“Alright, what’s going on?” he snaps, laying down his fork with a clatter. “I know you, Jax, and you’re jumpy as shit right now. Where are the boys?”
“How should I know?”
“Youalwaysknow where they are.”
“Well, they probably just…” I stop moving, the fork hovering above my plate, as cold dread trickles down my spine.
Oh fuck. No. It can’t be.
I rise as Flynn frowns up at me.
I head to the stairs and go to my room, opening the drawer where I stashed one of the guns. It’s gone. I curse under my breath as my whole body starts to shake. A perfunctory search of the rest of the room confirms my worst fears. All the weapons are gone, and so are my brothers.
They’ve gone to do what I told them never to attempt. They’re trying to teach Nick Monroe a lesson.
I stand in the middle of my room, breathing deeply, trying to calm my racing heart, but the fear feels like a demon that is slowly spreading through every vein in my body.
After five full minutes, there has been no sound from downstairs, and as I kick off my shoes and walk silently to the living room, I can feel the presence of Flynn’s fury before I turn the corner.
“What did they do?” he demands, rising from his chair, the food forgotten. “What the fuck is going on?”
If Monroe doesn’t kill Ben and Seb, Flynn just might.
“Jax.”
I close my eyes, coming back to the table and sitting slowly down in my chair. Flynn remains standing, his eyes dark and wary as he places his hands on the surface, leaning over me.
“Don’t make me start yelling.”
I lean forward, my hands covering my face as I try to find the right words to explain the gigantic fuck-up I’ve made. I should have told Flynn right from the start, from the moment Scott told me the truth about the debt. Maybe he could have done something—now all three of my brothers might be dead.
I suck in a breath, panic shooting through me like lightning bolts, and for a minute, I can’t breathe.
“Jax,” Flynn whispers, deathly calm. “What’s happened?”
“It’s not his fault.” Those are the first words out of my mouth. God, I love Scott so much it hurts, but right now I hate him. The stupid fucking idiot.
“Tell me right now, or I’m gonna smash up this house.”
“Scott fucked up.”
“Scott?” Flynn asks incredulously, his eyes widening in almost comical surprise. “I thought it was Seb, for sure.”
“No,” I say, as the slight tremor of humor on my brother’s lips fades altogether.
There’s a weighted silence, the kind of silence I haven’t heard in this house for years. Flynn has his arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at me, and I can tell the moment he works out the truth, his shoulders slumping forward in despair.
“Please tell me Scott hasn’t been placing bets again.” His voice is a hoarse whisper.
I close my eyes. “He didn’t mean for it?—”
“Jesus Christ!” Flynn’s arms fall to his sides, reflexively, as if he’s about to flip the table. He walks to the window, turning back to me, his hands on his hips, stubble on his chin, and for a fleeting, awful second, he looks exactly like our father.
“He’s tried to fix it—” I attempt.
“How much does he owe?”
I shake my head again. “A lot.”
