Fucking Brent. My brother Micah’s woman, Holly, was married to that piece of shit for too long.
And she has the scars to prove it. She’s well shot of him, and now she has an amazing man who
would protect her with his life.
“Not that the effort isn’t appreciated,” Ransom says, “but he’s paid the price for his crime. Brent’s
going to be in there for decades. Joker can’t give up the rest of his life for that. Besides, even if he
doesn’t apply, his sentence will be up in a couple of years. What then?”
Colton grimaces. “I have a feeling, if it got to that point, he’d do something to make sure he has to
stay. He could play that fucking game and end up staying in there until he’s gray. I want a different life
for him. I’ve spent too many years angry with him, and I don’t think I can live with him in there any
longer. But he’s spent half his life in there. He’s institutionalized.”
“He can’t picture his life outside,” Maverick says. Colton nods, because yeah, that must be scary
as fuck. The entire world, everyone he knew before, has moved on.
“So maybe we need to paint him a picture,” I mumble, thoughts swirling.
“What do you mean?” Colton asks, rocking forward in his chair, the frame groaning in protest.
“I mean, we pull the same shit Ransom and Jonas did on us when we were building the tower.”
Most of us weren’t sure about moving into our building. We’d scattered and had our own places
throughout the city. But that disconnect wasn’t healthy for us. We are unapologetically co-dependent.
We thrive when we’re together and up in each other’s business. So they spent months casually asking
us how we’d like our places designed and furnished, having interior designers showing us mock-ups.
Before we knew it, we were totally invested and wouldn’t think of letting anyone else live in those
units.
“We need to paint a picture for Johnny. Show him what his life would look like on the outside.
Have we thought about what he could do? And where he could live?”
“I want him with us,” Colt mutters.
“Of course you do, brother. We wouldn’t have it any other way.” Ransom says, rising to put a big
hand on Colt’s massive shoulder.
“So we fix up an apartment for him,” I say. “We figure out a few job options and slowly work on
him. Play up how much we need him. Because in there, he feels like he has a purpose. We need to
give him one outside those fucking walls.”
I didn’t know Johnny well. Honestly, from what I remember when we were kids, he was a dick to
