Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
I pulled off my shirt and cut and tossed them to the floor. As I walked into the bathroom I caught my reflection in the mirror, and I froze. The skin on my cheeks, neck, chest and upper back was scratched to fuck and red with blood. Phebe’s lipstick was smeared across my face. My eyes were dark, and as I took a step forward, I was no longer looking at AK, a brother of the Hangmen. Looking right back at me was Xavier Deyes, sniper in the Marines, Special Ops. I knew this fucker and regarded him with nothing but hate. This fucker lived with death in his eyes.
And I thought I’d put him to bed years ago.
Clearly Red could nudge him awake.
Frustrated, not wanting to see his face, I clenched my fist and slammed it into the glass. It shattered in my sink, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened, the lack of the breath I couldn’t catch creeping up on me like a weight bearing down on my ribcage.
I backed up to the tub and sat on the edge. My hands were shaking. My always-steady sniper hands couldn’t be calmed. I dropped my head forward, and a barrage of images came racing forward. Blood and screams and anger. Anger that burned so hot and bright it transformed me. Then helplessness, sadness, and motherfucking guilt. So much guilt that I could taste its bitterness on my tongue.
Forcing myself to get my shit together, I stood and wiped the lipstick off my mouth with my forearm and wiped the blood off my knuckles into my jeans. I soaked a towel in water and went back to the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I started wiping the black and red off Phebe’s face. As the makeup gave way to her pale skin and freckles, I couldn’t help but relax a little. Fuck knows why she would ever cover up those freckles. I cleaned her face until there was nothing left but her.
Phebe.
I dressed her in my sweat pants and clean black Hangmen shirt and covered her back up. For twenty minutes I stared down at her, sleeping. I thought of all the liquor she’d stolen this week and realized that since she’d last been here, screaming and smashing up my room as she came off the heroin, she hadn’t been sober.
“What is it you can’t face?” I asked her as I leaned over where she lay. She didn’t wake, and I didn’t want her to. Like this, she was at peace. Awake? It seemed she was just as fucked as me.
“Sleep.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her pale skin was cool under my lips.
I took my smokes from my back pocket and headed out of the door. Leaning against the outside wall of the cabin, I dropped down to my ass. I kept my head down as I took drag after drag of my smoke.
I sat in silence, just fucking thinking. Thinking about shit I never wanted to think about again. The only time I stopped was when I heard feet move into the clearing. I heard the low murmur of voices, then a door close.
I sensed them standing before me, so I lifted my head. Vike and Flame were staring at me. I saw Ash go into Flame’s cabin with Maddie, leaving me and my brothers alone.
I leaned my head back against the wall and stared at them both. Flame was rocking on his feet. And fuck if that didn’t make me feel even more guilt. He was looking at me like he didn’t know me.
Lost.
Confused.
Suddenly, all I could see was the young Flame from years ago, in that nuthouse, in the bed opposite my brother. And I could see his black eyes as he watched Vike and me break in, his stare as dead and still as his body as he lay in that damn bed. His frame was thin and his arms were tied down. He had about as much life as Devin had had. And when I’d seen him look at me, actually look into my eyes, I’d had to help him.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked. The brother froze. His gaze dropped to the ground, and his eyes moved from side to side, thinking over what I’d said. “I . . .” I didn’t know how to say it. “My head . . .” I breathed deep. “It’s . . . it’s fucked up right now.”
“We’re your brothers,” Flame said. I knew that was him asking why the fuck I’d turned on them. “You’re my . . . my . . . ” He was struggling with what to say. But I knew. I was his family, the one that got him here. And I’d never let him down before.
But by the ache in my gut, I knew I’d let him down now. I swore I never would. Especially not Flame. He didn’t know how to deal with that shit.