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Good man.
I nodded. “See you soon.” Too late I remembered the contents of my father’s message, but I couldn’t retract the words. “Keep her running.”
“Will do.”
That was what I loved about Nate; zero bullshit, no pandering. He grew up in a household much like my own, though his perception of love and mine split paths at that point. I was grateful he turned up when called on and that he was putting more into this than just a favor. I’d call us square if we all walked away with our lives after this.
We both knew there was a damn fine chance none of us were going home, and yet he blew off his girl and was here for me.
There was something in that, and I gave him a nod of appreciation before I slammed the door shut and strode into the building without checking for snipers.
If the old fucker wanted me dead, I’d be dead. For some reason he needed this showdown, and though I hated walking in not knowing and with my girl on the line, I was curious to the old man’s methods. Maybe I could get some of his tactics out of him before he bled out at my feet.
“Welcome to my hellhole, little bro.” Brandon sounded positively delighted as I walked into his nest.
I didn’t smile back, halting within ten paces of where he stood with Sylvie pinned to his front like the coward he was, and wasted a bullet just above his hairline.
“Let her go.”
Brandon stared at me like he thought I might have fired blanks.
No such luck, big bro.
The thought of having to kill my brother still sat shittily with me, that he forced me into this position where there was no other exit strategy.
“Don’t you want to say hiiii,” he sing-songed like a fucking lemur.
“I want to burn your corpse to ash and piss on it later,” I said calmly, holding my guns loosely at my sides.
“Ah, there’s my son,” my proud, fucked up father boomed across the space. I noted he didn’t let me get anywhere near as close as Brandon did.
Those were the sort of survival instincts my brother lacked. And my father knew it, yet insisted on naming him heir and giving me shit kicker jobs.
I would have preferred he forgot me as his spare at all.
“Don’t you want your Toy back? She’s been fun,” Brandon cooed, drawing my attention back to him.
My blood boiled as Brandon dipped his head and licked a long, leisurely line up Sylvie’s cheek, sucking away the tears that flowed freely. Her eyes squeezed shut, and I knew she couldn't bear to look at me while he touched her.
“This isn’t the best way to gain my favor, brother,” I remind him gently.
My blood thrummed through my veins, but I wouldn’t act on the need to rip his head from his shoulders and set his body aflame, at least not just yet.
He’s my brother.
I can’t.
Or more likely, I shouldn’t. Hell, even I had a conscience buried a long, long way down. But Brandon’s wandering hands stripped my determination away too fast to measure.
“I think you can’t,” he gloated in the same quiet tone, though his eyes glittered with the insanity our father bred in us. “You’ll never be capable of being the heir. Walk away, Beau, before I end her in front of you...and then watch you bleed out at my feet.”
“You’re misguided.”
The banter flowed between us all too well. I knew this game, recognized the stakes. I refused to lose, not with her in his sights. Speaking to Brandon was like looking into a future version of myself, and I couldn’t stand what I saw.
“Or maybe you are,” he snarled, squeezing Sylvie’s face tight. The hand with the knife in it grazed over her breasts, tugging the fabric aside to rest unknowingly over the scar she wore because of me. “Maybe I’ll just fuck her now while you do nothing, you little–”
My vision grayed at the edges.
