Violence (Antihero Inferno Book 3)

by Lily White

  Maybe I just have a thing for toxic men.

  Or maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.

  Either way, the anger I feel for what he said to me helps dry my tears, and I drive the rest of the way home on autopilot.

  Dylan’s car is parked crooked when I pull up, but I don’t care or pay much attention when I park beside him.

  I’m too busy being upset about the twins to watch where I’m going, my thoughts still back at their house when my leg catches something sharp, my skin burning from the deep scratch.

  Hissing at the pain, I stop in place to examine the damage to my leg, and that’s when I notice the damage to Dylan’s car.

  My eyes round to see the entire front end crushed in, the metal shredded and the headlight hanging out.

  On one hand, I want to laugh because I know he’ll get his ass handed to him for this, but on the other, I realize this will set him off worse, and he’ll be even more of a dick to me.

  Then again, he’s the baby of the family, the spoiled son who gets whatever he wants and never gets in trouble. Which is why I’m surprised to hear my dad’s voice when I walk into the house, his tone sharp and cutting as he scolds Dylan.

  Closing the door as quietly as possible, I don’t move or make a sound.

  I’m half expecting to hear him being grounded, and a little excited that my parents might cut off his constant partying as punishment for wrecking the car.

  Instead, I hear something that makes no sense, a threat buried in my father’s words that confuses the hell out of me while causing my skin to crawl.

  “You couldn’t even do that right, could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? I said I want her dead. Not injured. Not scared. Dead. And now it looks like I’ll have to handle it because you’re a fucking disappointment who can’t follow through with the simplest task.”

  My brows tug together at that.

  “She needs to be taken out. And all you managed to do was fuck this up.”

  “Dad-“

  “No! Don’t give me your fucking excuses, Dylan. You know how important this is. Pay to repair your own fucking car. I’m not coming out of pocket for this.”

  “But you said-“

  “I know what I said. I also know you’re a fuck up who parties too much to do anything right.”

  Their voices die off as footsteps approach the foyer. I duck right into a small sitting room, staying completely still and hidden in shadow until my father walks through the wing and slams a door in the distance.

  Thoroughly confused about their conversation, I make my way out of the sitting room and down the hall, pausing when I reach the open door to Dylan’s bedroom.

  I know better than to bother him, but I love my little brother despite how badly he treats me. And seeing him sitting on the side of the bed with his head so heavy in his hands, I can’t help but reach out.

  “Is everything okay?”

  His head snaps up and his eyes narrow on me, so much rage in his expression that I flinch in response to it.

  “Get the fuck out of here, whore!”

  Snatching an empty glass from his bedside table, he launches it at me, the glass shattering into a hundred shards when it hits the wall.

  Thankfully, I dodge fast enough to keep from being hit, confusion and fear for Dylan flooding me as I stare at him for a few silent seconds.

  He’s so angry all the time.

  Mostly at me.

  And I have no idea why.

  Rather than wasting my time arguing with him, especially after everything else I’ve already been through tonight, I sigh and turn down the hallway to walk to my room.

  Once inside, I go through the process of stripping down and crawling in bed, my head so heavy on the pillows with the weight of my thoughts.

  I’m nowhere near falling asleep when my phone buzzes from my bedside table, the screen lighting up with a soft glow, a groan falling over my lips because there are several people I don’t want to hear from at the moment.

  Snatching it from where it lays, I thumb the screen and clench my teeth.

  Of course it would be the worst of them.

  Like the cherry on top of a fucked-up night.

  Meet me tomorrow at 3.

  Ezra

  I walk into Priest’s shop around noon two weeks after demanding Emily stick to our arrangement, my jaw aching from clenched teeth, my head pounding with frustration.

  Where we stand now isn’t much better than where we started out, except instead of Emily being the only one to resent me, Damon has joined the list, his bullshit temper getting worse because he blames me for Emily’s emotional distance.

  He’s not wrong to blame me, though. I’ve been striking out at that girl every chance I get, each well-aimed barb and cutting comment rolling off my lips so coldly that my tongue is practically dripping with ice.

  Hey. I never claimed to be the smartest man or the most mature. I have a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas, and I’m striking out because I can’t help myself.

  All because I can’t push past the hurt of what Emily did in high school. All because I’m such a bastard that I’m clinging on to a broken promise so hard that the pieces are crumbling in my hands.

  I’m taking a bad situation and making it worse. And I don’t need all the bullshit psychobabble and love and light counseling to make me realize it.

  I know exactly what I’m doing.

  I know it’s not helping matters.

  And I’m doing it anyway.

  Hell, I’m fucking owning it, and can’t be bothered with Emily’s scowling reactions or Damon’s threats.

  Does any of this make sense?

  Fuck no.

  Yet I’m doing it anyway.

