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That shit had shot me.
Chase had him against the vehicle, slamming him into it over and over again. “You think this is goddamn funny?”
A savage growl ripped from me and I surged in, grabbing Calhoun from Chase. I tossed him to the concrete floor. He was rolling, trying to get free, but that laugh. It sounded like an evil character’s laugh, and it was making me grind my teeth even more.
“Shut the fuck up!”
He kept rolling, and I grabbed him by the ankle. I twisted him over and bent his leg back until he couldn’t move anywhere. Then I kept on bending until I heard him scream instead. A little more.Pop.I felt it. Only then did I let it go, stepping back and standing over him. He had one good leg now, but I was looking him over. He’d had one gun. There could be more.
A presence was coming in from my right, but I moved, slamming Chase back. “Stop!”
“You stop.” He shoved me back. His eyes were wild, feral. He was almost salivating. “I want him dead.”
“I want answers.”
“Fuck the answers.”
Chase started for him again, but I was seeing red.
In the back of my mind, I knew we each had our own cross to bear here. Both of us had been terrorized and threatened by Calhoun all our lives, but in different ways. I didn’t care. Each man for himself, as far as I was concerned. And because of that, when my brother started for him again, only seeing Calhoun, I pounced. I couldn’t bring myself to knock my brother out—I didn’t know why, and I’d maybe think on that later, but as he stepped forward, I kicked out his leg. When he fell, I was there, my arms wrapped around him, and he toppled forward. I went with him.
I had him in a headlock, my legs preventing him from fighting back. He couldn’t fight me. My arms had his locked up at an angle that he would’ve needed to break a shoulder—Pop!
Fuck.
He did.
Chase rolled out from my hold and was up on his feet the next second. “You fuckingkidding me?” He was roaring at me, his voice echoing through the garage. “This kill is mine. You didn’t live with him, under his thumb, being turned into a—”
I rushed him, trying to lock him back down.
He was the emotional one. Not me, not this time. I wanted justice, but I wanted my hits, too. Chase, he just wanted to kill. That made him irrational, not thinking clearly, and I was going to use that. He wanted me off and he wanted a clear path to Calhoun. I wasn’t letting him get that.
He swung, batting me away, but his punches were pulled. He didn’t want to hurt me. Fine. Guess I’d be the asshole here. I moved back, letting him think his punch worked, and he turned, already going for Calhoun again. I did an exact repeat of my first move, but this time, as I kicked out his knee, I kicked it harder than was needed. I heard another tear and I winced, knowing I was doing so much damage to my twin, but he fell and I fell with him with my legs wrapped tight around him so he couldn’t move. I waited, praying, praying, praying.
He paused.
He fought.
He twisted.
He roared.
His head lashed around, trying to find mine, to make contact. I gritted my teeth, tightening my hold around his neck until I felt his body go slack. I still waited, loosening my hold on his neck so he could breathe. He did. I felt his chest move, but he didn’t try to get out of my hold.
He was unconscious.
Still cautious, breathing harder than I thought, only my panting filled the garage now. I unwound from his body, kicking him over so he was on his side in case he vomited, and when my brother was okay, I lifted my head.
Calhoun was sitting up, watching us.
He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t tried to retreat. But then I saw why.
He was holding on to his own shoulder. Blood was pouring down from him. He’d been shot. But I looked around and didn’t know what gun—
“Chase shot me.”
He jerked his head to the side, where I saw a gun lying there.
