Then we’ll take the bastards down who tried to harm our family.
We tried to play nice, we tried to be respectful, and this is how they repay us? Nah, it’s their death warrants they signed. We will destroy them, brick by brick. It’s Ryder’s specialty. I already know he’s working on how to crumble every one of their businesses and bank accounts to take their money. Then, he will start on their families. Only after that, when they are terrified and alone, will he turn his eyes to them.
He’s a brutal bastard, the best at what he does.
Protecting those he loves.
Even when we were kids, he was the same, always the most serious. Fuck, he even used to wear suits even then. He never got a real childhood. No, he became what my dad wanted him to, to ensure I was never in the man’s path. He did everything our father asked, even dirtying his hands.
I remember the night he first killed someone, he was thirteen, I was eleven. He came home, and there was something different about him. He was scared, not of Dad like usual, but of himself. He had blood on his hands and sat scrubbing at it, tears rolling down his cheeks. He told me what happened, not the full truth of course. I learned later he did it to protect me, that Dad had played on his love for me like the bastard he was. He had threatened Ryder, told him if he didn’t kill the man then he would make me do it.
He didn’t want me to stain my soul, so he did it. Even though it broke something in him, he did it. I held him as he cried. That was the last night I ever saw him cry or show weakness to this date. He told me he was scared that he wasn’t horrified, that it felt right…that he was a monster like my father.
I promised I would never let him be. I will keep that promise. He gave up his childhood, his soul, for me. I would do anything for him. He doesn’t even realise that Roxxane, as he calls her, is a part of that. He needs a weakness, someone he can share the world with, who can help him with his burden, or he’s going to burn out.
And I can’t lose him.
I’ll protect the crying boy with the blood on his hands and she will be the key.
It started in my head the very first day after the way he looked at her like she was a challenge, a puzzle he couldn’t figure out, and she wasn’t scared of him like everyone else. She met him head-on, just as stubborn, just as angry at the world. Roxy will save him.
She will save us all.
And we will damn her.
I should care, but I can’t seem to. Not when I get to keep her and my brother.
My eyes catch on something farther down the alley, a movement so slight, I wouldn’t have seen it if I wasn’t looking. “Twelve o’clock,” I murmur, hardly moving my lips.
“Yes,” Ryder snaps, still pretending to be on the phone.
The shadow moves along the wall and takes up residence behind a crate. I thumb out a quick text to Tony without looking, eyes on the silhouette. He fires, and we lurch forward as the car starts. Idiot, the fucking glass is bulletproof.
He tries to run, knowing we spotted him, but Tony blocks the alley at the other end, and then we’re on him. Rushing from the car and leaping across the hood, I tap his shoulder, and when he turns, I punch him in the face. He doesn’t go down though, he tries to hit me with his gun, but Ryder grabs him from behind and starts to choke him out, so I pluck his firearm from his hand and pistol-whip him across his temple.
He slumps in Ryder’s arms, who lets him drop to the ground. “See, brother? Easy.” I laugh.
Tony and Sam grab the man and drag him back to their car as we head to ours. “Diesel will be happy.” Ryder grins. “And we’ll get the information we need. They fucked with the wrong people.”
“Vipers, brother. Even snakes fear other snakes,” I agree.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ROXY
I’m going to kill him.
Seriously. I’m going to kill Garrett. Garrett and I haven’t spoken all morning after what happened last night. This morning, Diesel dragged me from my room, and Garrett cooked me breakfast without saying a word to me. After, they tugged me into the living room where I fell asleep on the sofa. He won’t speak to me or even look in my direction.
It’s driving me nuts.
So what? He hates women. And yeah, he used me, but I enjoyed it. I would have told him no or kicked his ass otherwise. I don’t give a fuck, and for some reason, I want him. I need to peel away all that anger to reach that fear I saw underneath. To the man I know he is.
