“Oh, brother,” he calls up the stairs, drawing out the word into something obscene. “It’s so good to hear your voice. I was worried Killian might’ve robbed me of the fun.”
Breaker answers, voice a whip-crack. “Thought you were my brother. We served together. Fought together. Bled together. Don’t make me kill you — but I will. LET. HER. GO.”
Viper barks a laugh—sharp and short and almost joyous. It doesn’t sound human. He wipes a fleck of blood from his cheek, then, as if Breaker’s words are a toast to old times, draws the pistol from his waistband. Flicks the safety off with his thumb. Raises it, calm as a priest at the pulpit.
Ice floods my veins.
I see it all, every tick of his movement, and I know what comes next — Breaker’s coming for me, and Viper’s going to shoot him. He’s not coming down here to talk; he will not hesitate. He’s coming for war; not a single part of Breaker has ever known retreat.
I look for something, anything, to stop what’s about to happen. My blood has made a slick moat around me, and my arms are jelly. But if I don’t do something, anything, Breaker dies for me.
So I wait. I wait for when the basement door groans open and a shaft of yellow light pours down, making a perfect silhouette of Viper in its path. His finger is on the trigger.
And I scream. I rip the sound from the pit of my soul. It bounces off the cold stone and fills up the hollow spaces of the world.
Viper jerks in surprise, and that’s my moment.
I slam into him, every ounce of my ruined body behind the movement. He’s heavier, stronger, but not expecting me to fight like this. The gun explodes in a deafening roar, and the ceiling above us erupts into a shower of plaster and splinters.
“You fucking bitch,” he hisses, and when he grabs my hair, it feels like he’s going to rip it from the root. I rake my fingernails down his face, pushing for his eyes, and scream again, louder, rawer, needing to make him hurt just once.
He slams me into the concrete, and my vision swims. I taste blood — my own or his; it doesn't matter — but I claw at his face, his hands, biting and fighting like an animal because that’s all I’ve got left. I won’t be the girl who curls up and dies.
We’re locked together, rolling in the filth and blood, and the pain is everywhere. I think he’s going to bash my head against the floor, but then I hear the boots — Breaker’s boots — slamming down the stairs, pounding like war drums.
Breaker.
He hits Viper like a wrecking ball.
The three of us crash across the basement floor. Breaker’s fists are hammers, slamming into Viper’s ribs, his jaw, his temple. Viper lands on top of me, crushing my lungs, and Breaker rips him off, tearing him away with a roar that shakes both of us. He throws Viper across the room, but Viper is up again, bleeding from the mouth, still laughing. I see now that Breaker is hurt too — his knuckles are split, a ribbon of red trickles from his scalp, his left hand hangs limp — but he keeps coming.
Viper swings the knife at Breaker, catching him in the biceps. Breaker grunts, snatches Viper’s wrist, and twists until something pops. The knife skitters away. They crash into the wall, taking out a flimsy shelf, and scatter tools and old beer bottles everywhere. Glass crunches underfoot. Viper kneesBreaker in the gut, but Breaker doesn’t let go. Instead, he hauls Viper in and headbutts him, then throws him to the ground.
The fight is savage. Endless. Animal. It is a blur of fists, boots, shouts, the ring of flesh against bone, the shattering crash of bodies meeting concrete, and the sick slap of blood.
Viper rises and retaliates, and Breaker gets slammed against the wall. I latch onto Viper’s arm, my battered hands sliding off the sweat and blood, but I get enough purchase to slow him a half-beat. Breaker takes that moment and slams his forearm into Viper’s windpipe, the sound a wet, ugly thunk. Viper thrashes and snaps, catching Breaker across the temple with a wild backfist, and for a second Breaker sags, eyes glassy.
Viper launches at me. His fist connects with my jaw, and the world flashes white, then black. My ears ring, my vision tunnels. But somewhere in the static, I taste rage. I taste it, sharp and alive on my tongue. I spit into Viper’s face, and he hesitates, disgusted, just long enough for Breaker to grab him by the throat and hurl him to the floor.
Breaker plants a knee into Viper’s back hard enough that something crunches — a rib — and Viper howls and twitches as Breaker hammers the back of his head with an elbow, before wrenching his arm behind him with a wet pop that makes Viper scream.
I scramble across the concrete floor and pick up Breaker’s gun from where it skidded along the floor.
“Here, Riley,” he says, and I shove it into Breaker’s outstretched hand.
He rises to his feet, and Viper tries to do so as well, until Breaker bashes the gun across the back of his head. Viper collapses, bloody and panting, still smiling that awful smile.
Breaker presses the barrel of the gun to his friend’s head.
His voice is a low, trembling growl.
“It’s over.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Breaker
My hands are slick with blood — his, mine, Riley’s — I don’t know anymore.
