Luke’s brows wing up. “She what?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” I tell Rowan. “She didn’t shoot anywhere near you.”
“How does Mac even have a gun anyway?” he asks.
“Because she’s a Valentine,” Luke informs him as if that says it all.
Rowan is clueless. “Who are the Valentines?”
“They’re like the Avengers of Sydney. Don’t ever get on their bad side,” he cautions.
Rowan shakes his head as if he can’t believe it and looks at me. “How did you end up with her?”
“Really?” My temples begin to throb marking the beginning of a painful headache. “After everything that’s gone down, these are the questions you find the most important to ask?”
Rowan shrugs and gives Luke a look as if to say “I thought it was pretty damn relevant.”
“You should see Mac with a gun,” Rowan mutters to him. “It’s hot as fuck.”
“It’s not hot.” I jab a finger at Rowan with the hand holding my cigarette, furious all over again at Mac’s rogue behaviour. “It’s stupid.”
Rowan holds up both palms. “Whatever, mate.”
My gaze cuts back to Leander. “What are you thinking?” he asks me.
“I’m thinking they all know where I live. If they wanted me dead, I’d already be six feet under.”
He nods, agreeing with my assessment.
“Holy Jesus,” Luke moans, clearly stressed. There’s a bottle of Jack on the table and four empty shot glasses. Rowan must have set them out before recounting our story. Luke pours them out and picks one up. Tipping his head back, he tosses the contents down the back of his throat. Hissing, he sets the empty glass down and reaches for another. He tips that back too.
“Are you okay, Little Fox?” his older brother asks.
“I’m not sure,” he gasps, rubbing his chest.
“Can I get you anything? Some smelling salts, perhaps?”
Luke opens his mouth, spouting his predictable reply, “Get stuffed, Lee.”
We all chuckle lightly, except for Luke. He’s busy reaching for another shot.
“What I’m thinking,” I say as I lean down, stubbing my butt out in the glass ashtray, “is that it was a warning. Next time will be the real deal.”
Rowan expels a sharp puff of air. “Fuck,” he mutters. “What are you going to do?”
I grab a shot from the table and drink the scotch down in one, quick gulp. Fiery warmth spreads through my chest. “I’m going to have to talk to Ross. Tell him I thought I wanted out but I was wrong.”
“You know what else you’re gonna have to do,” Leander says.
All three of them are watching me. I nod, appearing calm. On the inside I’m anything but. Heat prickles my skin as anger and frustration build. Mac is the only thing in my life that matters and I have to let her go. She’s going to deem it the ultimate betrayal. She’s going to hate me.
My mouth clamps shut before I can roar my outrage. When I eventually speak, my voice is gravel. “I’ll go make the call.”
MAC
When I wake in the morning, I’m alone. I roll to my back and fix my eyes on the ceiling. My belly feels ready for another purge but there’s nothing left. I have no fever. No headaches. No pain. No nothing. Then my eyes go wide and I know. I just know.
I launch from the bed, pitching stomach be damned. I can’t hold this news in for a single second. Jake needs to know. Giddy, I conduct a thorough search of the house. It’s deserted, which is unusual for this early in the morning.
Goddammit, this is so typical! I’m bursting to deliver the news of my life and there’s not a soul in sight. I walk to the front door and peek out. Jake is on the porch seat in the early light of dawn. He’s hunched over. His elbows rest on his knees and his eyes are locked on the riot of colour across the horizon. Red, orange, and pink blend prettily in the sky as the sun rises on another day.
The beat of my heart accelerates, and a cold sweat chases the warmth from my skin as I reach for the handle of the door. I’m nervous, I realise with surprise. I don’t know how he’s going to react.
Jake turns his head as I step out. His eyes on mine are troubled, and he’s cracking his knuckles. An ominous feeling settles in my gut, and my gut is something I’ve always trusted. It’s about last night. I know it is. I went a little crazy but I’ll rein it in. My hand goes to my belly. I have to. It’s not just about me anymore.
“Jake? What are you doing out here alone?”
He blinks rapidly and his nostrils flare. It’s how he gets when he speaks of his father, so I know he’s trying hard right now to hold himself together. “I couldn’t sleep.”
My brow pulls together. “You sat out here all night?”
He nods and looks away, his eyes returning to the sunrise.
“Why?”
Jake doesn’t tell me why. He shakes his head as if he can’t even speak. A heavy beat of silence passes between us. His gaze shifts to his hands. “Whatever you do,” he eventually says, “promise you won’t hate me.”
Oh god. My stomach sinks and fear rises in an instant, sending a chill over my skin. My voice is an accusation. “What did you do?”
In the still of the morning, the crunch of gravel reaches my ears. My head turns toward the sound. A car is pulling in the drive. The colour is a deep royal blue with white racing stripes on the bonnet and wheels that could flatten a dinosaur. But none of that matters. What does matter is that I know the car. I know it well.
It comes to an easy park in the driveway. The engine switches off and the door swings open. I shield my eyes from the early morning sun as Mitch steps out.
I stare at my eldest brother as betrayal steals my voice. He’s striding toward me, whipping off aviator sunglasses and tucking them in the neckline of his shirt. The action reveals enough raw emotion in his gaze to wipe out a small nation—love, support, and overwhelming relief. They narrow as he gets closer and reveal the wrath of a thousand warriors, and retribution so fierce an ordinary person would fear for their life.
Hurt and anger swallow me up, and when I take a step forward, my legs almost give out from the force of it. I take hold of the stair railing and turn my head to Jake. His beautiful eyes are fractured, wavering between pain and regret. Good. I hope it chokes him to death in his sleep.
“You don’t want me to hate you, but that’s asking too much,” I say in a crushing whisper.
His eyes close as if my words have ripped apart his entire world. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t get to apologise,” I hiss.
There’s so much more I want to say, but I’m damned if he deserves to hear any of it. Instead, I take a deep breath and lock the pain away so deep inside I vow it will never see the light of day again. “You held my heart in the palm of your hand and you’ve just thrown it away.” My voice is cooler than the arctic, and he flinches at the tone. “If you want a promise from me, it’s that you’ll never hold it again.”