It seems so important, but he won’t let me, instead giving me the cold shoulder. Fuck that. I’ve never been the type to sit idly by. I survived this long by being a fighter and never giving up, no matter how scared I was. This is no different.
Whatever is between us has morphed over the time I’ve been here, and sleeping with Kenzo and Ryder has only cemented that. I want them, and I care for them—not that I’ll ever tell them. The bastards would use it against me.
I can keep fighting myself all I want, or I can revel in it. Bathe in the pleasure and power they offer. I’m tired of running, tired of living day to day, and Garrett doesn’t get to push me away because he’s scared.
I’m terrified.
Of him, of them, and what they mean to my body and heart. But I’m still here. Still fighting. So he has to as well.
I annoy him at first, poking him, kicking him, and when he snarls at me, I smirk in triumph. He goes back to ignoring me and watching TV, so I change the channel. He grunts and yells at me, but his phone rings.
I hear him talking to someone who sounds like Kenzo, so I keep changing the channel. He gets irritated and shouts and ends the call, glaring at me. “Behave.”
“Or what?” I grin. “Going to put me on my knees again?”
His eyes darken hungrily, his gaze dropping to my smirking lips in memory as he shifts on the sofa, no doubt remembering his cock there—I know I am. “That was a mistake.”
“Sure, whatever you say, big guy. Hey, I was supposed to have a tattoo finished soon, can I still go?” I question.
“By who?” he counters, narrowing his eyes. At least it’s a step in the right direction.
“Zeke, from Alluring Art.” I shrug.
“A guy?” he snaps, his body vibrating with anger. “No.”
“What? Why?” I ask, pissed now.
“No one other than us touches you,” he growls, and I laugh.
“Jealous?” I smirk.
He grins again. “No, the others would kill him. Is your tattoo really worth his death?”
Diesel laughs too, as he slouches on the sofa next to me. “He’s right, I would kill him, but Garrett tattoos, he can finish it for you. He did all of ours.”
Garrett freezes as I perk up. “Shit, really? They’re good! Will you?”
“No,” he snaps, grinding his teeth as he throws a glare at a smirking Diesel.
“What? Why? I can’t go to Zeke, but you won’t finish it?” I yell.
His head turns slowly, eyes dark. “I’m not inking you, forget it.”
“Why? ’Cause I’m a woman and you would hate to lower yourself to touching me?” I poke.
“Oh, this is going to be good, I need popcorn,” Diesel mutters, but I ignore him as I stare at Garrett, not backing down now.
“Leave it,” Garrett warns.
Yeah, fuck that. I’m done with his tantrums. “What’s your issue? Scared of pussy, or are you just really so self-destructive and filled with hate that you can only get it up by hurting someone?”
The room is silent apart from the popping of Diesel’s popcorn in the kitchen.
“Walk away, right now,” he snarls, his voice low and deadly. His eyes are alight with that same wrath I saw in the ring—he’s beyond angry. He’s going into his fighting territory, and I’m the opponent.
The smart thing to do would be to walk away and let him calm down. Do I? No, of course not. I never said I was smart, but I do have some big ass balls. “No. So is that it, little Garrett? Was it your mummy? No, a girlfriend I bet. What did she do, cheat? Oh no, poor little Garrett, but that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like shit, you big asshole. You can glare and threaten me all you want, but everyone knows the truth. You want me, and you hate yourself for it.”
Life is never promised, tomorrow is never guaranteed, and I don’t believe in wasting any time on what you wish you had said or done. So even though I know it’s dumb, I let it all out. We can never move forward until we get over the past.
He moves quickly, probably from his boxing, grabs my throat, and drags me into the air. My feet barely touch the floor, but I don’t fight his hold. I relax into it with a smirk, even as he tightens his grasp, cutting off my air supply. Those lips are curled up in hate, and his face is a snarl. Nothing but anger is guiding him. He doesn’t see me, no, he sees her.
The woman who hurt him so deeply he’s never recovered.