Don’t fight it. You need the pain to survive.
I heard Saint’s voice this time and something inside me snapped, triggering a surge of energy I desperately needed.
Voices reached me.
Unfamiliar voices.
Fuck, I didn’t even recognise the language.
Crouching, I crept around the storage bin and squinted in the darkness at the yard. At first, I saw only men in cuts that weren’t ours.Crows. Then I noticed the others—the men in smarter clothes with slick hair and clean shoes.
Sambinis.
Or were they cartel? At this point, I couldn’t recall who wanted me dead the most.
Somewhere I couldn’t see, a door opened. A dragging sound reached me, and I watched the expression of the nearest Crow change.
It was Rocco St John and he looked as sick as I felt. “You killed them all?”
A Sambini goon—Lorenzo—laughed. “Not quite. Just gassed them a bit to keep them quiet while Aldea’s man takes out O’Brian. The boss wants that one, though. We’ll load him up when the fat man comes back.”
That one. I didn’t have to look to know he meant Saint. That the Sambinis still believed he’d killed Frank Crow, Drummer, and their goddamn prince.
Dread filled me. Saint was innocent, but with no evidence to prove it, they’d kill him without question, and that was the kind option.They’ll torture him first.I’d heard shit about the Sambinis.
They’ll burn him alive.
The gruesome image propelled me to my feet faster than my broken body was prepared to take. More nausea rattled me, but I pushed it down and stepped away from the shelter I’d found behind the bins, revealing the expanse of the yard and the sight of my brothers laid out, face down and unconscious with their hands bound behind their backs.
Nash. Mateo. Saint.
Only Rubi was missing.
And Embry, but I already knew his fate and the pain in my heart nearly sent me crashing back to my knees.
One thing kept me standing.
“Not quite.”
They were still alive and as I drove forward, forcing my heavy legs to keep moving, Saint was already twitching, the true rebel in him refusing to stay down.
No.
Not yet.
But it was no good. He groaned and rolled over, attracting the attention of a nearby Crow.
The scrote stepped up, drawing his foot back to put the boot in, to kick my brother when he was down.
Rocco St John stopped him, stepping between them with a subtle shake of his head, and it was the window I needed.
I burst into the yard, covered in blood, a maniacal energy surging through me. “Someone want to tell me what thefuckyou think you’re doing with my brothers?”
Every man present and awake jumped out of their skin. Despite the fact that they were waiting on Cracker and his departed murder pal, they hadn’t heard me coming.
On instinct, the Crows backed up, grouping together.
Rocco’s eyes were conflicted.
