“Are you telling me that my little brothers are becoming arsonists in their spare time? That they’ve gone after some psycho alone?”
“I don’t know, Flynn! I told them not to do anything stupid.”
“Oh yeah, and when have Seb and Ben ever listened to that kind of advice?”
We stare at each other, Flynn’s eyes sparking with fury as he calls Seb, then Ben, then Scott again, and they all go through to voicemail.
“Jesus Christ,” Flynn mutters. “Who is this guy, Monroe?”
“He’s dangerous.”
“Perfect, just perfect.” He pulls on his coat. “Where is he based?”
I look after him helplessly. “I don’t know, Flynn. I have no idea about any of this.”
Flynn opens the front door as I rise from my chair, my arms held out helplessly.
“Flynn, where are you going to go? What, you’re gonna search all of New York until you find them?”
He stops, turning slowly back to me, deep despair in his eyes.
“We’d be better off waiting until they come home. They might change their minds when they see what they’re up against; they’re not suicidal.”
He scoffs, standing with the door open, his hand fisted against the handle, tight enough to break it. Then he slowly closes it.
“Tell me everything, and don’t leave out any details this time. I want to know what we’re dealing with here. And when they get home, I’m gonna fucking kill them myself.”
By the morning, our dwindling optimism has vanished completely. Neither of us has slept a wink, staying up, sitting at the table, staring at the door, willing our brothers to come home.
Every car that passed had Flynn on his feet running to the window, even as he would watch it disappear into the distance, his shoulders slumping a little lower, and a tendril of hope dying with it.
Halfway through the night, to my dismay, Flynn produced a gun from his room. He said it was one of Dad’s and that he'd keptit for emergencies, but the ease with which he held it, loaded it, and sat with it balanced on his leg had me questioning how much of my brother’s life I really understand.
By 7 a.m., we’ve both given up hope that our brothers are coming back. I’ve had to suppress the urge to vomit several times, and Flynn’s skin is ashen.
Once I had told him how much Scott really owed, as well as how he skimmed from the safe in the club, Flynn downed half a glass of whiskey and didn’t speak for three hours. I can’t tell if he’s furious with me, or whether he’s just angry at all of us, but the guilt is overwhelming.
I don’t know if any of this could have been prevented if I had told him sooner, but I know that him finding out like this is the worst possible scenario.
We have no idea where Ben, Seb, and Scott are, and the memory of Scott’s bloody body on the top step of our house makes bile rise in my throat again.
“Let’s go to the club,” Flynn says finally, his voice quiet and hoarse from lack of use. “We get everything out of the safe, every cent we have, and we bring it back here. If they’ve come home, we give Monroe as much as he wants. If I have to use the new club down payment as leverage, I will, if it means we get him off Scott’s back.”
I don’t even have the strength to argue. Flynn has been working nonstop for two years on this club, but one whiff of danger for his family, and he is willing to lose everything to save them.
“I’ll make some coffee,” he mutters. “You need to change?”
I look down at my office clothes, wrinkled from our nightly vigil, and I nod. As my brother goes into the kitchen, I head upstairs, pulling on some sweatpants and a soft black hoodie that I rarely wear. I stole it from Scott years ago and now I hug it to my body desperately.
I grab an empty bag for the money we will need to carry and twist my hair into a braid, tying it loosely over my shoulder. Nothing feels real in the cold light of morning. I can’t contemplate the possibility that all three of my brothers may be lying on the floor of some warehouse somewhere.
I should have thrown the weapons out, not hidden them. I’m a fucking idiot.
When I head downstairs, Flynn is standing by the door with a thermos of coffee in his hand as if we’re heading out to run errands. Neither of us says a word, the exhaustion and fear in his eyes too painful for me to look at. I stare at the ground as we walk down the steps and toward his car.
Pulling the empty bag on my shoulder, I head around to the other side and am about to open the passenger door when I hear a squeal of brakes.
Turning, hoping against hope that it’s my brothers, I barely have time to react.
