"Yeah." At that, I'm pissed. Michael has cost us more than money and time. Jimmy is going to expect me to go with Bronson, find our stock, and leave a trail of messages in the form of bodies. And I can't do that. I won't leave Cassidy.
Grumbling to myself, I crack some salt and pepper over the chops, then further coat the flesh with a flip of the bowl.
"Armad is finishing off." Bronson stares at the meat that I am now wrapping up in butcher paper. "I'm hungry. I'm glad you salted those fuckers. You always under season my meat."
Shaking my head at him, I tape the paper shut. It takes Xander until I'm on the shop porch to realise what I'm doing.
"Max, no," I hear him say as I stroll outside and onto the sidewalk. The shop door swings shut behind me. I make my way over to the Jacks. The streetlamps light my path while the sound of my footsteps interrupt the quiet of the night. Their eyes shift to me. They slouch down in their seats.
Stopping beside the driver's door, I tap the glass with my knuckles. They look at each other sideways. After a few seconds, the driver finally winds the window down.
I squat to meet their line of sight. "Evening, officers. Would you like to come in? We are just guttinga pig."
They share glances full of meaning. "No, Max. We are fine here."
"Alright then. Well, take this home to your pretty wife and son." With a smirk, I offer Constable Hall the pork chops. "These are the best fucking chops you'll ever eat."
They don't just take the paper package; they also thank me for it.
Tucking my hands into my pockets, I step back and watch as they pull away from the sidewalk, and then cruise off down the street.
Wandering back into the shop, I notice Armad and his men have joined my brothers out front. Bronson is now seated opposite Xander while the others stand by or lean on the counter. Armad quite rightly minds his own business as I approach, keeping his head downcast. I don't dislike this man—they are all our men. Nevertheless, I find most people struggle to hold my gaze.
Bron chuckles. "Should have given them some sausages as well, mate."
Xander groans a little. "Why provoke them?"
I sneer at him. "But you're going to be a big-shot lawyer soon, so I shouldn't have a problem, right?"
"You are your own worst enemy sometimes, Max," he mutters as Armad and the others sneak slowly outside.
"You need to toughen up!" I snap at him, and he winces. "We need a fucking man. Someone we can count on." My voice gets louder as I feel heat hitting my temples. "Trust with what's important to us!"
Trust—I don't think I trust anyone anymore. Jimmy. Butch. My own brother who walks and talks like a man but disappoints me at every turn.
With sad eyes, he shakes his head and says, "I'm so sorry for what happened, Max. I said I was sorr?—"
Before he can finish his sentence, I lunge at him, dragging him to his feet and pinning him against the wall. "You're fucking sorry!" I bark as his chest vibrates with fast heavy breaths beneath my forearm.
He swallows nervously but holds my stare. "I tried to go after her, Max. She told me she'd be okay. Dustin had guards watching my every move. I tried to stop it."
Fucking Dustin.
I haven't forgotten about his apparent involvement in the attack on Cassidy. He thinks he can toy with what's mine; he's got another thing coming.
The presence of Bronson standing just behind me is palpable, but he's allowing this to play out.
Inching in a little closer to Xander, I hiss, "And yet, there's not a scratch on you. So tell me, my tough little brother, how hard did you reallytry?" His eyes drop, finally cowering beneath my livid mien. "If you weren’t my brother, I’dkillyou," I whisper before letting him go with an angry shove. For a second, he looks at me as though I've just ripped his heart right out of his chest, and that fucking wrecks me. I growl at the ground. Taking off towards the exit, I glance at Bronson, who appears stoic. As I shove my way outside, the murmur of their voices follow me through the open door.
"No, let him go," Bron states calmly.
"I'm sorry, Bron."
"I know you are, buddy."
Max
As I makemy way to the Rover, I clench my fists at my sides. All I feel is rage again. Rage, yes, and fucking regret. And I hate regret; it's a useless emotion and I know better than to suffer it. Know better but feel it, nonetheless.
