Page 54 of Massacre
Sypher returned with a grim look on his face, and I knew before he even opened his mouth that whatever he had to say, I wasn’t going to like it. “Boss,” he said, his voice low and tense.
Turning to look at the kid, I blanched.
Sypher looked sick to his stomach, and my worst fear took root.
Getting up from my seat, I walked over to the kid. “How bad?”
“Bad,” the kid gulped, side-eyeing Player, who bent over, gripping his head. “Yuri’s brother, Yasha, was Petrovitch’s fucktoy. Massacre killed him.”
“Do I want to fucking know why?”
“No, boss. You don’t.”
Taking a deep breath, I nodded.
“Maxim wanted me to tell you to be careful. He said if you encounter Yuri. Don’t think. Just kill him fast.”
Nodding, I walked over to King and whispered, “I need this room cleared.”
King blinked a few times, nodded, then turned and yelled, “Everyone out.”
The instant the final brother’s shadow cleared the clubhouse doorway, a primal scream ripped from my throat, a sound as raw and ragged as torn flesh. The oak chair, heavy as a tombstone, became an extension of my rage. I hurled it, a projectile of fury, across the room. It smashed against the far wall with a sickening crack, the splintering wood a mirror of the shattering inside me. The stench of sweat and sawdust stung my nostrils, a bitter perfume to the bloodlust that clawed at my throat. It wasn’t just anger; it was a ravenous beast, a black hole of need gnawing at my soul, demanding a sacrifice, any sacrifice, to quench its insatiable hunger. My vision blurred, a crimson haze overlaying the scene, the taste of iron already thick on my tongue, a premonition of the carnage to come.
“Max?”
“He’s like me, baby,” I whispered.
“I know.”
Looking at her, I asked, “How?”
“I was checking on Sunny one night. She’d been sick all day. I brought Sandman some ginger ale and crackers in case she needed them in the morning. When I was leaving her room, I heard Mass screaming in his sleep. I knocked, but he didn’t answer, so I walked in.”
“That was dangerous, baby.”
“I know, but I would not leave him hurting like that,” she replied. “So, I sat by his bedside, whispering to him, trying to wake him. Anything to let him know I was there, that he wasn’t alone. When he woke and saw me, he knew I knew. I didn’t say anything, and when he cried, I cried with him.”
“You said nothing.”
She shook her head. “And I never would have because it’s not my story to tell. All of us have demons, Max. Some are just better at hiding them. Massacre didn’t want you to know. He thinks it’s bad enough that Reggie knows. It would kill him if he learned you do as well.”
“He blames me,” I whispered.
Rushing over to me, my wife wrapped her arms around me. “No, Max. He doesn’t blame you.”
“I sent him there, Remi. It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t of asked him to infiltrate the Bratva.”
“Don’t do that, Max. Don’t start second-guessing yourself. You did what you thought was best. Massacre knew going in that shit wouldn’t be good. He went anyway. Don’t take what dignity he has left from him.”
Remi was right, of course. Massacre had made the choice to go, but that didn’t stop the sickening twist in my gut. But the truth was, it didn’t matter if Massacre blamed me or not. Thefact remained that I had sent him into that hellhole, and now, because of it, he suffered the same fate as I did and was now willing to sacrifice himself to save Amber.
Just like I wouldn’t think twice about saving Remi.
It was at that moment I realized just how alike the four of us were.
“How do I find someone who doesn’t want to be found?”
“You don’t. I do,” Ravage said, stepping out of the shadows.
