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I heard the words he didn’t say.Couldn’tsay.
Over another death.
Memories of Calax bombarded me, assaulted me, but I brushed them away. I would be the first to admit that I wasn’t as close to him as some of the others had been. I was reserved, soft, some would say, while he was hard-edges and penetrating eyes. If it wasn’t for our team, we would’ve fallen out of sorts years ago.
If it wasn’t for Addie…
I glanced towards the brunette sitting beside me, eyes scanning her surroundings in rapt interest. Her brow puckered as it always did when she was deep in thought.
“I’m so happy we’re stopping,” she muttered to no one in particular. Another quirk of our girl. “I need to shit.”
Ronan snorted, and Ryder cracked up behind her. Her cheeks pinkened, but she held her head high.
My girl was crazy, but then again, so was I.
I glanced at my brothers, and I knew they were thinking about the conversation we had the other night while Tonya was talking to Addie.
Fallon nodded once to show he understood, and my lips quirked.
If Calax’s death taught us one thing, it was that life was too short. We needed to hold onto the little things while we could. Grip them for dear life.
And those big things? Like the ones we loved above all else? We needed to show it to them constantly.
And tonight, we would do just that.
* * *
Calax
“You are a horrible singer,” I quipped, resting my head against the cool stone of my prison.
Doug chuckled but continued to sing loudly, horribly out of tune.
“You’re just jealous of my gift!” he cooed.
Gift.
What he had was a weapon that could be used for mass destruction.
His song was interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing. Doug immediately ceased his singing.
Standing up, I moved to the bars and gripped them firmly. It was rare we would see our prison guards more than once a day. They would arrive periodically to deliver us food and sometimes dump out our chamber pots.
Yup. Chamber pots.
A fucking bucket I had to squat over to take a shit.
The click of heels was the only indication it wasn’t our usual stone-faced guard. A second later, Bitch appeared alongside Asshole. Her blond hair was, as always, impeccably straightened and cascading to her shoulders. Her cold, dead eyes flickered to me and my gaunt, skinny form. Her lips twisted in disgust.
“You look horrible.”
“Not trying to impress you, sweetheart,” I drawled.
Ignoring my snark, Bitch turned towards Asshole with a raised brow. “He’ll need a shower before he meets with…” She slyly cast her eyes in my direction, thin lips pursing. Meets with who? “I’ll wash him.”
Fuck, no.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Asshole sneered. “You’re still my wife, and that’s crossing a fucking line.”
