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“Am I the only fucking normal one in this family? Why the fuck are you watching Bane and Evangeline sleep together?”
He looks up at me, raising a single brow in challenge. “I don’t think you’re in any position to camp out on your moral high ground.”
My blood hums inside my veins, hungry to expel some of these volatile emotions churning in my gut. Jealousy and worry make excellent bedfellows apparently.
I rock back on my heels and appraise him. “You know what? I’m not going to say I told you so. Instead, I’ll say good luck, brother, because you’re going to fucking need it when Bane finds out you’ve been watching him fuck our girl. And when everything goes to shit, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”
A knowing smirk curls up the side of my mouth, fueled by a perverse desire to goad him. Just a little bit. The asshole has been off for months now, ever since she got here. But since it’s been established that they’re not giving her up, then he’s gonna have to work through whatever the fuck causes him to glare at me when he doesn’t think I’m looking. The kind of look he usually reserves for plotting how to rearrange someone’s face .
He smirks, but it’s laced with spite. “You sure use a lot of words to say ‘I’m jealous,’ brother.”
I rock back a step back, my back snapping to a straight line. “I’m not fucking jealous.”
Nova places the note beneath the magnet, ensuring it’s secure before he snaps a photo on his phone. Head bent and smile tipping up the corner of his mouth, he whistles softly as he strolls out of the kitchen.
“What the fuck are you whistling about? And where are you going?” I snap, disbelief tightening my shoulders.
“That woman loves us. Even you, you grumpy asshole. And I’m going to go find her.”
“Yeah? And how the fuck are you planning on doing that?” I snap.
He flashes his teeth at me, pausing at the threshold. “By any means necessary, Starting with that Savage Soul bleeding out in Bane’s front yard.”
7
NOVA
The broken screen door slams against the frame behind me as I stand on what used to be the front porch of our house. Technically, it’s still a porch, but it’s taken the brunt of the attack today. Bits of wood everywhere, the deck chairs a heap of splintered remains. The fact that they were so fucking close and still had such shitty aim tells me these aren’t all seasoned brothers. These might even be fucking prospects in on this.
I shake my head. “These fucking assholes.”
I’m sure it’s in my head, but I swear I can smell the scent of blood in the air. Hanging around like an unwanted guest and a reminder of what transpired. As if I could ever forget.
I look out over the compound, worry eating a hole inside my gut. It’s unfamiliar in its intensity, which is a little ironic for a man who found himself in the emergency room with a gunshot wound not that long ago. But this kind of destruction with Evangeline and Hunter inside the house is . . . unthinkable.
Panic seizes my chest as I scan the horizon, searching for some kind of sign of them.
“Where are you, Evangeline?” It’s a murmured plea, carried away on the wind as soon as it leaves me.
Wherever you are, you better be okay, sweetheart. Because I don’t know what I’m going to do if you’re not.
I’ve never really been the praying sort. It’s not that I don’t believe there is a higher power, more like I wasn’t really sure if it mattered or not. Evangeline Carter is the only altar I willingly worship, so it seems fitting that I find myself praying to her now.
I cross the sparse lawn, stepping over bullet casings and a couple of prone bodies until I reach the low moaning of one of the pieces of shit who opened fire on my house today.
“P-please,” the man begs, sprawled out on his side on my cousin’s lawn. His right hand presses tightly against his shoulder, the slow gurgle of blood slipping between his fingers. “I-I need a doctor.”
I suck my teeth, resting my boot on his hip and nudging him over, so I can see his kutte properly. My lip curls up when I spot the Hell Hound patch on the left side. Huh, guess I was wrong. I thought only the Savage Souls were fucking dumb enough for this move, but that’s what I get for assuming, I guess.
“What’s your name?”
He grunts, sweat blooming across his brow as he squints up at me. “Richard Miller.”
Asshole is probably baking in this sun, and I can only hope that infection has already started. Which means that I’ve got to get to work.
“Well, Richard Miller, looks like your shitbag club left you to die.” I bare my teeth in a wild grin, the kind that makes people take a step back. It’s one of my favorites, a little unhinged and a lot menacing. It feels good to wear it again, like I’m tapping the keg of my boiling rage inside. “But don’t worry. I’m going to bring you to my studio.”
“Are you some kind of doctor?” He squints up at me, pain tightening his mouth into a scowl.
