Ripper just grins, a flash of white in the dim light. He’s been all teeth lately, a Cheshire cat with a busted lip and a black eye—trophies from going against me.
“I’ll give you one swing. Haven will kiss it better for me.” He tilts his head, the picture of casual insolence. “But before you make me prettier, want to tell me what happened? You look like you want to kill something. No offense, Prez, I don’t want Grim scraping me off the floor.”
My nostrils flare. I point my glare at the water-stained ceiling tiles, as if the answers are written there. “I scared Pen.”
He sobers instantly, the grin vanishing as he chews on his next words. “Is she alright?”
“Made her think about bad things.” I stretch my neck, and the crack is a gunshot in the quiet room. “Can’t hit myself, so I need to hit something else. Something that’ll break.”
Ripper laughs, and the sound grates against my raw nerves. Maybe he wasn’t the right person for this. Then again, who else would understand this festering rot inside me? Who else has seen the man I was before?
“First off, I’m revoking my offer.” He sighs, stretching out. His boots, scuffed and dirty, land on the low table with a thud. “Second, that ‘bad’ thing was taken care of years ago. If you just told her, she wouldn’t be scared.”
I don’t think that’s how trauma works, but Ripper’s one of my brothers who has far too many issues himself, so I don’t bother correcting him.
Raven doesn’t want her to know. I don’t want her to, either. The thought is a vice around my lungs. Not without risking her looking at me like she had earlier—like I was a monster from her past. I changed my entire person for her, built a new man from the ashes of the old one, and she doesn’t even know. All to avoid scaring her.
Seven years. They’ve been under our care for seven years, and I’ve finally done it. I dragged her back into the dark.
“I know what I want to hit.” The decision is sudden, final. Reaching into my pocket, I feel the crisp fold of the note. I pull it out and throw it at him, a white bird of ill omen. “He left us a love letter.”
He unfolds it, his eyes scanning the words without a flicker of surprise. “Huh. So Barker’s her last name. Think she’d like mine, better?”
A fresh wave of fury washes over me. Okay, I want to hit two things.
“He came here.Here. Our home.” I’m seething, my fingers clenching and unclenching as I pace faster. “He wrote this list to let us know what he plans on doing. He’s going to take them, even your precious spy.”
Ripper doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t rise to meet my fury. He just sits there, infuriatingly calm, and I can’t stand it. I can’t be the only one whose blood is singing for vengeance.
“Prez…” He drags the title out, a lazy taunt, before crumpling the note and tossing it into the far corner. “I just need to get something off my chest first. I. Told. You. So.”
Blood rushes in my ears, a roaring tide. I’m on him in four long strides, my fist twisted in the soft cotton of his shirt, yanking him forward. The fabric strains, and I can feel the solid warmth of his chest.
He laughs again, the fucking lunatic. Despite my knuckles pressing against his throat, his eyes shine with genuineamusement. “You should see yourself,” he chokes out, a grotesque smile on his face. “It’s beautiful.”
Releasing him is a physical effort. He drops back against the couch with a grunt, rubbing his neck. A guttural growl rips from my chest. “You like setting me off. Every chance you get.”
“I like seeing the man you used to be,” he corrects, his gaze sharp, cutting through the bullshit. “Samuel.”
I fucking hate that name. It’s a reminder of who I left behind.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender as my fists tighten again. “Okay, I’ve poked you enough. Judge. This is perfect. Can’t you see?”
The only thing I’m seeing is a red haze. “Please. Tell me what is going on in that head of yours.”
Ripper settles back, his hands flattening together as if in prayer. “Well, we have two paths we can go down.”
“If you breathe Penelope’s name again, or anyone on that paper, they’re going to be your last words.” The threat is low, deadly serious. I already feel the phantom crack of his jaw against my knuckles.
He sniffs, considering it. “Right. One path.Anyway. Blaze is going to have his head so far up his ass, he won’t think we’ll have the courage to hit him head-on. After that piece of paper and the arson, he assumes we’re running around with our heads cut off.”
I grunt, forcing air into my lungs, trying to steady myself. “I told everyone to enjoy themselves. He won’t like seeing nothing happening.”
“Ah… Right.” His smile falters, a crack in the facade as he thinks. “We could wait until he makes another move. No one around here knows what he looks like. If he tries something else, we could capture and torture him. That sounds kind of fun.”
I can’t rely onif. I need certainty. I need his blood on my hands.
“Letting him slip in once was enough of a risk. I won’t let him get near Penelope again.” Near anyone, but the unspoken part hangs between us, the specific, frantic need to protect her.
