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“We can’t take a break. Not even for this. We can’t let this slow us down,” she says, looking at us defiantly. “The sooner we find an enemy of Olivia’s that we can recruit to help us, the sooner we can end this. For good, this time.”
Her voice drops low on those last words, and the determination in her voice is hot as hell.
Still, Malice looks about ready to throw her over his shoulder and cart her off to bed himself, until Vic slides in smoothly with a compromise.
He sets up a nest of blankets and pillows on the couch in the living room for Willow to curl up in, getting her water and snacks, making sure she has what she needs before he goes and gets his laptop to set up near her and work at the coffee table.
She gives him a grateful smile, and then we get back to the planning.
It all comes down to being able to find someone who can help us against Olivia. Without that, it’s going to be hard to find a way to take her out before she gets to Willow.
“We need a backup plan,” Malice says, pacing in front of the massive TV. “Just in case.”
“You’re starting to sound like me,” Vic replies. But he nods. “I’m working on it. It’s just difficult because there’s a lot of information we don’t have. Nothing that’s publicly available about Olivia is going to get us what we need.”
“We should just take a hit out on her,” Malice mutters. “Give the old bitch a taste of her own medicine.”
Vic types something on his computer. “I’m adding that to the list, just in case.”
We go back and forth for the rest of the day, hashing out what we can and coming up with contingencies for what we can’t control. Which is most of it.
Between bouts of planning, we take care of Willow. The three of us trade off getting her things to eat and refilling her water. One of us is touching her at all times, stroking her hair, holding her hand, just making sure that she knows we’re here.
She seems better than she was this morning, but I know it’s still going to take a while for her to truly come to terms with it. So we’re all focused on making sure she doesn’t have a reason to doubt our love and support for a second.
Later that night, when she starts to nod off on the couch, Malice does pick her up and carry her to bed, tucking her in despite her protests that’s she fine.
I head into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for a bottle of whiskey.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, going to sit down at the table without getting a glass. It’s been one of those drink it straight from the bottle kind of days.
Malice comes in and sits down across from me, putting his elbows on the table.
“How long did it take for her to fall asleep?” I ask.
He snorts. “About thirty seconds after her head hit the pillow. She was worn the fuck out.”
“Can’t blame her for that. It’s been a hell of a day.”
“Yeah.”
I swig from the bottle and then pass it across to Malice, who does the same. We sit in silence for a bit, both of us lost in our own thoughts. There’s something nostalgic about it, reminding me of those days when we would do this back at the warehouse. Sitting in the kitchen sharing a bottle or some food. Or when the three of us would congregate in the living room to drink and hash out our latest plan. Or just shoot the shit.
I’m glad that some things haven’t changed, even though so much is different now.
“So, how long have you known about your real mom?” Malice asks after a while, breaking the silence.
“A while,” I admit. “Dad told me. A few months before we killed him.”
“Fucking bastard,” my brother mutters. “I bet he did that shit on purpose.”
“Yeah, I think he did. I was too young to remember my real mom, and I guess he just wanted me to know that as much as I loved the woman who raised me, she wasn’t actually my mother by birth.”
Vic comes walking into the kitchen as I finish speaking, shaking his head.
“Emotional abuse was his specialty,” he says dryly.
He sits down at the table, accepting the whiskey when Malice passes it to him. He glances toward the cabinet as if he’s considering grabbing a glass, but then settles on wiping the neck of the bottle clean before taking a sip.
