Page 116 of Love Thy Brother
“Desperation breeds stupidity. Folk believes they are preparing to set a fire. I will go myself and look when we are done here, but it makes sense. Your insurance policy won’t cover everything you stand to lose and that puts you in the same camp as them.”
“Desperate?”
“Broken. They are banking on you rushing to sell your land to the first bidder who comes along.”
River absorbed that, and for once, his emotions were hard to decipher. I expected anger. Braced for it, even. But the muted flare in his expressive gaze was resignation more than anything.Fuck.Was he actually considering it? Selling up? After everything he’d been through to get to this point?
“How soon will they do it?” he asked.
Alexei shrugged. “Soon, if Folk’s assessment is correct, and I have no reason to believe it isn’t. But we will need him on the road for the raids on the county lines operation. Locke too. I can watch them alone for a time, but—”
“Nah. Fuck that. You should be on the road, protecting people, not property.”
“Protecting your property protects the MC,” Alexei countered. “You’re the son of their founding father. If the club can’t protect you and your business, then you have the same problem as allowing the attack on Rubi would bring.”
“Fucking hell.” River’s spooky calm began to crack. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What’s the answer, then? Cos I’m starting to think it’d be easier to let it burn.”
“No.”
“No.”
“No fucking way.”
The chorus was loud and seemed to take River by surprise. Me too, for no other reason than shouting and banging my fist on the table caused literal sickness to rise in my throat.
Mother of Dragons.
I pushed back from the table and made a sharp dash for the exit.
No one followed. I ran across the yard and into the bar, grateful it was empty, and made a puke stop at my favourite sink out back.
It wasn’t the worst I’d ever had. After two rounds, the pressure in my head eased, leaving me with a dull, annoying ache in my neck.
I rubbed at it with one hand and cleaned up with the other, though, after eighteen months of this bullshit, I was somewhat of a fucking expert at aiming for the plughole.
Put that on your Tinder bio, sweetheart.
Not that I had Tinder.
Floaty, rambling thoughts were my baseline after a migraine attack. I let them party for a minute or so, but I didn’t have the luxury of a six-hour daydream ahead of me. Head bowed, I breathed deep, pulling my shit together. It was fight night. If I wasn’t on point, brothers got hurt.
Rivergot hurt.
Fuck that.
I turned the tap off and left the bathroom. Across the yard, I spied Locke and called him over. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Church. We need some advice.”
Locke, Mr Amiable ninety percent of the time, planted his feet. “I’m not on the council.”
“So?”
“So I shouldn’t be in the chapel.”
“We ain’t that precious. Come on.”
