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Once through the doorway, I push my shorts down only far enough to free my cock. Thanks to a night of dreaming about Minka being the fucking vigilante and placing herself in danger—withmy partner’s unintentional help—I’m not surprised to find my dick soft and my head sore.
“What are you doing in my room?” I call back. “And why didn’t you let me sleep in?”
“Ididlet you sleep in.” He stops by the bathroom door and smirks when I look across.
He doesn’t care that I’m most of the way naked, or that he’s my brother. He doesn’t care that there are lines I don’t want crossed. He marches across those boundaries every single chance he gets.
Hell, he was fucking the same woman Tim was fucking; Tim didn’t know, but Felix sure as hell enjoyed dipping his cock into the same pussy, the same day she’d been with our brother. He’s the guy who takes a stranger to my apartment, my bed, and lets her suck his cock,knowingI’d walk in and see them.
He’s messed up in ways Tim and I somehow escaped. Life in Copeland kept us semi-normal, it kept us sane, while New York life made Felix a freak with no shame.
“The sun’s been up a couple hours already,” he says when I finish peeing and fix my shorts. While I move to the tap and wash my hands, he sets his on his hips and grins. “I was gonna wake you ages ago, but Cato told me to wait.”
“Well, at leasthehas a shred of common fucking decency.” Pushing through the door and shoulder-checking Felix as I pass, I grab my jeans from the end of the bed and step into them before the world turns to fire and I’m forced to exist in Felix’s bullshit without pants on.
My wedding band rests against my chest, and my phone peeks out from beneath my pillow.
She’s gonna kill Fentone.
I shake my head in a futile effort to clear it. “We need to deal with Pastore.” From not wanting to start my day to now wanting it over with, I zip up my jeans and snatch a shirt to shrug on.
“Today,” I press when my brother only watches me dress. “I have to get home, which means we need to get Micah back and put a bullet between Dad’s eyes, all before noon.”
He snorts. “Gonna be a little tight there, bruh. Dad’s still breathing,” he says it on a sigh, as though the thought inconveniences him. “It’s rough, and I know he’s in pain. But for now, he still lives. And since he does, we deal with Pastore knowing that.”
“Why does it matter?” I walk around my bed and take my phone from beneath the pillow, then with a fast check of the screen—no messages, considering Minka probably isn’t even awake yet—I slip the device into my pocket and sit down to pull on my boots.
“His own guards already consider him dead.” I tug a sock on, then the boot, so the laces slap the floor, but the sound barely penetrates my senses. “Their loyalties have shifted to you and Tim already.” Second sock. Second boot. “They don’t know who’s taking over, so they’re hedging their bets and listening to you both.” I push up to stand and look down to make sure I didn’t forget anything. “But the one asshole they’re already ignoring is the man you think will hold Pastore at bay.”
Felix scoffs and heads toward the door just a step ahead of me. “He isn’t even holding the Reaper at bay. But for as long as he lives, the Malone table remains as is. There’s no change in management—at least, none that can be seen on the outside.”
He opens the door and follows me into the hall. Toward the stairs and down.
“Pastore knows Dad’s sick, but no one outside this house knows how bad. How far along the illness is. How long he’s got left.” He turns right at the bottom of the stairs and heads toward the kitchen. “No one knows a damn thing, and that secrecy allows us a little more room to breathe.”
“So what’s the plan, then?” I push through the kitchen door to find Tim and Cato sitting at the counter side by side while they devour a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast. “And why the fuck didn’t anyone think to keep their mouths shut in the first place? You didn’t have to announce he’s dying. You coulda just said he chooses to stay home these days. And thenyou,” I speak to Felix, “would’ve become the new public face for the family.”
“You know Cordoza has a man in every house,” he spits out.
“Besides,” Cato interjects, “Tim was looking gaunt even before he realized he was sick. He’s unstoppable, right? Unbreakable.” He rolls his eyes. “So he pushed on when he should’ve rested, and when Cordoza had us over for a meet, the idiot fell on his face and showedeveryonewhat a pussy he is.”
“We picked him up and blamed it on the booze.” Felix crosses the kitchen and stops on the opposite side of the island counter. He grabs a slice of bacon from the sizzling pan and juggles it between fingers to avoid a burn. “He hadn’t had more than a sip, but we blamed it on the alcohol anyway. Laughed it off and hoped for the best.” He tosses the bacon in his mouth andhss-hss-hsses around the warmth. “Pastore got word anyway, and he has contacts inside the NYC health department, so news spread; he made damn sure of it.”
Swallowing the bacon, he snatches a slice of toast from Cato’s plate and earns a feral snarl of disapproval. “And now, here we are. Micah’s gotten himself in a pickle, Archer has married Pastore’s woman, and the old man,” he tilts his head toward the door, “is choking on the blood in his lungs and will never again get a stiff dick.” Smirking, he ends his tirade with a shrug. “Someone promise me, the day I stop getting hard, you’ll put me down quickly.”
“I’ll do it.” Pushing forward instead of circling the counter and smacking my brother, I take a seat on Cato’s other side and grab the plate he silently inches my way. “Minka’snotPastore’s woman. And we’ve already discussed how much you get to talk about her.” Glancing up, I meet his eyes. “Not at all. Where’s Emilio keeping Micah?”
“At his house, I guess.” He takes a heaping bite of his toast. “Not like he penned a fucking letter and told me exactly where they’re keeping him.”
“So how the fuck do you know where he is?” Sitting tall and ignoring the food between us, I try so fucking hard to rein in the anger coursing through my blood. “How does anyone here know where he is right now?”
“Video call,” Cato answers before Felix can.
His tone is quieter. More mature than the brother twice his age.
He nods to a screen over Felix’s shoulder—black right now, but which no doubt possesses smart features. “Got a call three mornings ago. A visual of Micah propped up in a chair. He wasn’t even tied up.” Slowly, he brings his eyes across to me. “He was beaten black and blue. Bleeding. Gash, here.” He indicates his cheek. “Someone took a knife to his face.”
“Motherfuckers,” I growl. “Who took the call?”
