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The darkness ebbed and flowed, fully set free to swell and crash against my walls inside. A part of me knew I wasn’t being fair, but I couldn’t seem to help it. Couldn’t seem to stop.
Couldn’t fucking sit here anymore.
Corvus snatched his dinner from the counter and pitched it into the sink, shattering the plate before he stalked from the room.
Rook slid onto the stool next to me as though nothing had happened at all, sipping his fresh glass of bourbon.
“Damn Ghost…”
He grabbed the bottle to top off my glass. “You really know how to clear a room.”
He knocked his glass into mine in a mock cheers before draining the rest of his drink and lighting a cigarette.
“Corvus will kill you.”
Rook smirked around the cigarette at the edge of his mouth. “Nah. He’ll stay in there the rest of the night now.”
He took a drag and ashed onto his plate. “No one gets to him like you do.”
Rook took my untouched glass of bourbon and put it to his lips.
I bristled. “Thought we weren’t sharing,” I said bitterly.
He bit his lip ring, sliding the glass back my way. When I reached for it, he settled his hand over mine, and I noticed the fresh ink on his middle finger. A little ghost with black oval eyes. My rage slipped away, replaced by a fierce tightening in my chest that almost had me choking.
“We’re all a little on edge right now, Ghost. For what it’s worth, sorry I snapped at you.”
I lifted his hand, studying the new ink. He grinned. “You like it?”
I shifted my gaze to the hand wrapped around the bottle of bourbon, and the name ROOK displayed over his knuckles, and I understood the significance. He fought for himself with that hand, but now I’d always be right here, on his left. The other thing he would go to his grave fighting for.
I opened my mouth to tell him how perfect it was when a horn blared long and loud out the window.
Saints rushed in from the living room, their weapons drawn.
Voices crackled over the radio.
“Incoming!”
The horn honked insistently now, over and over again as the sound drew nearer. Rook slid from his stool with a spark of life in his eyes I hadn’t seen in days as he drew his gun. I loosed two blades from their holsters, making a beeline for the side door with Rook on my heels.
“Hold your fire!” Corvus bellowed over the radio, but I didn’t hear the rest of what he said as Rook and I left the Saints behind, rounding the house, positioning ourselves behind a parked car, backs against the cool metal.
“Ready?” Rook asked.
“Ready.”
We jumped out from behind the car just as the dark green truck appeared down the road. I reeled my arm back to throw, but Rook caught my wrist, stopping me.
“What are you—”
“It’s my uncle,” he hissed, releasing me as he stepped out into the road, waving his arms at the truck. “Damien!” he hollered.
“Rook, get out of the way!”
My heart lurched, legs poised to tackle him out of the truck’s path and take the hit myself, but the tires screeched as Damien St. Vincent ground the truck to a stop, cranking the wheel sideways to spew gravel in our direction as it came to a jarring, shuddering stop. I sheathed my blades.
“What the fuck, Uncle D?” Grey slammed the front door behind him and Corvus as they stalked into the driveway and Damien St. Vincent shoved out of the truck.
