Page 155 of Love Thy Brother
“Why?”
Folk shrugged. “Seemed a bit edgy. That’s why I stayed on watch, but I had to come back to turn the rigs around for Decoy’s run this afternoon.”
Made sense. Truck management was Mateo’s job, but he wasn’t here.Because the baby’s coming. A day I’d looked forward to as if that kid was my own, but yet somehow, in this moment, the prospect of new life terrified me.
What if my old nan had been right? What if every birth brought death to address the balance?
Calm your tits.Nanna Maud was a fucking psycho.
“Hey.” Locke’s low voice got my attention. “Want me to come with you? I can wait outside while you check he’s okay.”
Refusal was on the tip of my tongue. River didn’t know Locke, and whatever the fuck was going on—if anything—he wouldn’t appreciate an audience. But Locke was a firefighter. I’d seen him save that old lady. Heard tales of him taping Embry’s skull back together and even finding ways to aid Saint when the last thing that contrary motherfucker ever wanted was anyone’s help.
Locke was solid. Strong.
My brother as much as Nash was.
“Yeah, man. I’d appreciate it.”
I tipped Folk a nod and backed off, making a run for my bike. I gunned the engine and roared to the gates, waiting the heartbeat it took for Locke to join me. Then we hit the road, and urgency built in my gut with every mile we left behind.
Something ain’t right.With him or with me, I couldn’t tell. But I was a fucking mess by the time we tore into Porth Luck.
River’s Softail was by his tiny gate. I hurled my bike into the minuscule space beside it and abandoned it so fast it tipped over.
I didn’t give a shit. I beat my fist on River’s front door, phone to my ear, hammering the UPVC panels, shouting his name.
No response.
Nothing.
I couldn’t see shit through the pixie-sized window. I knelt and opened the letterbox, but my view was obscured by a draught excluder. Thick. Plastic. Slippery. I struggled to get a grip on it, cursing up a storm as Locke appeared beside me.
“You don’t have a key?”
“Do I look like I have a fucking key?”
“All right. I’ll check the back.”
He evaporated.
I returned to tearing at the letterbox, ripping the skin from my fingertips, but I got nowhere. I gave up and rose to boot the door with the full power of my frustration.
It was a shitty contraption. Worse than the one River had wrangled open at the stash house in Truro. Any shred of common sense should’ve told me to calm the fuck down and jimmy the cunt, but I was fresh out of common sense. The worry inside me exploded into violence, and I kicked and kicked that fucking door until it burst open.
The frame splintered from the wall, door tumbling into my path.
I hurdled it and charged into the house, meeting Locke in the hallway.
He moved to the living room.
I charged into the kitchen and tripped over River’s feet.
He was on the floor, slumped against the cupboards.
Unconscious.
Phone in his hand lit up with a message from Cam.
