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“Whoever your uncle is, he appears to have a problem with me. He should come to find me, we can air it out.” I have no idea how Brax, of all people, is managing to remain calm.
“He’s got a problem with you because you killed his brother, my father. And you and your club are gonna pay for it.”
“I’ve killed a lot of men. You're gonna have to be a little more specific,” Brax snipes back. The patience is slowly slipping out of him, which means we're running out of time.
“Adriano Verretti.” The name that’s spoken comes as no surprise. And it’s a direct link to Lydia. The man with my brother’s life in his hands is Raphael Verretti’s nephew.
“Ahhh, I remember now. The man who took little children from their beds and sold them to monsters. Yeah, I really don’t regret that one.” I look at Brax’s eyes. They’re wide and match my brother’s. Whoever the guy who has a gun to my brother’s head is, doesn’t need tormenting.
“Shut your mouth.” The gun must press harder into the back of Squealer’s head because I watch him swallow nervously.
“Why don’t you let my friend go, and I’ll come willingly with you to your uncle. He can take his revenge… or at least he can try.” Brax shrugs
“Your man over there didn’t disarm,” the guy with the gun points out, and I know straight away he’s talking about me. I’m the only one who hasn’t dropped a weapon. I never fucking drew one in the first place. Guns aren’t my weapon of choice, they don’t give the same satisfaction as a knife, but we never come to a party without carrying one just in case.
“Disarm, Screw.”
I ignore Brax’s order, refusing to move, and my eyes fix on my brother. He’s gonna be a father. He was scared as shit ‘bout it at first, but the idea’s really grown on him. I see the way he looks at Alex. Even when he’s complaining about her mood swings and shitty cooking, he’s smiling. He loves her, he loves those kids, and they haven’t even been born yet.
“Screwy, lose the gun!” Brax repeats, the anger in his voice growing stronger. I reach behind me to my holster and place my hand on the handle. It’s time to test this whole twin mentality theory Squealer hypes up because right now, I’m scared as shit that I’m gonna miss.
Go right and go low. I stare my brother in his eyes and say the words over and over in my head, hoping that he fucking hears them. Then, in one swift motion, I pull my gun, my hand already starting to shake. Squealer reacts fast, flinging his head back to try to get a hit, but the body's too low. Then with a quick glance over his shoulder, he ducks out of the way. By some miracle, he goes right, and I steady myself enough to pop off a shot.
Blood sprays at the walls, and a piercing scream comes from the room behind my brother.
Squealer taps his hand over his head like he’s checking it’s still on his shoulders, then looks at the body next to him, holding on to the fear in his eyes for a few more seconds.
“Shit, he was just a kid,” his words come out quietly as he stares at the body in shock, and I immediately drop the gun from my hands like it suddenly burst into flames.
I rush to my brother, avoiding looking at the body in case what Squealer’s saying is true.
“There are bitches in there, four of ‘em, and they’re tied up and scared out their asses,” Squealer gestures his head towards the bedroom, and Thorne and Brax leap the dead body to go to them.
“What shall I do with this one?” Tac asks, holding on to the only man that’s still conscious.
I don’t speak. I can’t speak. My adrenaline has crashed, and suddenly I feel weak.
“They come back to the club. All of ‘em. We can’t risk Verretti hearing about this yet. We need to figure out the connection here and come up with a plan.” Brax storms back out of the bedroom.
“Storm, call Tawk and have him get a cage here ASAP,” he orders. I hadn’t even noticed that Storm and Grimm had joined us.
“Grimm, do your thing.” Brax takes a seat on one of the old, worn couches and pinches the bridge of his nose while he thinks.
“You heard what he said about Grace, right?” He looks over to me and my brother. He’s fucking raging. Any of us would be. “That Verretti fucker’s gotta die.” he pulls out a cigarette and slips it between his lips, his hands trembling as he lights it.
I brave looking at the body beside us, and Squealer was right. He is just a kid. A kid who now has half his face blown off.
“You did what you had to do,” Squealer tells me because he knows what I’m thinking.
“Just a kid,” is all I manage to say. My insides feel like they are being ground through a mincer.
“He was a kid who had a fucking gun to my head. Any one of us would have done the same,” Squealer points out.
But they didn’t. They all disarmed. Nothing struck me as strange about that at the time because I thought they were being conscious of the females. But when I look back and think about how Brax and everyone else reacted, something had been off all along.
“I couldn’t see his face. It was the angle in the mirror. All I saw was the gun,” I must be talking out loud because Squeal grabs my shirt collar and forces me closer to him.
“You stop that now. You just saved my fucking life,” Squealer growls at me, his eyes alight with anger. “Yeah, he was a kid, but he was man enough to pull a weapon on a Dirty Soul. He deserved what he got.”
