for me.”
Her shoulders sag under the weight of misplaced blame.
“It’s not your fault,” I say firmly, inspecting the injury. “Looks like it’s just a flesh wound, but Alex needs to check it out while I deal with the piece of shit who did this.”
Her vacant eyes meet mine, and the words that follow hit me like a freight train.
“I want his blood, Logan. It was Peter. I want his blood, and I want him dead for what he’s done—for what he’s destroyed.”
If my wife wants someone dead, then someone is going to die.
The realization that my own uncle dared to harm Abigail makes rage bubble up inside me to a level I didn’t know existed. The sooner my hands are wrapped around his throat, the better.
“Alex,” I bark, “take care of her. I’m trusting you with her life.” It’s not even a question. He’s the only one here I trust. While Alex handles Abigail, I’ll deal with Peter.
Locking the two of them in the house, I pull out my phone. The men gathered outside are restless, but they can fucking wait. Peter is my top priority. On the off chance he doesn’t know Abigail recognized him, I try calling him. If I can lure him into my trap, it’ll be faster to deliver the blood Abigail demands.
“Peter? Where are you? Shit’s blown up here, and I need your help,” I say, layering my voice with feigned urgency.
“Logan? What’s going on?” He sounds confused, almost convincing, but I trust Abigail more than him. I trust what she saw more than this liar’s voice.
“There was an attack. Where the hell were you? Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on things?”
“I had to run out to set up that shipment for Belfast. I’m on my way back now. Where are you?” His calm tone makes my blood boil. He has no idea the storm that’s waiting for him.
“In the cellar. We’ve got the culprit, but I need your help dealing with him,” I lie smoothly. With promises to hurry, he hangs up. His promises mean nothing, but I don’t let on. Instead, I turn to the men outside.
“When Peter arrives, escort him to the cellar,” I order, before heading down to prepare.
The cellar is an underground torture chamber, soundproof and inescapable. Once you’re down here, there’s no leaving. I should know. I spent most of my childhood trying to escape this place. It was my father’s favourite place to punish me as a kid. Now, it’s about to serve a much better purpose.
I strip off my shirt and lay out my tools. There’s no point in ruining perfectly good clothes with his traitorous blood. Theclatter of footsteps alerts me to his arrival. Peter descends the stairs first, his face paling when he realises I’m alone. He tries to bolt, but James and Alistair block the exit, shoulder to shoulder, like a wall of muscle.
“You know, a lot of things are starting to make sense now,” I say, stalking towards him.
