“We’ve got another problem,” my father said to us all. “Sirro’s called a meeting with our House tomorrow morning. He wants answers as to who attacked the tithe convoy and why.”His stormy gaze landed on my youngest brother. “Supposedly, you’re the only witness that survived, Jett.”
Jett had been staring up at the ceiling, a forearm over his clammy forehead, mouth a thin line. His gaze slid to my father, and he gingerly sat upright.
My father, with his imposing size, stalked across the room, the glow of dim light catching on his dusty armor. “I have no idea how the fu—” He caught himself in time, pressing his lips together firmly. He’d never sworn since my mother had been stolen. The rest of us… I think we did it hoping one day she’d be there to cuff us around the ears. “I don’t know how we are to get our House out of this mess you’ve landed us all in.”
Kenton rounded the table. “I’ll take the lead in the investigation. Anything that points Jett’s way, I’ll make it go away.”
A nod from my father. “After the meeting with Sirro, if we survive it, you,”—he pointed a finger at me—“and the rest of your brothers, need to head to New York. There’s trouble with the Widowmakers and an insurrection brewing.”
“I’m not leaving.”
I’m not leaving Nelle here alone.
“You’ll attend this meeting with Sirro, and you’ll accompany your brothers and deal with the Albanian syndicate. No one returns until they are put back in their place!”
Fuck!
It could be days before we got a handle on that shit with the Widowmakers.
My father’s gaze moved across all of us, and with each second that passed, the hardened angle of his body softened. He ran a hand through his graying, ash-coated hair. He spoke more quietly when he gave his next order. “First, we bury our dead and clear the battle site. We keep this contained. And we do this now.”
It was going to be a long night, one full of sorrow and grief.
But before it began, I needed to check on Nelle.
My brothers gathered and headed for the door.
“Jett,” Ferne cried. “You need to rest. Take a painkiller…please.”
Jett limped toward the desk, riddled with paperwork and half-formed devices, resting a moment while he tried to catch his breath. “I’m fine.” He dragged a loose lock of sweat-dampened hair from where it had fallen across his eyes.
“He needs to rest, he can’t—” my sister protested, appealing to our aunt.
“Jett will rest…after he’s taken his dues,” she snapped back.
Gods, he’d earned a whipping.
And one look at my father’s formidable glare locked on his youngest son—he agreed.
Still, it would be nothing like my punishment all those years ago. This was a single lick of the whip. A tradition set long ago by our ancestor Oskar.
My aunt wasn’t done with Jett. “You put our House at risk. If the Horned Gods discover it wasyouwho hijacked Sirro’s convoy and freed those Tithes, we’ll be the ones with the noose around our necks.” Her wary gaze wandered over Jett’s closed expression, trying to read him. “Why?”
He clamped his mouth shut.
He’d done it for a girl, amortalgirl.
In reply, he unzipped his jacket, tossing it onto the desk, along with his t-shirt, exposing his lean upper body.
My gaze landed where he stood, where a roll of velvet sat next to a nest of wires on the desktop. I crossed the room to inspect it, my calloused fingertips catching on the soft fabric as my thoughts kept spinning.
I heard my Aunt Valarie turn away and stride from the room, no doubt on her way to collect the whip. My blood ran cold in memory of Oskar’s whip, the leather splitting apart my flesh.
“Why did you do it?” I asked Jett quietly.
“I couldn’t…” He shook his head, frowning and blinking, as if he hadn’t come to terms with it himself. “I just couldn’t let that happen to her.”
And I wondered why he couldn’t see the correlation between him and I. Nelle and Red. Except he’d done something about it. He’d defied everyone, including our own family, and put us all at risk to save a mortal girl from the Horned Gods. But me, I’d handed mine over to my family.
