Every rage-filled blood vessel inside Michael pumped and cried out for revenge. He hurled himself at his foe, knocking him to the floor. He hit him and hit him and hit him.
Strong hands pulled him back. He grappled. Henry was still moving. He needed to knock him out.
“No,” he cried. “He has a gun. Can’t you see? He killed her.”
“Michael. Michael!” Someone’s hand made sharp contact with his face. “It’s me, Eli. Snap out of it.”
“Eli?” He looked around. “Nick? What are you guys doing here? It’s not safe.”
He heard a feminine sob. How was that possible? Jane was dead. He turned toward the noise.
Emily crouched at Henry’s side, wiping the blood from his nose with a tissue.
“Em? Stay away from him! He’ll hurt you. He has a gun.”
“You’re insane,” shouted Henry. “You need to be locked up.”
Michael stared. Why did Henry sound so much like Trent?
He blinked hard several times. The heat of the memory faded into stark, cold awareness.
Trent.Oh, fuck.
The man lay back on the grass, propped up on his elbows. He rubbed his jaw but the gesture merely smeared the blood streaming from his nose. It had already seeped into his collar. He looked ghastly, like the victim in a slasher movie.
Emily gawked at Michael, her eyes wide. Her shoulders trembled and she turned away.
Michael tried to go to her, but his brothers pulled him away.
“Not right now,” cautioned Eli. “You need to take a few minutes first.”
“Let me go.”
“No, Michael.” Eli’s voice was stern, sterner than Michael had ever heard it. “You’re not going anywhere near Em in this state.” He and Nick dragged him into the house.
“Em! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The last Michael saw of her before the door closed was her covering her face with her hands as she began to weep.
As they entered the house, Lacey ended a call on her cell phone. “Oh, my God. What was all the racket about? I could barely hear the police on the phone.” She glanced at Michael. “You look like shit.”
He didn’t respond. He had no words.
Eli made Michael sit on a stool. “What did the police want?”
Lacey reddened. “They, um, called to update us on the vandalism situation. It seems Jacob paid them a visit this morning.”
“Jacob?” asked Nick. “Our intern?”
“Yeah. He confessed to throwing the brick through the window.”
“What?” Michael found his voice the same time his heart dropped into his shoes. “Why?”
“I had a thing with him. He was getting too intense so I called it off. He didn’t take it well.” Her voice dropped in pitch. “The note on the brick was meant for me. He lashed out. He told the police he didn’t want Emily to be upset. He just wanted to inconvenience me and stall the renovation. I guess his conscience got to him.”
They all turned toward Michael but he couldn’t look at them. He’d beaten the pulp out of Trent, certain he’d thrown the brick. If his brothers hadn’t dragged him off, he’d probably still be pummeling him.
Trent would probably press charges. His name would be splashed all over the news. The sorrow in Emily’s eyes had unmanned him. He’d begun to hope for a life with her, a happy future, but she wouldn’t want anything to do with him now.
He was insane. Emily would be afraid of him and rightly so. She would hate him.
No one could hate him more than he hated himself.
Michael hung his head in his hands and didn’t move for a very long time.
