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Brant lies there, one knee drawing up, his hand cupping his face.
I think I hear something come through on our radios, but blind rage rings louder.
My arms are still flying, legs flailing, while Kip continues to drag me back in a deathlike grip. I’m snarling like a rabid bear, saliva dripping down my chin. I point at Brant, who’s trying to pull himself up on his elbows as rivers of blood paint his face red. “That’s it, isn’t it? I finally fucking figured it out.” My chest heaves with anger, madness, sorrow. “You never accepted me as a brother because that meant you’d have to accept June as a sister.” Brant is breathing heavily, still swinging his head back and forth. Blood spills down his nose, jaw, mouth, staining his suit collar. “And you couldn’t, could you? Because this whole time you wanted to fuck her!”
The last two words purge out of me in an animalistic roar.
“Theo, get a fucking hold of yourself.” Kip still grapples with me, keeping me reined in before I let loose and kill the man I’ve considered a brother since I was seven years old. “We have to go. A call came in.” He spins me around, fisting the front of my uniform with one hand as the other smacks against my jaw. “Do you understand me? We have to go. Get it together.”
He shakes me a little. The red haze over my vision starts to desaturate, and I blink, swallowing down the soot and squalor in my throat and nodding my head. “Yeah, okay…fuck. I hear you.”
I shove his arms away, bending over to collect myself. I think I hear Brant behind me, pulling to a stand, his own breathing as ragged as mine. He doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing he could possibly say.
“This isn’t over,” I grit out through bared teeth.
Kip grabs me by the arm. “Let’s go.”
He’s probably worried that I’ll fly off the handle again.
He should be.
“You hear me, asshole?” I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to look at him, but I do. I whirl around and find Brant staring off to the side, hands pulling at his hair, his hazel eyes wet with pathetic fucking tears, face smeared with blood.
He looks gutted.
Shaking.
Guilty.
I growl, my anger escalating. “This isn’t fucking over!” My body moves to lunge at him again, but Kip whips me backward, practically dragging me down the corridor. My words echo through the hall as Brant stares after me, looking nothing like the brother I thought I knew.
We make our way to the scene with lights flashing, siren blaring, and tires squealing down congested streets.
My heart pumps viciously beneath my ribs.
I can’t shake the image of Brant and June tangled up like lovers, their tongues twisting, bodies writhing.
It’s nauseating.
Maddening.
Kip hasn’t said a word from the driver’s seat as we cruise at a breezy sixty-miles-per-hour, my fists squeezed white-knuckled in my lap. He just sits there in heavy silence, one hand on the wheel, and the other holding his jaw like he’s deep in thought.
There’s been an accident along Route 83, our main drag.
I wonder if it could possibly be any worse than the train wreck I just witnessed.
A sigh finally fills the space between us as Kip shifts in his seat, glancing in my direction. “Tell me you’re good. If you’re not, I’ll get Mitchell on the phone right now and—”
“I’m good.” My fingernails bite into my palms. “I’m good, Kip.”
“You didn’t know?”
My head jerks to the left. “Did I know what? That my adopted brother has been wanting to put his dick inside my little sister?”
Queasiness claims me.
I feel light-headed.
