And normally, I’d allow him to handle the more bloody work, but I’m charged up on adrenaline from the day and the fact Bay was almost killed right before my eyes.
I can’t say I enjoyed the feeling.
I can also confidently say I’m not partaking in the number of times my stomach has dropped over the last couple of days, the loss of sleep I’ve endured, and the constant thoughts of Bay Astor.
This is why I didn’t want to get involved. I knew she was trouble from the first time I saw her as a child. I received the full effect of being kicked in the fucking balls when we had a family reunion on that dark street in The Landings.
She’s something else.
Something I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, or the reality that I’ve finally met the bane of my existence.
“Bay is waiting for you at the house,” I tell Oz. “If you think you’re going to get out of that gunshot wound, you’ve got her fucked up.”
Oz stares blankly at me and mindlessly blurts, “I’m fine.”
“Sheneeds to know that.”
And my brother doesn’t understand the notion either.
Not completely.
He’s not used to a female doting on him and giving a flying fuck. Vivian’s wiles and bullshit lies still run deep in his veins. He may be Bay’s husband, but the words haven’t fully sunk in. He doesn’t know what it means besides a title and a piece of paper he signed.
“Three,” I state evenly, giving in to the tension pulsating off his shoulders. “Then you’re out.”
Ozzy steps forward, his mannerisms switching on a dime because he’s ready to give this motherfucker a go for shooting at Bay.
That’s all he’s focused on.
It’s all I’m centered on, too.
She’s pregnant, De Leon is answering back for her cruise stunt, and I need answers to confirm what I believe I already know.
My brother wastes no time shanking the guy three times, not saving one or two of them for later. The man gasps in surprise and doesn’t bother opening his eyes to see what else may be coming. Then he groans as his body begins to slouch over and the pain begins to sink in.
I hand out my palm for the blade. “Go on.”
Ozzy shoots me an irritated glance.
“I don’t give a shit.”
“I said I wasfine,” he grinds out.
“And what did I say?” I see him release a silent, heavy exhale before flipping the knife, catching it by the tip between his fingers with expert precision, and waltzes over to me to give it up. I take it before he changes his mind. “Give her this, brother. She has enough shit on her plate right now.”
I ping-pong the idea of what else I want to say, but I’m not entirely sure it’s the right move.
Ozzy bows his head in acknowledgment, but the asshole doesn’t move toward the door. He wants to know if De Leon was behind the attack as much as I do, and I don’t plan on being here all night.
“How many more stabs do you think you can take before you give us our answer?” I ask the guy, palming the knife harder in my hand. “Neither one of us is patient, nor are we going to spend the time.”
“I’m not…saying…anything,” he bites out through shallow exhales.
Fair enough.
I mean, fuck, I really don’t have the energy for this.
I have a woman who’s pregnant, hormonal, and just buried her best friend hours ago. I feel as though I’m on borrowed time, where she’s going to snap again and get herself into some more shit. It doesn’t matter if this guy works for Matteo or not, he’s still dead.
