Page 18 of Reaper
I interlace my fingers behind my head. “What about him?”
I answer his question with a question even though I know it will piss him off. I don’t like people in my business, and I’m getting irritated sitting here trying to explain this entire situation.
“Logan don’t fucking play with me. Not now.”
“If you’re asking if I had anything to do with his attack, the answer is no, King. If it had been me, his ass would be six feet under. Was I there? The answer is yes.”
“You were there?”
“Yes, I was there that night in the locker room getting ready for my fight. But I was not in the room when it happened.”
I didn’t try to kill Nikita, but I understand the implications of me being at the warehouse when it happened and what it may look like to the Russians especially since I disappeared.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He leans back in his chair, groaning. “What in your goddamn mind told you that it would be a good fucking idea to go into Bratva territory and fight?”
“Look, there are things you don’t know about me, and I’m not going to share before you fucking ask.” He narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t cut in. “But going to the underground fights is necessary for me. However, we have bigger problems.”
“And what problem is bigger than you being in Bratva territory the same night Nikita Petrov was almost stabbed to death?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose before glaring at me. He’s barely holding onto the shred of control he has left, and I know this will push him over the edge. However, there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable. My brother is volatile sometimes and not being in the loop makes shit ten times worse.
“I know who attacked Nikita.”
He leans forward, planting his forearms on his desk. “And how do you know who tried to kill Nikita, if you weren’t in the fucking room?”
“Because she’s staying at my condo.”
He picks up the tumbler of whiskey from his desk and throws it. I duck out of the way just as it whizzes past my head and slams against the door.
He jumps to his feet, planting his palms on his desk as he leans forward. “Have you lost your goddamn mind!”
If he wasn’t my brother, this conversation would have taken a completely different turn with one of us, or both of us, going to the emergency room.
I arch my brow, pushing down the urge to kill my big brother. “No. But apparently, you’ve lost yours. I’m going to respect you as my brother and as my Prez, King. But if you do some shit like that again, we’re going to have a real problem. I’m not some kid or a prospect you can intimidate.”
“Watch your fucking mouth, little brother.” He points at me, his face contorts with rage causing the veins at his temples to bulge. “You’re already skating on thin ice with me. Keep fucking around and I’ll fuck you up.”
“Look, I don’t have to explain my actions about fighting at the club to anyone, including you.”
I ignore his threat. He’s my big brother, and he can throw down with the best of them. But I can hold my own against him.I’m not a kid anymore and he can’t just beat my ass without me giving it to him in return. I don’t want it to come to blows but if it does, it is what is. And I’ll make sure he knows who he’s really fucking with. I’m not the same person he knew years ago.
“You goddamn better explain it to me when your damn actions put you and all of us at risk! What the hell are you not understanding!”
It’s not that I don’t understand it. I completely understand. I just wanted to handle shit myself without pulling everyone else in it. King has every right to be upset with my decisions, but it still won’t change what I’ve done. I would still have fought in Bratva territory, and I still would have tried to help Paris.
“I’ll explain the situation with Paris because you do deserve to hear it since it’s pulled the club into this shit.”
Why I fight, I’m keeping that shit to myself.
He grunts and drops back into his seat. “I’m listening. And Logan don’t leave shit out.”
“She attacked him in self-defense.”
I can see the doubt stamped into every line of his face before he ever says a word.
“And how do you know it was self-defense if you weren’t in the goddamn room?”
The rhythmictap-tap-tapof my finger against my thigh is a physical display of my mounting impatience. Of course, he doesn’t know her to believe her, but at least he can take my word for it.
