Page 104 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

Kade touches Riley’s shoulder, but he won’t turn.

He won’t turn around, so Kade must go to him.

When he does, despite everything, his heart breaks at what he sees.

Riley is crying.

Lachlan asks, ‘What does Lee want that Blaire doesn’t?’

Vasily says quietly, ‘Power.’

Kade stares at Riley, shaking his head, and cannot find the words.

Accusation, betrayal, shock. Riley seems to read it all anyway, their silent language of looks. He roughly cups Kade’s cheek, tears falling.

Braced for agony he alone will contain, Riley gives a sad smile, blue eyes swimming, and says, ‘I’m so sorry, little brother.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Twenty-Six Years Ago

His earliest memory is walking in the snow.

Of all the memories, it’s this one that marks the start of his life.

It’s so clear, every part of it. The striking white of the snow, the crisp, dense crunch it makes under his bare foot and the thrilling burn of bitter cold. Riley spreads his toes and wiggles them, this new feeling crafting a bubble of fascination and interest that will form a core impression in his mind. He’ll always remember looking down at his feet in the white snow, the burn of icy clean air in his lungs and how wonderful it felt to be outdoors.

It’s a beautiful moment until he hears a voice.

Troy is angry and loud, calling out his name like it’s a bad thing, and it is. Riley knows it is. Then he looks up and turns back.

The pure, perfect white is spotted with red, dripped and dotted from his own hands, cut by the broken glass of the window. Troy is running through the snow to get him, his expression thunderous.

Riley is three years old.

He doesn’t remember how he broke the window, nor does he remember how he got out. He just remembers the snow between his toes and how it felt. Then Troy grabs him, smacks him around the face and lifts him with both hands, eyes wild with unknowable anger.

‘Don’t you ever fucking do that again!’

Riley blinks. The pain of the blow makes his ears ring.

He wants to cry, but he won’t.

He says nothing, doesn’t talk yet.

He won’t talk until he’s six.

Troy carries him back inside, tells the men waiting at the door that it’s fine, it’s nothing, all good, won’t happen again. But it will, and it does.

Riley’s earliest memory is the welcome burn of bare feet in the beautiful, red-spotted snow of winter.

It’s all downhill from there.

✴

His life is quiet and lonely.

The outside world calls to him through the cracked glass of his bedroom window and what little he sees of it when he creeps downstairs at night and presses his face to the door, tasting air through the cracks. He tries to be ‘good’ like Troy tells him.