Page 175 of SINS & Riley
“Besides,” he drawls, “it’s not like I don’t know where the vital organs are, though avoiding them? That felt… wrong and unnatural.” A mock shiver runs through him. “Like fighting left-handed.”
“Or with your arms chained over your head,” Mateo cuts in, strolling through the door with my favorite coffee. Instead of offering it to me, he slurps loud enough to grate.
Bastard.
My glare drives back to Enzo. “You used a serrated blade.”
He spreads his hands, helpless. “Half the room’s seen me fight. What was I supposed to do—announce, ‘Relax, Keenans, I’m just slipping my brother a sedative in a syringe…nothing to see here’?”
“It was a six-inch blade,” I deadpan.
“And not eight.” A wink. “You’re welcome.” I try to straighten my pillow as he leans in, blowing a thick ring of smoke straight into my face, grin stretching wider. “By the time I was finished, you were barely breathing and drooling like a St. Bernard.”
A hand pats my abs, a pain so sharp like my appendix just burst. “Ow, Christ. What the fuck?”
“Just checking Enzo’s handiwork,” Mateo says, annoyed as he takes another slurp of coffee. “You know, I flipped him for the honor of killing you live on stage. Fair warning: piss me off again, and I’ll be first in line.”
“How exactly did I piss you off?”
“How didn’t you piss me off?” He starts ticking fingers. “Let’s see—faked your death. Let us all mourn your loss. Tried to take on half the universe solo when you’ve got brothers?—”
“Better-looking brothers,” Dillon cuts in from the back of the room.
“With better fighting skills,” Enzo piles on.
“And better brains,” Smoke adds.
It slams into me like a Mack truck. It’s been months, and for the first time, we’re all here. Me and my brothers. Together. Talking.
Or more accurately, them giving me more shit than a manure plant.
And I’ve missed it.
The weight of it crashes through me. I hurt them. It doesn’t matter that I was protecting them or I didn’t mean to hurt them. The fact is, I did.
By now, they’re all staring, murderous glints flashing.
Dillon most of all. My twin, my mirror. His face twists into quiet rage, reflecting everything I’d feel if I was in his shoes.
He looks two seconds from driving his fist straight into my balls.
And fuck, I’d let him.
Not that I could stop him. Right now I couldn’t lift a feather because, fuck, maybe I need a hospital.
Instead, he says, “If you were ashamed of rocking a two-inch dick, you didn’t have to off yourself. They make prosthetics for that shit.”
A glimmer of hope sparks—he’s not really mad. None of them are.
My voice cracks, throat raw. “Back off. Two inches is the new ten.”
Dillon snorts. “Whatever gets you through the night, man.”
Laughter ripples through the room, loud and rough. And just like that, I’m back with my brothers.
God, it feels so fucking good.
“Speaking of,” Smoke flicks a finger at my junk. “I lost a bet. I can’t believe that fun-size cocktail sausage of yours actually works.”
