Page 53 of Overkill

“I’m sorry,” I said immediately, staring at my hand.

He isn’t Luke. He’d never hurt me. Not really. Not intentionally.

The only thing he’d ever hurt was a bit of furniture. And here I was…maybe I was the problem here. In fact, I knew I probably was.

“Not you. Him.” Greg was on us in an instant, looming over Marc with wild, angry eyes, ready to visit violence on my brother if he disobeyed. “You have no fucking idea how good you’ve got it, boy! Show a little respect for the person keeping your life afloat!”

I grabbed Greg by the arm, pulling him back. “Don’t you talk to him like that!”

Greg let me shove him away. I knew he let me, because he had a good fifty or more pounds on me, and he towered like a fucking Alp. He stepped back not because I had made him step back, but because he had let me make him step back.

“You see that?” Greg glared at Marc. “You see how she’ll put herself between me and you? How she’ll get herself beat to protect you?”

I refused to move.

“Apologize to her.” It was a command. “Now.”

Silence hung heavy. I would not let this man touch my brother. Not now, not ever. No one would ever touch us again.

“I’m sorry,” Marc whispered. His apology was so sudden it almost made me jump, even though it had been so quiet.

He’d never—never!—apologized to me before. Not once, at least not in the last year, had he even given me anything like gratitude or remorse. It took the wind out of my sails.

Chapter 17

A Loser Virgin

Vedder

The kid’s apology was only half-meant, but it was something. A partial victory was still a victory.

“Don’t forget this, kid.” My finger was still in his face, but I gentled my tone. “Your sister was willing to stand up for you. How many people do you know who would throw themselves into bodily harm just to get between you and death, hm? I’ve been in combat with people who wouldn’t have stood between me and a bullet, but you? You’ve got one standing right in front of you, and you’re treating her like dirt.”

The kid was mad. It was fine; he could be absolutely pissed at me if he wanted. But I knew his mistreatment of his sister was him being a little shit. I couldn’t blame him. He’d been through a lot. I can’t even imagine…

If young men weren’t shown how to deal with the emotions inside them, they’d interpret that feeling of discomfort and discontent as rage. Rage seems like a safe emotion for a young man. It certainly felt safer than helplessness or grief.

The problem with rage was that it always wanted to point at someone. Usually, on the one person who loved them the most. Sometimes that was a mother or a sister. Sometimes a lover. Sometimes even a child.

Someone who would love them even when they were at their absolute worst.

Melody was that safe person for Marcus. She would always be there, no matter how much he made her feel like shit. That was the power he wanted. The power to hurt someone else as he had been made to hurt. If he didn’t grow out of that shit, then he’d become an abuser. But it wasn’t too late to turn him off that path. It wasn’t too late to fix him, so he wouldn’t make the mistakes I did.

“It takes a good man to understand why he’s so angry, and to deal with it so they don’t hurt those around them.”

Never mind that I hadn’t learned how to be a halfway decent human being until five years ago. This wasn’t the time to get into that. Discretion was a pretty damn big part of effective communication.

The moment was too full. Too heavy. Too sour. The air had been sucked out of the room, and it was all my fault. I had to fix it.

I sighed.

“Food will be here in twenty.” I dropped into one of the seats. “I’m as hungry as a leopard at an impala convention.”

Miriam and Marcus looked at me sideways. She tried to hide a smile, though.

At least someone thought I was funny.

Marcus took a while to sit, but I didn’t force him. I also didn’t ask him to, though I did think maybe he was waiting for that command. But if he got it, then he’d defy it. He just wanted to bark at something. To start a fight. I wouldn’t give it to him, though.