Page 44 of Love Thy Brother
I passed him his phone. He handed me a tea mug. With milk this time. “I went to the shop. Hope Saint didn’t mind.”
“You knew he was here?”
River shrugged. “Saint doesn’t spy on me. He promised he never would.”
“That was nice of him. Was that before or after him and Cam sorted their shit out?”
“Way before. It was the day I left the club.”
Damn. A shiver rattled my spine. I remembered that day. Cam’s anger, hurt, and grief. Orla’s tears.Mine, when I was finally alone with the reality that the life I was born to lead was destroying the person I loved most. “You should know it’s not always Saint out there, and you’ll never extract that promise out of Alexei.”
River folded himself onto the bench. Beside me, he seemed slender, but in reality, he wasn’t much slimmer than Mateo. “Yeah, I get that vibe from him. He’s a true rebel.”
“RebelKingnow, mate.”
I waited for River’s lip to curl in distaste.
It didn’t. He sipped his tea and leaned back on the bench, his oil-stained T-shirt riding up, exposing a sliver of his taut stomach to the winter breeze.
I looked away.
Had to, or I’d die the very best death.
“You’re not too old to die young, boo.”I blinked and sat up straighter, static sounding in my ear, a shitastic warning that a migraine was coming.
Fucking fuck.Anxiety bloomed in my chest.I swear to God, if club life didn’t give me PTSD, these motherfuckers would.
“You okay?”
River’s quiet question punctured my introspection, and his hand on my arm startled the hell out of me. I stared at where his palm touched my skin, waiting to burst into flames, but the dull throb of an incoming headache hit me instead.
Brilliant.I stood, letting River’s hand slide from my arm, and turned my back on the rising sun, blocking the light from my oversensitive eyes. “Are we gonna talk about the abattoir smeared on your walls?”
River’s dark gaze narrowed. “That’s your answer?”
The only one he was getting. I dead-eyed him. “How about the death cartoon in the cupboard?”
“How the fuck did you find that?”
“I was looking for bleach.”
Irritation heated River’s lovely face, cutting his features into harsh lines, all angles and razor-sharp cheekbones. “To clean up a mess that isn’t yours.”
“It shouldn’t be yours either.”
“Doesn’t alter the fact that it is.” River reached across and pushed my tea mug towards my mouth. “Or that it’s rude as hell to let a cuppa go cold.”
“Maybe I like it cold.”
“You don’t.”
River sat back and waited.
Annoyance pulsed through me, but it wasn’t real. Migraines made me a grumpy shithead, and I’d stick my bonce in a cement mixer before I willingly took it out on him.
I drank the tea. It was hot and sweet, the two things River did best when his mood was right. I couldn’t discern what his mood was right now. Hell, aside from the irrational vexation thumping in my temple, I couldn’t figure mine out either. “Tell me about the decapitation picture.”
River drained his mug and placed it on the concrete at his feet. For a man who often hurled things around with little care where they landed, it seemed out of context. Like he was playing for time. Measuring his words. A custom he rarely had the patience for. “What do you want to know?”
