Everyone is yelling. Lucky is screaming like a lunatic, grabbing uselessly at my shoulders. Colm has his hands wrapped around mine and is trying to peel my fingers back from thefucker’s throat while giving me firm commands to release him in the same tone you would use with a disobedient guard dog. And beyond that, I can hear Bambi yelling at me to stop.
That’s what catches my attention. I’m distracted momentarily, which makes me weaken my grip enough for Colm to get my fingers off the man’s neck and allows Lucky to haul me back a half foot.
I barely bite back a scream, because Lucky wrapped his arms all the way around my torso to do it, and it pulled on every wound I have. The pain is so sharp and abrupt; I feel like I’m going to puke. My breath stutters, and all the fight drains out of me abruptly as I’m struggling to stand upright and breathe. I feel like I got punched in the chest, it’s so hard to get my lungs to expand, and my stomach is still churning, threatening to erupt at any second.
Then Micah’s not yelling at me. He’s barreling into Lucky, telling him to keep his hands off me and creating a blessed bubble of space around me while I catch my breath. I’m distracted from the pain for a moment by how impressed I am, watching my slender little brother body-slam that fucking idiotic bulldog like it’s nothing.
To protect me.
There are spots swimming in front of my eyes, but they’re clearing. Oxygen is getting into my lungs slowly, and the ripping pain is receding, although I know that I’ve fucked up and done damage to my wounds. Eventually, I’m able to stand fully upright again and look at the other men in the room.
Colm is looking at me with a shocked expression. Lucky looks pissed, and the blond fucker, Eamon, is still struggling to catch his breath, worse off than I am.
“Savage, are you fucking high? What the fuck?” Colm, usually rational and measured, looks at me with disbelief.
I wipe my face, which is now a mess of spit and sweat.
“He’s lucky he’s still breathing. Get him out of here. If I hear one more shitty word out of his mouth again, I’ll stake him to an anthill, naked and covered in honey. I don’t care who he is.”
Lucky’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head. I have a well-earned reputation for extreme violence in my organization. It’s what Father wanted from me. He bred me for it. I hate it, but it has its uses. And even if I’ve been slacking lately because of all my… other stuff. I have enough of a history for everyone to know I’m not joking.
Colm frowns, because he’s probably the only one who can get away with calling me out on something other than Father.
“I think that would be an overreaction, and we both know it. And so would your da. We came to talk business, but obviously you’re still fucked up on painkillers.”
The mention of Father brings me a little closer to reality, and I’m immediately grateful that Colm is putting a PR spin on this incident barely three minutes after it happened, using the painkillers as an excuse.
I really didn’t think through what Father’s reaction would be. I don’t know who this dude is or how important to the organization he is. I just reacted. He looked at Micah like that, and I snapped. It’s a habit that’s too ingrained in me to get rid of.
“We’ll come back tomorrow, Sav. And maybe you’ll be a little dried out by then, eh?” Colm gives me a meaningful look with one eyebrow raised. Lucky’s gaze is darting between us, like he’s trying to pick up on everything that’s not being said.
I don’t say anything. I can’t compromise now, or I’ll look weak. I just stand there, watching them with a grim expression while they file out of Bambi’s apartment and pretending it isn’t still overwhelmingly painful to breathe.
When they’re gone, I sag. I need to sit down before I collapse.
“Jesus, Tadhg.”
Micah reaches for me, but I flinch away from his touch. Goddammit. Being near him is too strange. There are too many conflicting parts of myself that are being forced to interact, and it’s making me feel weird and weak.
He looks surprised and hurt when I won’t let him touch me, but I don’t have the energy to explain. Instead, I drag my aching body back to the couch by myself. I slip my gun out of my sweatpants pocket where I had very uncomfortably stashed it when the guys walked in and toss it on the coffee table.
Then I lie back, throwing my arm over my eyes to create the illusion of darkness, well aware that Micah is studying me in silence through all of this.
I don’t know what to do. He makes me weak. Before they showed up, I was actually considering giving him an honest answer to his question, for fuck’s sake. And wouldn’t that just be a disaster?
If I told Micah that I wanted to leave the Banna and any of the others found out, it would put not just mine, but his life at risk as well.
It was stupid of me. And selfish. Like everything else I do.
I need to get away from him before I do anything else reckless and pull him into more of my mess.
I want him to come over and force me to accept his affection. The small, sad, desperate part of me that can’t bear to keep doing this is screaming at him to come and touch me, tell me that everything’s going to be alright and maybe I can get out just like he did, and join him here in his normal fucking life.
But the rest of me knows better. There’s no out for me. The violence is rooted so deeply within me that even if I did physically leave, I would still be a walking powder keg of brutality. What just happened only proves that.
I need to get away. Being here is only confusing both of us and putting him at risk. As soon as I can walk more than tensteps without losing my breath, I’ll find a new place to hide out from the Aryans. Or maybe I’ll pick up and run. I don’t care anymore. As long as I can take my brutal, pathetic self away from him and keep him safe.
Chapter Nine
