Page 22 of Malicious Wedding

“Ah, shit,” Carson says, coming over to try to soothe me, but that’s like having a thousand-pound gorilla try to give me a back rub. I back away, wiping my face.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, it just hit hard hearing that he loved me, that’s all.”

“He was your bother.” Carson stops his advance, giving me space. “You loved him too.”

“I still do,” I admit, sipping my coffee. It burns my tongue, but at least it helps wash the tears down my throat. “I never stopped.”

“He understood. Even if he didn’t like it.”

I smile slightly. “He always was a stubborn asshole.”

“And loyal, and a good brother, even if you didn’t agree with his lifestyle choices.”

“Lifestyle choices?” I shake my head, standing up straight. I feel myself losing control and I need to remember why I put distance between myself and my family to begin with. “No, Carson, lifestyle choices are, like, getting piercings and tattoos, maybe fucking strangers or something like that. Lifestyle choices aren’t stealing, killing, selling drugs, committing crimes.”

“Is that what you think we do?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

He shrugs. “Well, you’re not, but there’s more to it.”

“Great, yeah, I bet you’re benevolent thugs, right? You steal from the rich and give to yourselves.”

“In a way.” He tilts his head, watching me. “Your brother ran a charity.”

“He ran a—” I stare at him then laugh. “Come on, that’s stupid. He didn’t run a charity.”

“It wasn’t official,” Carson admits. “But Iain made sure every single person living within a few blocks of your family was taken care of. Sidewalks shoveled, parking spots reserved, fed on holidays, entertained on weekends. He took care of his people.”

I cross my arms. It’s hard to imagine my gangster brother doing good with his life, but then again, Iain always was like that. Even when we were younger, he used to help the little kids on the block, used to protect them from bullies.

He sure as hell protected me from plenty.

“If you’re trying to make me feel bad, congratulations, you did it. I feel like an enormous piece of shit. Happy?”

“Not really. I just don’t want you to have this one-dimensional view of your brother. He did a lot of stupid things, but he also tried to do good, too.”

I put my mug on the counter and leave the kitchen. I can’t keep having this conversation with Carson, not when he’s staring at me like that, and especially not when he’s showing off those perfectly muscular forearms of his. After a moment, he drifts after me. I glance at the nest of blankets and pillows on the futon, all neatly folded, and his shoes by the door.

“Take me to see him,” I say, turning to glare at my pseudo-captor. I don’t even know how to think of him right now. Stalker? Monster? “If he’s out of surgery, I want to visit.”

Carson shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“Same reason I told you to stay away yesterday. Which you ignored.”

“Too bad. If you won’t take me, I’ll get there myself.”

His jaw works. I can tell that annoyed him. “I know you’re always stubborn, but this is bigger than what you want.”

“Oh, you know me, do you? We were acquaintances ten years ago and you think you know me?” He only stares, unblinking, imposing. “Listen to me, Carson. You’re my brother’s friend, but you’re not mine. I’m going to the hospital whether you take me or not.”

I move toward the door, but he’s faster. He slips into my path, holding out his hands, but doesn’t touch me. His fingers hover inches from my body, and I tremble slightly at the thought of him closing the distance. But neither of us moves.

“Instead of charging off with your head down, how about we make a deal?” His voice is silky and low like a velvet purr.

I cross my arms, pulse skyrocketing. I can’t let him get to me. “I’d rather not. Move.”

---