Fallon’s words flash through my head.
All I have to do is give the order.
Your favorite brother.
I knew you didn’t want another death on your hands.
My jaw clenches. Pain fades behind a wall of fury. I shift, opening my eyes, and my gaze lands on his strong, solid form. Reaper’s black eyes lock with mine, but he doesn’t move from where he’s still kneeling a few feet away. He’s not moved an inch since Fallon and his soldiers filed from the room. Fleetingly, I wonder if he’s frozen by rage like me.
I keep my eyes on Reaper as I suck in slow, steady breaths, pulling the emotions whirling through me back to center.
If you touch her again, I’ll gut you.
He threatened to gut, to hurt, his father, the man who has a dangerous leash on these men. And he did it for me. To keep me from being harmed.
Another sob threatens to escape at the realization, but I hold it in, biting my lip as I attempt to sit. Pain twists in my side, and I press my palm to my ribs.
Reaper’s gaze shifts to Striker beside me.
Striker grips my shoulder to steady me. “Hold on. Don’t move yet.” His large hand presses against my side gently. Testing. Checking. “It doesn’t feel like anything is broken,” he says, but I know he’s talking to Reaper. “Just bruised.”
My ruined dress falls open, revealing my bra as he examines my back, and a rumbling curse leaves him, dark and deadly. He doesn’t need to say out loud that I’m going to bruise. I feel it.
He swipes the hair away from my face, and his gold eyes and skull mask come into view. His hand trembles, then balls into a fist as he pulls it away and presses it to his thigh.
The storm raging in my chest grows, stretches and builds into something monstrous, something dark and full of hate, until I’m shaking from it too.
Striker shifts, pulling me into his arms, burying his face in my hair. Inhaling deeply as if he can capture the essence of me into his lungs. Like that alone will keep me safe.
But who keeps him safe?
With my gaze locked on Reaper, I tuck myself into Striker’s chest, breathing in his clean scent, now tinged with something sharper, and let him hold me. The phantom click of a gun cocking against his temple echoes in my ears, and the anger inside spikes. Screams until I hear myself saying, “Does he always do that?”
Reaper’s eyes burn into me, but he remains unmoving. I wonder if he’s even seeing me anymore. If maybe his mind is consumed by the image of that gun at Striker’s head too.
When neither man answers, I pull away to look at Striker. “Your father,” I continue. “Does he always pop in unannounced and threaten to kill someone?”
Striker’s brows move under his mask like he’s frowning. I grip the bottom and pull it over his head. His hair sticks upat odd angles, and I smooth the strands down with trembling fingers. Touching his face, his lips as gently as he’s touching me. Needing him to be okay.
Because what if he wasn’t? What if I had said the wrong thing? What if Fallon had ordered that soldier to kill his son?
Your favorite brother.
I focus on Reaper. He hasn’t moved an inch.
“I’ll take your lack of response as confirmation that your father is just as insane as mine,” I say. “One thing we have in common, it seems.”
When I push myself up, Reaper lunges forward, gripping my arms as Striker rises beside me.
“Shit,” I hiss as the skin pulls across my back.
Okay, maybe not just bruised.
“Turn around,” Reaper says, voice low, almost unrecognizable. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, my hand flying to my ribs as pain stabs through them. We all know I’m anything but fine.
He turns me to face Striker, who’s so focused on Reaper’s masked face, I’m glad he can’t see me flinch when Reaper’s fingers graze over my back.
