“Where are you?” He rushes out in a panic.
“In my Jeep.” I exhale as much as I can, trying to get a grip back on my control.
“What about before that?”
“I was in the bar next door— but I didn’t drink.” I rush out.
“Good, that’s good, kid.”
Good?!
“I beg to differ, none of that was fucking good. Do you know how many times I reached out to that glass?” My voice rises the longer I talk. My body is barreling straight for full panic mode.
“How many times did you bring the glass to your mouth?”
“What? None, I told you I didn’t drink anything.”
Is he even listening?
“Right, so when I say good, I mean good. Mac, you’re barely six months sober, and you just fought temptation in the most tempting place for you to be. Do you know how rare that type of self control is? Don’t get me wrong, next time pick up the fucking phone and call me, but you being in the belly of the beast and coming out unscathed is a good thing.”
“I guess you’re right. But I’m not testing the self control theory again. It was a near fail, and I can’t do that to myself again.” I run my hand through my hair as my heart rate starts to settle.
“That’s perfectly fine with me, kid.” He laughs. “So, where are you going? Do you want me to come with you?”
“I’m with my brothers.”
“Got it, so I need to keep my ass in this hospital chair. Done.”
Davis knows who I am, who my family is. You’d have to be completely dense not to know us. We have a strict don’t ask, don’t tell policy, and it works well for us. I hang up the phone after promising him that I’m okay and that I’ll be back up at the hospital as soon as possible. Now it’s time to focus on giving my girl the peace she needs by taking care of thismonster.
* * *
The warehouse is exactly what it sounds like. It’s an old rundown building in the more industrial part of town. There’s no one out here to get in your business or to hear people beg for mercy that we never show them. Following my older brothers into the building that’s completely opened and bare aside from a section where Kieran’s tools sit. The Italian man we’ve been searching for months for is hanging from the ceiling by cuffs hooked to metal chains that run up and over an industrial beam.
His head hangs low, telling us he’s either asleep, passed out, or dead. I walk up to him and kick his leg with the toe of my Vans. He grunts but otherwise doesn’t make a noise. Typically this isn’t my scene, but he hurt my woman, so I’m going to have fun with this one.
Walking away from him, I turn to the table of tools and catch my brothers standing back with their arms crossed. They’re watching to make sure I keep my shit together.
Spoiler alert: I’m not.
Picking up a metal bat, I toss it from one hand to the other, testing out the weight. Deciding that this is what I want to start with, I make my way back over to Matteo and hear Kieran whisper‘oh shit’to Rowan. I haven’t gotten to swing a baseball bat in years, but make no mistake, I won the ‘Baseball America High School Player of the Year’ award my senior year in high school.
Some things just come back to you on instinct. Rolling my shoulders, I set my stance perfectly. When I’m ready, my frontshoulder tilts down, my back shoulder comes up slightly, I keep my weight in my back hip, and I put every ounce of aggression and pain that I’ve held onto for fifteen years into this swing. The bat cracks against his hip with a satisfying crunch of bone. Matteo howls as his head comes up and the look of pure evil is plastered on his face.
“Morning, Sunshine.” Giving him my best boy next door smile, I swing the bat again, hitting him in the exact same spot.
He curses in Italian before yelling, “Byrne, what the fuck? Stop your psycho brother.” He’s looking over my shoulder, I guess at Rowan.
“Oh no, Matteo. You’ve been mistaken.Thisis my psycho brother.” I don’t even have to turn around to know he either pointed at or gestured to Kieran. “That is my brother who just got his hands on the man who hurt his girl for years.”
Matteo looks confused for just a moment before I crack the bat against his ribs.
“That’s for Riley, you sick son of a bitch.”
He howls out in pain, but when he looks back at me I see the sinister look in his eyes.
“Riley’s dead, boy. I’d stop worrying about what I did or didn’t do to her if I were you. She was allegedly mine way longer than she was yours.”
