“What’s your problem, dude?” one of those family members called from the living room. “Are you sick or something?”
Seeing red, Grant abruptly spun and charged out of the bathroom like a bull. He lowered his head as he hurtled forward, colliding into Logan’s unsuspecting torso with an immense force that threw the muscular man backward.
“What the f—?” The force of landing on his back pushed the air out of Logan’s lungs in a vigorous whoosh. Grant crashed on top of him and wound his right fist high in the air before smashing it into his brother’s jaw.
The blow seemed to awaken the older brother, and he groped above him to try to restrain Grant’s wrists before he received another strike.
“Get off me!” Logan ordered.
Grant’s white-hot rage powered his attack, and his right hand wriggled free to land another punch on his brother’s face. Logan snarled and met his attacker’s anger with the same intensity and strength. He shoved Grant off and scrambled to his feet, panting.
No longer holding the advantage of surprise, Grant warily scooted to a standing position as well. Tension crackled as the brothers fluidly circled each other, seeking any weakness to exploit. Grant felt his body trembling with the lingering aftereffects of vomiting, and he knew he was overmatched. His older brother beat people up for a living.
“Don’t do this,” Logan warned in his deep baritone. “I didn’t come here to hurt you.”
Grant exhaled with disgust. “Well, you’ve done a bang-up job so far.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as they continued prowling the small apartment, and his eyes narrowed once again. “Do you even care that you sent Sophie to prison?”
“Prison?” Logan repeated, bowled over by the weight of the word.
His eyes widening, Grant shouted, “You didn’t know? You didn’t know she went to prison because of you? Because of the guns you planted in her office?”
Logan’s arms fell to his side. “But I thought she’d get off. Those were our guns, not hers. That’s why I got the fuck out of town.”
Grant’s blood was boiling. “And when you left, who do you think had to take the fall, you selfish bastard?”
Swiftly Grant charged his brother again, only this time Logan was ready. He ducked when Grant took a big swing at his head, and retaliated with a powerful uppercut to the lighter man’s face, sending him reeling to the side. Staggering, Grant cradled his cheek.
“How the hell could you not know what happened to Sophie?” Grant demanded as he recovered from the blow to stand upright and face his brother once again.
“Dunno. Once I saw the cops at her office, I hightailed it outta town. I kept in touch with Angelo, but all I told him was that the cops were after me. He didn’t know anything about Sophie.”
Grant swallowed the bile rising in his throat. How could his brother be so fucking clueless?
“I figured Sophie would be a big hero for turning in the cash and guns.”
“A hero?” Grant’s fury clouded any sense of reason as he careened forward again, arms flailing, craving a pound of flesh from his brother, desperately wanting to hurt him like he’d hurt Sophie—like he’d hurt Grant too.
Logan expertly fought off Grant’s attack, grunting as he deflected several blows before throwing him to the ground, trying to subdue him. But Grant would not be deterred and quickly got on his feet again, managing to deliver a quick jab to Logan’s solar plexus in the melee.
Grant’s hand throbbed from hitting the solid wall of muscle, but Logan barely seemed to feel the punch as he swiftly struck back, delivering a devastating blow to Grant’s ribcage that left him groaning, panting while he listed to the right, painfully clutching his ribcage.
“Stop this!” Logan yelled. “I don’t want to hurt you!”
Miraculously Grant came at his brother yet again, though he now realized the futility of attacking the muscular man in his weakened state. This time Logan just spun him around and wrapped him in a bear hug, restraining Grant’s squirming sinewy body in his powerful arms.
They remained glued together, both breathing hard. Although this was not exactly a warm brotherly hug, it was the closest the two had come physically in more than twenty years. Logan wondered if they would ever be this close again. “Oh, Grant,” he said softly, refusing to release his brother.
Grant felt tears spring to his eyes as hopelessness enveloped him. He would never win. He would never be free of the harmful hold his family had over him. He had already lost his career, his freedom, his dignity, and now they’d taken Sophie away from him as well—and that was a loss he simply could not sustain. No wonder she’d looked at him with such terror. She now knew he was one of them.
“Let me go,” Grant begged, dismayed to hear his voice cracking. He took a deep breath and promised, “I won’t fight you anymore.” He had lost his will to fight. It was useless.
Logan weighed his options before reluctantly releasing his hold. Grant put some distance between them, and rested his shoulder against the living room wall.
“I hope you fought better than that in Gurnee,” Logan said. “It’s a wonder you didn’t get killed. Of course, you did have Dad to protect you in there.”
Grant sniffed. “How could you?” he pleaded, turning to look at Logan, sounding much younger than his thirty years. “How could you put me in there, with him?”
Logan looked down, his head bowed by shame. While going to prison for a three-year stretch was a horror for any man, only Grant would experience the additional devastating betrayal: Logan’s botched blackmail attempt forced his baby brother to cohabit with their abusive father in Gurnee.
Daring to meet those wounded light-blue eyes, Logan muttered, “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but I am truly sorry. I never meant for you to be inside with him.”
Grant yanked his head to the side, angrily breaking their gaze. He twisted his hands in front of him, trying to ward off the images of intense charcoal eyes staring him down, threatening to drown him.
In a quiet voice Logan asked, “Did he hurt you?”
Drawing a shuddering breath, Grant felt shame flush his face. The pressure of handcuffs encircling his wrists, the kind gray-haired doctor sitting next to his bed, the empathic embarrassment of the psychiatrist’s words: You were catatonic, Mr. Madsen. And you, um, well, you had urinated all over yourself in the cell.
Darkly Grant confessed, “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who needed therapy.”
Logan smirked. “Oh, that’s how you met Sophie, then. She was your shrink too?”
“No! She lost her psychologist license. Because of you! You ruined her career.”
Logan’s face fell. He felt waves of hostility from his brother. Hostility that was well-deserved.