My head is woozy now.
My mouth and eyes are dry.
I can hear the darkness calling me. It’s begging for me to let go, to fall into its safety. The only reason I’m holding on is because I know this tiptoe out of the dark will be my last.
Achim Novak wants to kill me, and I’m ready to let him.
Twenty-Two
Trey
Have you ever felt like you’re being lied to, but you have no clue why people you trust think lying is their only option? That’s the feeling that hit me the instant Eight and Mikhail left my room. They helped me get my room back in order, assured me I’m not going crazy, then exited like I didn’t ask them three times in a row who K really is.
They answered me, they know better than to act ignorant around me, but they lied through their teeth the entire time. I know it, Eight and Mikhail know it, and so the fuck does K.
A whore hoping to claw her nails into the back of a worthless crew leader wouldn’t stir enough interest out of me to make my cock twitch. I doubt I would have given her a second sideway glance, but just the mention of the letter ‘K’ sets off my pulse in my ears. It’s been thudding nonstop the past hour, growing in intensity the longer I stare at the drawer I shoved a grubby nightgown into.
Needing answers, I rip open the drawer with enough force to fully remove it. Anger percolates through my veins when nothing but numerous pairs of boxer shorts reflect back at me.
Concern my almost manic breakdown has me mistaking which drawer I hid it in, I yank open the three below it. Confirmation I’m being lied to smacks into me hard and fast. None of my drawers are housing an almost see-through nightgown. There’s not a single piece of female attire to be found in my room.
When my attempt to gulp down the anger festering in my gut makes me angrier, I storm out of my room and march down the hall. I’m not surprised to find Eight and Mikhail at blows in the living area. Pretty much anytime I left the bathroom attached to my hospital room, I stumbled onto them brawling each other. Usually, Mikhail has Eight pinned to the wall. This time, it’s the other way around.
If any of the thoughts in my head are true, Mikhail should be grateful it’s Eight clutching his neck. If it were me, he’d be dead by now.
“Give it back.”
“Give what back?” Mikhail asks, aware my question was for him. “As I said to Eight, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
While I close the distance between us, Eight snarls, “This wasn’t our agreement. We were told if he naturally progressed toward his memories, we weren’t to keep them from him.”
“I’m not repressing his memories, August. I’m trying to stop him from being hurt.” Mikhail lowers his tone a notch, meaning I have to strain my ears to hear him when he whispers, “Youweren’t there when we found him.Youdon’t know what he’s been through, soyouhave no fucking right to judgeuson howwehandle this situation.”
“But I sure as fuck can,” I growl out in a gravelly tone.
With Mikhail having no plausible comeback, he keeps quiet.
“Let him go.”
Eight glares at me as if I’m insane for a second before doing as instructed. Mikhail won’t run. Cowards run. He isn’t one of those.
He is close to his death, though. So very,veryclose.
As thunder cracks above my head, I step closer to Mikhail until I’m confident he’s aware fourteen weeks in a hospital bed, three skull fractures, and a busted-up leg won’t weaken the severity of his punishment if he lies to me again. “Give. It. Back.”
“Trey—”
“Give it to me!” My roar silences the room. It doesn’t give me the comfort it did in the hospital. It makes me unhinged.
Like Nikolai did to Rory months ago, I pin Mikhail to the wall by his throat before attempting to throw my fist into his face. I say attempt as I’m frozen mid-strike, shocked about the video playing through my head.
I killed Rory, and I did it for K.
I’m certain of it.
“The specialist said forcing memories onto you could do you more harm than good.” This comment isn’t from neither Mikhail nor Eight. It’s from Nikolai. “Should have known better. Those fuckers might have degrees, but they don’t know how our brains tick.” After locking his eyes with Mikhail to reveal his absolute fury, he returns them to me. The deadliness in them reveals Mikhail will pay heftily for his bend of the rules. “Leave us.” When Mikhail’s lips twitch, prepared to issue a defense, Nikolai shouts, “Ignore me again, and I’ll strip you of more than your ranking!” His words are nothing but menacing when he growls, “And I’ll start with your snitching tongue.”
With his hands held out in front of himself, and his eyes wide with fear, Mikhail tosses a dirty nightgown into Eight’s chest before he makes his way to one of the quads parked around Clarks. He’ll go blow off steam for a few minutes before coming back to apologize. He’d rather grovel like a punk-ass than lose his place on Nikolai’s team. Most of my brothers would choose death over exclusion.
