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I can’t lie; it’d be refreshing to feel a tortured scream in my ears. And throwing some weight around would release some of the tension knotting my back, I’m sure. Besides, our Sinners Anonymous game isn’t going to be as satisfying this month, now that Angelo went and got his PETA-preaching wife involved.
Licking my lips, I replace the weird butcher’s contraption and pick up something more timeless—a hammer. It’s always been my weapon of choice. Not only does the handle fit comfortably in my palm, but the length of it has a nice way of detaching me from whatever is breaking underneath it.
I drop it on the worktop and snap off my collar pin. Unbutton my shirt and fold it neatly over the armrest of the sofa.
“Best we don’t tell Vicious about this.”
Gabe leans against the work bench and lights up another cigarette. “Best we don’t.”
Metal scrapes metal as I pick up the hammer and turn to the bonfire. Heat, sweat, and pre-emptive whimpers dance over the top of it. Its flames brush my bicep as I round it, and before those whimpers turn into screams, AC-DC fills the cave again.
Gabe’s music taste may be obnoxious but it sure is fitting.
Daybreak is seeping into the mouth of the cave by the time we depart it. Cold light fights through the trees and birds chirp overhead. It’s disorientating, and suddenly, I get why Gabe disappears for weeks at a time. Cracking bones and gurgled pleas seem to swallow hours whole.
The icy wind chills the sweat under my shirt. My eyes fall to my brother’s naked torso beside me, the blood caking it now a rusty brown. His appearance looks even more obscene in the cold light of day, and it won’t bode well for the family aesthetics if any locals driving their morning commute see him in all of his violent, naked glory.
“You look like the villain from a nineties slasher movie,” I grumble, straightening my collar pin. “Don’t follow me out to the road.”
There’s an easy saunter to his step, like he hikes through snow-coated ravines in his sleep. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation as a gentleman,” he says dryly.
“One of us has to keep up the appearance.”
“Mm. But anyone with half a brain would realize if you lie with dogs, you wake up with fleas.”
I grind out a laugh. “Good thing no one on this Coast has half a brain, then.”
He slows to a stop a few feet from the brush that lines the road and runs an indifferent eye down the buttons of my shirt and the sharp front pleat of my slacks.
“If it’s any consolation, you don’t look like you’ve just cracked open a man’s brain with a hammer claw and then donkey-kicked him into a fire.”
I bite back a smirk. “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, brother. Maybe we’re bonding.”
“Maybe you have smoke inhalation.” He watches me for a moment. “Feel better?”
Fuck yeah, I do. There’s a buzz in my blood and a lightness in my chest. Despite the ache between my shoulder blades and the thin veil of sweat cloaking my skin, my suit fits a little better now. Like the monster underneath has lost some bulk and is easier to conceal.
Of course, Gabe gets a much simpler response. “Feel all right.”
His gaze slides behind my head and darkens. “What’s in your car?”
It’s a simple question, but because I know the answer, it pulls my muscles taut.
Penelope.
I turn around and the buzz in my blood instantly falls stagnant.
Violence, impulsion. Poisonous traits that belong in my brothers’ bones and not mine blinker my vision. I cut through the bushes toward Blake.
The cunt doesn’t see me coming. He’s too busy stooping at the passenger side window, his hands cupping his eyes against the glass.
Rage. Resolve. A swish of my coat and my fingertips are brushing over the grip of my gun, but they don’t find purchase. Instead, they curl into my palm and form a fist that draws back and severs the last thread of my composure.
Pain. Satisfaction. My punch connects with his cheekbone and as he falls, he falls in slow motion, giving that small voice in the shadows of my brain time to whisper, one punch is enough. I can bounce back from one punch. It’s just pebbles underfoot scattering over the edge of the cliff; no need to throw my body over it, too.
But tell that to my left fist. It meets his jaw on the way down, snapping his neck back and giving me a full view of the panic in his eyes.
Gratification. Delirium. The way his skull bounces off the icy road only spurs me on. I hold him up by the scruff of his polyester shirt. Another punch splits the skin on my knuckles, and, well, I know there’s no point turning back now. The next blow causes a crack that sounds irreparable, and any man with an ounce of sportsmanship would leave it at that—it’s not a fair fight. Never was. But under the serene dawn sky, I’m not a man. I’m an animal in a very nice suit, protecting what’s his.