  My life is a shitshow, and I have no problem dragging everybody through it.

  All because I’m a jaded bastard.

  Which is why I’m walking into Priest’s shop to talk to him and Shane. Well, also because my bike is making a weird noise, and I need one of them to take a look at it, but mostly to talk to them because these two assholes are the only ones who might sympathize with what I’m going through.

  As usual, the high-pitched sound of power tools assaults my ears first, followed by the crack of a welder and the blinding flash that follows. I bang my fist against the door and whistle loudly to be heard over the familiar chorus of the garage.

  One of his other mechanics peeks around the front end of a junked-out Chevy pickup that looks to be from the 1940s and turns his head to shout over the noise to get Shane’s attention.

  With a nudge of his chin to acknowledge my presence, Shane turns to shout as well, Priest’s head popping up at the noise, a black welding helmet concealing his face. He flips me off in hello, and I laugh while making my way to the office to wait for them.

  After stealing a cold soda out of the mini fridge, I drop my weight onto a ragged chair and kick my feet up onto a scuffed, wooden table.

  Shane walks in first, grease covering his hands that he only smears with the rag he’s using to wipe it off.

  “My bike is making a noise,” I say without waiting for him to ask questions.

  “Squealing or-“

  “Grinding. I think the gears might be junked up.”

  His brows crash together in confusion because he adjusted them not too long ago.

  “Fuck. I’ll go take a look.”

  Priest walks in just as Shane leaves, his mouth quirked in a twisted grin.

  “Shouldn’t you be suited up and playing lawyer somewhere? How the hell do you get anything done when you’re never at the office?”

  It’s a fair question.

  “Tanner and Gabe take care of most of it. And what they don’t handle, Jase and Mason deal with. The rest of us are mostly figureheads.”

  Laughing at that, Priest grabs something to drink and plops his weight down on the side of a desk packed with piles of paperwork that will never get sorted.

  “Must be nice,” he grumbles. “Why are you he
re looking like someone shoved their boot so far up your ass you’re chewing on the leather?”

  “Woman problems.”

  The dickhead cackles.

  “Man, I’ve already told you fuck ‘em all. But not in a figurative way. I mean that literally. Just keep jumping from one bed to the next, and they’ll never catch up to become a problem.”

  As if it’s that easy.

  Before I can respond, Shane comes storming back in, his mouth a tight line as his eyes cut my direction.

  “Would you like to explain why your gas tank and exhaust pipe are all busted to hell? No wonder your bike is grinding. I’m surprised you’re able to ride it at all.”

  Damn it. I knew he’d notice that.

  “I’m not, which is why I brought it on the trailer. And it might have fallen over, which caused the damage.”

  He cocks a brow. “Fallen?”

  “Okay, I fucking kicked it,” I admit while rubbing at the back of my neck.

  Priest laughs. “Did it insult you? Tell you your ass is too big? Or maybe it’s that fucking ego of yours that’s too heavy.”

  “I was pissed off after arguing with Damon.”

  “About Emily?” Shane asks, an edge to his voice that warns of how he feels about it.

  I nod my head and clench my jaw.

  “Man, no woman is worth fighting over. Especially between brothers. Just cut her loose.”

  It would be a relief if I could listen to Priest’s unsolicited advice. Unfortunately, the situation is a hell of a lot more complicated than that.

  Shane knows it, which is why he leans a shoulder against a wall and eyes me warily.

  “Rather than worrying about her, I think you need to pay more attention to a bigger issue going on in the background.”

  My eyes lock to his. “And that is?”

  “Have you checked Damon’s phone lately?”

  He says that like I’m supposed to babysit my brother. Then again, maybe I should. There’s only one person I would be concerned about trying to get in touch with him.

  “How often has William been calling?”

  “Every other day lately. Not that Damon is answering, but we both know the constant reminder can’t be good for him.”

  No.

  And it’s not good for me either.

  But between us, William is far more likely to think he can get his foot back in the door through a breach in Damon’s defenses than he can mine.

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “How? Because fighting over Emily sure as hell isn’t the way to get Damon to talk. You can’t tell me you don’t know how he feels about her-“

  “Of course I fucking know!” I yell, my voice so loud it echoes through the garage.

  Not at first.

  Not back in high school.

  I’ll admit I was blind for a long time not to see it, but the past few weeks have opened my eyes.

  After Emily insisting I not to say a word to him about the promise she broke to me, and the care she’s been taking lately to stay both physically and emotionally distant from us, I’ve figured out why she walked away all those years ago.

  And I’ve been meaning to talk to her about it, but I haven’t moved past my own shit to have that discussion.

  She deserves to talk about it, though.

  What kind of dick does it make me to hold what she did against her if she did it to protect us?

