Thankfully, I was an only child, so I didn’t have to suffer the envy and hate most brothers felt. Nevertheless, Kevin stood by that night, witnessing the firstborn’s downfall in the same bar where I fell in love with Gwen, which in the end would be my own downfall.
Life was good then, and it would be again. I would make sure of it.
“Where have you been for the last five years?” I snapped, cutting right through the bullshit.
Kevin disappeared after I murdered his father in St. Louis five years ago. One could only assume Ray had him killed too, but when I was in Italy, I found out that Collin had been hunting him.
“Protecting my family,” he spat.
He was dirty and tired, that much was clear. His dark hair was longer and unkept.
His green eyes were dull, lifeless, aside from the anger that consumed them. The last time I saw him was in Club Fever, when Romano revealed him to the bosses and regional leaders like a prized pig. Kevin had bulked up—granted, he was covered in muscles that night, but training your body makes time go by faster as a prisoner. I knew that all too well. The night I looked down into Kevin’s eyes for the first time, I could feel the Devil’s eyes on my back, waiting, studying…
He taunted me.
Tested me.
He wanted to see if I felt any guilt for murdering the man’s father with a barbed wire bat.
Guilt was a feeling I was unfamiliar with when it came to Cal Matthews.
I slept like a baby that night after fucking my woman ruthlessly on the countertop, worshipping every square inch of her body to make her forget about that man, and as she screamed my name, her body submitting to mine, I no longer cared about heaven or hell.
“How long have you been in St. Louis?” I asked, scratching my bearded jaw.
His eyes widened a fraction at my words, but only for a moment. Suppressing a chuckle, I knew he was trying to appear unfazed. He didn’t know where he was.Damn.Stevens was good. Too good, but I was better. I dropped my hand, folding my arms over my chest.
“Answer the question.” My voice was low and gruff from exhaustion and anger.
“I didn’t even know I was moved here,” he hissed, the muscles under his olive skin straining against the ropes.
Good luck getting out of those…
“When did he move you here?”
“Three weeks ago, I think? A month? The fuck if I know. The guards fed me twice a day.”
I sniffed, rubbing the back of my thumb across my nose quickly before strolling across the dark room, the worn wooden floors creaking underneath my boots. The safe house was small and worn, most likely built in the thirties, and had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, living space, and cellar. Jer told me it used to be the place for crew meetings, where all the leaders would meet here once a month in secret, and of course, that cellar came in handy for other reasons…
Well, the house wasn’t so much of a secret, since Sullie would have two little stowaways in his back seat from time to time, curiosity winning over the minds of the innocent. A brown eyed boy and a blonde-haired girl.
I pushed the thoughts of innocence out of my mind as I reached for the baseball bat in the corner—dried, dark blood coated the barbed wire wrapped tightly around wood.
“Do you know what this is?” I asked, spinning the bat in my hand carelessly, moving clockwise three times before my wrist commanded it to move in the opposite direction. Three and three. It was second nature to me. It started out as something to do when I felt like showing off, and then it morphed into a crutch when the anxiety became too much before and during games, and now…
Now, it was used to extract fear.
Kevin seemed to sit up a little taller in his chair, despite the ropes. “You killed my father with that bat,” he said, his voice steady.
The darkness in me smiled at the memory, the sounds of his cries and crunching bones, his pleas of forgiveness…no one was forgiven if they touched her. Death would greet them in unhinged violence.
Yes,” I replied, meeting his eyes. I pointed the bat at him, some of the barbed wire touching the tip of his nose. “How many?”
He swallowed, his eyes focusing on the blood stains in the wood, the dried flesh in the metal of the wire. “How many what?”
“How many did theDoctorkill?”
His green eyes met mine, a form of understanding he did not deserve to know flashing behind his pupils. “Not nearly enough,” he croaked.
