I walk around the group to Dad. He has Axl. Smiling, I take my baby in my arms and hug him tightly. After a minute, I walk into Dad, and he wraps his arms around me too.
For a long time, neither of us says anything. Eventually, I say, “That was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.”
Dad nods. “I understand.”
“I don’t want to do that again. I’m happy in my cushy office.”
He kisses my forehead. I feel his smile, but I think he’s resisting agreeing with me.
“Everyone is good,” he says, and I know it’s as close to a question as he wants to get.
“Yes. Uncle Auden is going to help Rhodes and Bennett. Isidro arrived just after we left, and he’ll stay with his guys. Malcolm—one of the victims—and a few others are remaining behind, too. They’re going to meticulously scour the entire reserve to make sure nothing is left behind,” I answer.
“Good to hear. Sounds like my brothers are all on their way home. I’m surprised Noaz didn’t join you.”
“I’m surprised Uncle Noaz came at all,” I say.
“I think Briar’s fear had a lot to do with it. Between the scale of the operation, the acreage it covered, the remoteness of the location… it was necessary for a large-scale invasion.”
“How did you hold up?” I ask.
Dad smiles. “I admit that was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever lived through as well.”
“I can’t imagine.”
We don’t elaborate, but I look at Axl and can’t imagine being in Dad’s position this past week as he watched all six of his sons and all four of his brothers, along with his cousin and cousin’s son, drive blindly into a human hunting range while he sat home and waited.
I’d have lost my fucking mind.
Dad’s arms tighten, and then he lets me go. “Let’s go inside,” he says.
The group around Brek reluctantly breaks apart. Haze hugs Imry and then lifts him over his shoulders to carry him inside. It’s the humor that everyone needs, and the entire group laughs.
I wait for Brek. Dad waits with me. I try not to get choked up when Dad hugs Brek at the bottom of the stairs. No words pass between them, and it’s not a short hug. I end up turning away because tears fill my eyes. Maybe because my dad loves the man I love, too. Maybe because Brek has the love of a father in my dad that he hasn’t had in his life before now.
Whatever the reason, I think they can have this moment just between them.
36
BREK
The shirt issome stupidly soft material and feels like it’s made of clouds as it falls to cover my skin. The sleeves are long, and the collar isn’t loose around my neck. I know this isn’t my shirt because of the material. The tag says it’s cotton, but I think it’s lying. Unless you can weave clouds into cotton, this is some damn magic.
I like the long sleeves and closed front because I can’t see all the scars on my skin. Most of them are stupid little things that Doc Mark says will probably go away with time. I swear, most of them shouldn’t have left marks at all. Then again, I have a scar on my right pointer finger from a paper cut I got when I was ten.
Some things are just meant to scar, I suppose.
The bullet wound will probably leave a permanent mark on me. It’s healing well enough. It doesn’t hurt anymore. The skin is closed over now without any itchy scabs. The infection is gone. But the ugly scar remains.
It’s unsettling to see it. Especially when I catch a glimpse of it in the mirror, and that moment rushes back at me. It’s sent me to my knees more than once. I swear, in those moments, I can feel the phantom pain of the bullet slicing through my skin and my scream getting lodged in my throat.
Pain throbs through my body for a second before my surroundings come back, and I remember where I am.
Home. Safe. Never again will I need to run for my fucking life from other people hunting me like a damn animal.
I brush my fingers through my hair, and my gaze lands on the numbers burned into the back of my hand. For some reason, more than anything, these numbers are the most triggering marks on my body. Maybe because I can’tnotsee them. They’re there all the time. Glaring at me. Reminding me I’m little more than prey.
Without fail, two images flicker in my head every single time I see it. The young teenager, brutally murdered before my eyes, and the mutilated body I stumbled across as I made my way out of the stream bed.
