Page 95 of This Reckless Home

I manage to twist my head even as my own arms are practically pulled from their sockets to find Steel’s gaze locked on mine, his mouth set in a flat line.

“Stop struggling!” his officer yells, even as I can see Steele is not fucking struggling.

“I’m not,” he tells the pig, but it makes no difference as the guy twists Steele’s arms, putting the cuffs on him.

“Stop resisting arrest!” I watch in horror as a baton comes down on the back of Steele’s head, making the front of his head crack against the wall.

Steele grunts, and it takes everything in me to not launch myself at the fucking cunt officer who just struck him for no reason. I’m pulled away as the pig jerks Steele around, no doubt the metal digging into his flesh like it is mine.

Our pockets are searched by other officers, our phones seized and placed in evidence bags.

“Go get their laptops,” Grady orders just as Jus comes bursting out the house.

He stops, his eyes bouncing round us, landing on me being dragged away in cuffs then going wide.

“Ant.” It’s a single cracked sound, but hits me like a fucking sledgehammer, especially when an officer is already moving towards him. Thankfully Blossom gets there first, and my shoulder lose a tiny amount of tension when she wraps her arms around him, pulling him to her. Her lips move, but I’m too far away to hear what she says, but Jus stops trying to get to me.

Good. He needs to stay the fuck out of this.

My gaze finds hers, tears in her eyes as she locks eyes with me.

We both know who’s behind this. Both know it stinks of Wilson, her father. Her head shakes slightly, her lips trembling as she takes us in.

It’s not your fault, Bloom.

I can’t tell her, but try to show her with my gaze, tell her that we’re coming back. That we’ll be okay. That she’ll be okay.

Then my head is being shoved down and I’m forced into the back of a cruiser, the door slamming in my face before I’ve fully grasped that Steele and Nox are in separate cars.

I twist, even though it pulls on the too tight cuffs, and turn just as we start to drive off. I watch as Blossom’s knees go, but unlike this morning, no one is there to catch her, and she starts to go down. Jus lunges, trying to keep her up but he’s not even a teenager and so he sinks with her.

My arms ache. Not from the cuffs at my back, but from my inability to hold her. To pull her close and show her everything will be fine.

Even if that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself.

As we pass by the gates, I catch sight of a black Bentley, sitting there, window rolled down. Wilson Devonshire’s snake’s smile meets my eyes, and he gives a little wave as we drive past.

My jaw locks. I say nothing. Filing away the information that he made good on his threat. And I have no fucking clue how we are going to get out of this one.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“ARCADE (FEAT. FLETCHER)” BY DUNCAN LAURENCE, FLETCHER

BLOSSOM

Iwatch from my knees as the cars drive away, as the officers all leave, the silence deafening. Justin is a dead weight against my side, poor kid, having to hold me up when he just watched his brothers be carted away in handcuffs.

Tears burn a path down my cheeks, self bloody tears that won’t change a damn thing. But I’m unable to stop them. Something inside me feels cracked open, not quite broken, but a weeping wound nonetheless.

The crunch of tires has my head snapping up, a black Bentley turning in the dive. It pulls away slowly, unhurried. And it wouldn’t have got past the gates unless it was on the approved list for the guards.

It’s my father’s car.

The crack breaks wide open, my chest feeling like it’s caving in on itself. The fact that not only did my father, Wilson, clearly choreograph this entire sordid affair, he stayed to watch it. To make sure his plan came to full fruition.

Despite the break inside me, the hollow that will never be quite filled, I reach for my phone in the back of my jeans pocket, then dial the guardhouse.

“Miss. Blossom, I’m so sorry, we couldn’t stop⁠—”