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Their eyes drag to me, burning into my face. Some with confusion, others with pity. Vincent tilts his head, studying my face. Studying how I know. Jarrod shifts beside me, but doesn't look. That's when I know I fucked up.

"The girl?" His lips stay straight. "My girl," he corrects, letting it be known who she belongs to, like we didn't already know. "She's none of your fucking concern."

"The boy has a point, Vincent. She poses a threat; De Luca won't stop now he's invested. He'll come for her."

Vincent turns, his jaw wound tight. "You think I can't protect my possessions? You think I'll let him walk around long enough, plotting?" He laughs, but there's not a hint of humour in it. He shakes the file overhead, slamming it down onto the table.

"This is our insurance." He opens the page, a picture of a young girl with olive skin with long, brown hair falls out for all to see. "Antonia De Luca."

"You've lost your mind…" another member mutters, but Vincent doesn't falter.

"I already have men searching for her. It's already been decided."

I turn with a lump in my throat and stare at Adrian's empty chair.

No.

I'd been so wrapped up in her, I didn't notice he was missing. He's about to lose another part of himself if he does this. I can't let him do it. I won't.

I shove myself to my feet, the chair falling behind me. I can feel Vincent's smirk, but I don't react. The moment I do, I know I'll never stop, and I'll have signed my own death certificate.

"Meeting is over." I hear him say as I storm through the meeting room.

"We haven't discussed the other girls," the older member speaks out, keeping his voice steady.

"Sell them, kill them, fuck them—do whatever you want with them. I don't care."

I don't register his words. I can't afford to care about them, too. Fuck, I don't know what's happening to me, but my feet don't stop, my mind doesn't dwell. I have to find Adrian.

I might not be able to save her, but I can save him.

Jarrod's feet thud behind me, the sound of breathing the only thing that registers through the rage that burns in my soul.

"Jax, stop—" he calls out through a pant.

"Fuck off, Jarrod," I spit back over my shoulder. The words slip out before I can stop them. It's not him I'm angry at. My feet carry me through the halls until I reach the training room. I boot open the door, the sound of its slam bouncing around the empty room. I need Adrian. I need to talk him out of this or at least convince him to let me help him. I haven't seen him since the argument days ago, but I'm not doing this because of guilt, even though inside I'm drowning with it. I'm doing it because he won't survive killing another woman, and worse than that, he won't survive the fight the De Lucas will give, trying to keep the girl safe. Not alone. He can't do this alone. Scanning from corner to corner, the tightness in my chest only gets worse. Like a vice grip has been placed around my fucking lungs. "Where is he?"

"He's gone, he left this morning. I'd have told you if you'd have given me a chance instead of making me chase you through the halls," Jarrod pants, leaning against the training room wall as he tries to catch his breath.

He's gone. I'm too late. This is going to destroy him.

"Why didn't you stop him?" I turn to Jarrod, my anger uncontrollable no matter how hard I ball my hands into a fist. No matter how hard I bite down against my cheek. He knew all about this. Why did he let him? Why didn't he tell me earlier? My body moves without my permission, my head fucked. Everything's fucked. Every single part of me is consumed with hatred, with a rage I've never felt.

My hand lunges before I can stop it, fisting the collar of Jarrod's hoody. His eyes are wide, fingers trembling as he grips my wrist. Inside I'm screaming at myself to stop, that this is my brother, but my head is too far gone. It's like I'm no longer in control, I'm just a bystander watching from the side lines. I push his back against the wall, his head cracking against the plaster.

"P-p-please…" his tiny, little plea slips from his lips.

And everything freezes.

His whole body shakes in my grip, the blood draining from his face as he tries to fight against me. His bottom lip quivers, tears staining his cheeks, but I don't let go. The sight alone makes my heart flutter, my palms sweat. But then it sinks slow and deep, worming its way inside me like a snake in the grass. His voice. His stammer. The stammer he only has around his family. The stammer he's never had around me.

I drop him immediately, backing away and staring down at my hands. Crimson-coloured liquid begins to climb against my skin, worming its way around my wrists until it reaches my elbow. I can't breathe. I can't see anything but the blood of everyone I've ever killed. I don't know if it's there or not; it feels real, but I don't know anymore. I don't know what's real anymore.

"J-Jax…" he whispers, his cheeks pink, eyes bloodshot as he fights back every tear that threatens to spill because of me. Because of what I did.

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry." The words come out, but they don't sound real. They don't sound like me. Dropping to my knees, I finally break. I can't save anyone. Not Adrian, not Jarrod, and definitely not Amora. I can't continue the lie anymore. I can't sit and pretend that when the blood climbs up my skin that I'm filled with guilt, because I'm not. I'm filled with a pleasure better than any cunt could offer. A pleasure so good it sets my insides on fire, my skin buzzing in ways I've never felt, but scares me more than any nightmare or barrel of a gun could.

I scared my brother half to death, but that's not why I'm breaking. It's because the side of me that I hate, that I try to keep hidden, is still in my head, and it's seething. Oh fuck, it won't stop feeding me bullshit in my ears, telling me to take my blade, slice through his sternum, and wrap my hand around his beating heart, just to feel something that's pure.