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Max is right.
Please listen to him, Clay.
"This is an execution. This is aboutus," Clay states with that cool indifference that hides his true intensity. I need him to think about Xander now. Think about his brothers.
"No," Max repeats softly, hoarse, making me shiver.
"You're angry. Tired. Take a moment—"
"No—"
"Damn you, Max," Clay hisses, his temper simmering in that sound. "I will not hand over Fawn. This conversa—"
"We're your brothers!" Max's voice breaks, and the talons of guilt circle my throat, tightening around the column as I listen to the Butcher brothers turn on one another.
For me.
Because of me.
Max bites out, "He's your little brother—"
"Would you trade Cassidy? Think about what you are asking of me," Clay says, a lethal dare stalking his words.
His tone buckles my knees, forcing me to slide down the door until I hit the floor and wrap my arms protectively around my legs.You can't choose me, Sir.
Not over them…
"And what about Xander? What about Bronson?" Max's voice rises with each forced word. "The one you made do all the dirty work? What about when we were just children?" Max growls, straining to continue, as though he is fighting with honesty. "Dammit! We needed our big brother! What about then?" He laughs contemptuously, bringing anger to the forefront to veil the honest declaration that a man like Max Butcher needed his big brother. "I don't know why I'm surprised by this," he goes on. "I thought maybe you'd changed. Without Jimmy holding your strings. But I see I was wrong. You're still the same self-important prick you were when we were children."
"Max." Bronson says his name so quietly it could be a ghost moving through the room.
Clay reasons, "I will get him out—"
"He'll kill Xander," Max states coldly, all his emotion smothered into bitter-ridden detachment. "He'll kill him because he can, and I'll kill you because I can't stand to share your fucking air."
Seconds later, the door slams into my spine, sliding me across the floor. Wincing, I climb to my feet as Max's formidable body appears in the jamb. He steels when he notices me, nothing but venom in his assessing grey eyes.
Then he strides away, his body taking him quickly from the thing he despises.Me.
I exhale hard, shaken to my core by his hatred.
It looks familiar—the disdain. A look so becoming I’m prickly and self-conscious like the old Fawn again. A Harlow. Not a Nerrock. And definitely not a Butcher… My fingers meet the cool surface of the Monarch butterfly pendant hanging around my neck.
I brush my fingertips over it.
My dad can't hurt me. No one can hurt me except Clay. Nothing will hurt more than to see my everything's eyes flash with that familiar contempt-filled look.
Needing to see his eyes—
See reassurance.
See love.
With my breath uneven and forced, I walk on hesitant legs to the opening and stand there unnoticed. No—ignored.
Bronson has his shoulder against the wall, so motionless he could be a sculpture as he stares at Clay while lost within his own green gaze. He's a little frightening like this…
And Luca is sat, silent, his eyes glazed over as though he is staring at something far in the distance.
