“Officially what?” I rub my injured arm as the wounds seem to flare with the reminder of that night.
He crosses his arms over his chest, looking lethal. “One of us.”
I absorb the warm feeling of belonging that seeps into my veins. All I’ve ever wanted is to be an equal member of the UFL Team, but from day one, I felt like an outsider, like a pledge who had to prove himself to be accepted.
I mirror Jonah’s stance. “So that’s it? All I had to do is kill someone?”
The air wires with tension, as if what I said was inappropriate or disrespectful. I’ll never regret what I did. Not a single day of my life will I feel bad for making it so Trix, her family, Drake, Jessica, and my niece or nephew, can all breathe easy knowing that evil bastard has been wiped from the earth. And if I serve time for that, I’ll gladly take it.
The guys are still quiet, all of them darting eyes between each other.
I shrug. “What? Too soon?”
With that they burst into laughter and lead the way toward the parking lot.
“Nice to see incarceration hasn’t changed you, Baywatch.” Rex slaps me on the back of the head as he passes.
“Ow, fuckface! How ’bout you let up on the stupid nicknames.” I rub my head. “If I’m an equal, why the fuck do you piss-suckers keep smacking me?”
“We like your hair.” Blake pulls open the back door of Jonah’s truck, ushering me in. “Come on, Hasselhoff. Quit being a bitch.”
I pass him and into the back seat when another stinging slap comes to the back of my head.
Fuckin’ hell, even though I’m tempted to whirl around and sink my knuckles into Blake’s chest, I don’t. Because brotherhood is about having each other’s backs, fighting for what’s best, and making sure your brother knows it.
Way my head’s burning, I don’t think I could ever forget it.
After the guys dropped me off at home, I took a long hot shower. Standing in the tiled space, my eyes closed, I remember the night Trix showed up in tears. How I wish I could go back, tie her up, and never set her free until she agreed to leave all that shit with Hatch alone.
If only.
With strict instructions to keep my wounds as dry as possible, I reluctantly shut off the shower and grab a towel when my phone vibrates on the bathroom counter. I grab it and move to answer when the caller ID catches my eye.
“Fuck.” I wrap my towel around my waist, hit “accept,” and head into my bedroom. “Got nothing to say to you.”
“You answered, so there’s a start.”
“I’m serious, Drake. I get that this was all planned and you needed an out, but next time, use your fucking woman as bait.”
I’m met with silence and then throat clearing. “Fuck, brother—”
“Don’t fucking call me that.” I stare across the room with the memory of Drake dragging my woman, blindfolded, cuffed, and gagged, to the desert for what she thought would be a slow death. “You’ve lost the right to call me brother.”
“We’re family.”
“Family isn’t dictated by blood. It’s determined by loyalty, and you proved you’re a selfish prick.”
He huffs out a breath. “Alright, I deserve that.”
“Fuck yeah, you do.” The memory of Trix, fear flashing in those violet eyes, her shirt soaked in blood, assaults me. Yeah, Drake deserves a lot worse.
“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry. If I thought there was a better way, I’d have done it. They were gunnin’ for Trix anyway. I knew she’d be safe as long as Hatch and I were with her. Elijah would’ve sent one of his goons if I didn’t volunteer. I’d never let anyone hurt her.”
A feeling akin to regret rolls around in my gut, but I push it back, unable to fully accept his reasoning, even if on some level it does make sense.
I run a hand through my wet hair. “Need time.”
“I get that.”
Silence builds between us.
“Right well . . . Take care.”
I hit “end” and drop back to the bed. Fuck. He’s right. I know he is, but even with time, will I ever be able to forgive him?
Thirty-nine
Trix
No matter how many times I stare at the boxes in front of me, I can’t help but feel like I’m forgetting something. Amazing how the last four years of my life fit in a dozen boxes and a suitcase. I check each label, making sure the ones that need to go into storage are clearly marked and the ones that come with me are too.
My stomach tumbles with excitement.
After I left Mason in the hospital two days ago, he ordered me to pack my things saying, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I want you with me until it does.”
It didn’t take much reading between the lines to understand what he meant: he wants to be together until the day they lock him up.
The thought of saying no didn’t even cross my mind. If this last week has taught me anything, it’s that life is fragile. From here on out, I’ll take advantage of every opportunity, and when it comes to Mason, there’s no place else I’d rather be.