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Chapter Two
Perry
“You need toquit pacing.”
The complaint from my little brother Keaton only makes me pace faster. “Helps me think.”
“You’re making my head spin,” he protests.
I come to a stop. “That’s great. Really feel bad for you. Hate that your head is spinning when my wife has beenkidnappedby amadman.”
Keaton blinks up at me, shock etched into his features. He’s a good-looking kid. We share a few of the same features but he’s stockier. More muscular. All those years on a rugby field will do that to you.
“Sorry, man,” he mutters, appearing contrite.
I give him a quick nod, not saying anything. My baby bro may be bigger than me, but I’m so enraged right now, I know I could take him. If left unchecked, I could probably do serious damage.
All while pretending he’s Seamus McFuckit.
God, I could kill him. Worse, that’s my attitude right now. Fuck it. You wanna come for me? Come for me, not my wife. The moment I find his ass—and after I find Charlotte and know she’s safe—I’m killing him.
No one can stop me. It’s happening. I will destroy that threat once and for all.
“Hey, calm down.” This is from Winston, who puts himself in my way so I have no choice but to finally stop pacing.
We’re at the Constantine Compound. Winston called for all of the Constantine men to meet here and strategize our next move when it comes to Charlotte.
Yeah, that’s what we’re doing. Strategizing Charlotte’s fucking kidnapping. Winston’s treating it like a business meeting while all I can think about is my wife.
Is she hurt?
Is she safe?
Is she scared?
I can’t stand the thoughts racing through my brain. There are worse ones.
Darker ones.
Is she thrilled to be back with that asshole?
Has she been secretly in love with him all along?
Maybe it wasn’t a kidnapping at all. Maybe she left me for… him.
I curl my hands into fists, ready to punch something.
Winston is my first target, but he’ll punch back, so I don’t even try.
“I can’t calm down,” I tell him, my voice tight, my jaw aching. “I don’t know where she is.”
“I thought you didn’t give a shit about her,” Keaton says from where he’s perched on the edge of the couch.
“Keaton,” Mother snaps. “Don’t say that to your brother. This is hiswifehe’s worried about.”
All three of us swivel our heads in her direction. She’s just entered the sitting room, looking regal with her head held high and her expression completely unreadable. Typical. The woman rarely shows emotion. I could learn a thing or two from her.
“Sorry,” Keaton mutters again, barely looking at me.