  “Son of a bitch, ladies. Save the drama for a soap opera,” Priest grumbles. “I swear, both of you are stinking up the place with your whacked out female bullshit. Do you get your periods now, too? I can run out to the store and grab some chocolate and ugly cry movies if you’re feeling hormonal and need to work your shit out.”

  “Fuck off,” Shane and I say in unison.

  It only makes Priest chuckle.

  Apparently coming here was a mistake. Shane is just as pissed off at me as Damon and Emily. I can’t fucking win.

  “I’ll take care of William,” I growl.

  “Great,” Shane barks, obviously not convinced. “Just let me know how you plan to do that without screwing up everything Tanner and Gabe have going on.”

  I groan to think about that bullshit on top of everything else. In a little over a week, we’re supposed to run a gauntlet on Clayton Hughes right after Tanner is done fucking up his world.

  Meanwhile, Gabe is pacing like a tiger caged while waiting to hunt down Ivy and drag her back from her extended vacation.

  All the guys have been busy executing both games so that we might finally get closer to the servers.

  Okay, well, Clayton is just for fun, and I can’t lie and claim I’m not looking forward to running that piece of shit through the woods. I’ve always hated him.

  Shane calms down enough to unclench his jaw, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing.

  “You can’t go after William. It’ll only tip our families off to the fact that we’re not playing by the rules anymore. At least wait until Tanner and Gabe have what they need to bring our fathers down.”

  Stabbing a hand through my hair, I relax back in my seat.

  “So what do I do in the meantime?”

  “Talk to Damon,” he answers. “Stop fucking around with this Emily shit. Cut her loose.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why the hell not?” Priest interjects. “She’s just a chick. You should be more like Shane and me and see that shit for what it is. A good time until you pull your clothes back on and get the hell out of there.”

  So caught up with Shane, I’d almost forgotten Priest was still in the room. My stare dances between Shane and him.

  “One of these days, both of you are going to fall for some woman that will drive you mad, and when that day comes, you can bet your asses I’ll be sitting there with popcorn watching that shit and laughing about it.”

  “Not going to happen,” Priest snorts.

  Shane grins. “You’ll be waiting a long time for that.”

  Sure I will.

  I’d thought the same thing in high school.

  At least until Emily Donahue walked into my life and wrecked my world.

  “Whatever. I’ll talk to Damon.”

  “Excellent. You should jump right on that.”

  My eyes flick up to Shane. “As in right this second?”

  “Do you have something better to do? The only thing I see you doing is sitting around crying about your girl problems and hiding in the shop. If you’re not careful, Priest and I will shove you under a car and make you do some work.”

  “Either that,” Priest says, “or make you fix your own bike to teach you a lesson.”

  I shoot him a look and flip him off. He laughs and shoves up to his feet.

  “Go fix shit with your brother, asshole. That’s the most important person you have in this world. Don’t fuck it up over a girl.”

  He walks out of the room, leaving Shane and me alone. Shane scratches his jaw and grins.

  “You heard the man. I’ll have the bike fixed in a couple of days. Just leave the trailer and take off.”

  “Fine.”

  Pushing to my feet, I slap palms with Shane as I pass and make my way through the shop and to the parking lot. After unhooking the trailer from the Jeep, I hop in and take off in the direction of my house.

  But then anger tugs at me, a string tied so fucking tight to my thoughts that I find myself cruising down the street in the neighborhood where I grew up.

  I’m not sure what the plan is, probably just to drive past my father’s house and keep going without stopping to kick his ass, but my foot hits the brake when I spot a familiar car in his driveway.

  Pulling the Jeep over behind a large enough hedge that I won’t be easily seen, I step out and peek around, wondering what the hell I’m seeing.

  Something weird can’t be going on.

  It must be somebody else’s car, one that looks identical to Emily’s.

  Because there’s no way in hell she would be at my father
’s place. She has no reason to be here. She knows how much Damon and I hate him.

  Emily may have screwed with us in the past, and I’m beginning to believe she had her reasons, but she would never do something like this.

  It’s too bad that an hour later, the front door opens, and a beautiful redhead steps out.

  It’s even more of a shame that when my father kisses her hand, I decide that I’m not just cutting her loose from our lives like Priest and Shane suggested...

  I have every intention of making her life a living hell in the process.

  Emily

  We’re four weeks in. Four infuriating weeks that I’ve considered cutting the twins off entirely and accepting Ivy’s offer for me to join her on vacation. It would be nice to spend the next several months soaking up the sun and not giving a damn about any of my problems.

  From what I know, she left California and flew to Florida to spend a few weeks there, and I’m so very tempted to join her.

  Yes, technically I only have two weeks of this crap with the twins left. And while I should just bite the bullet and get it over with, I’m being split in two by one brother who won’t stop destroying me with his kindness and huge heart, and another brother who I swear is doing everything in his power to make me buckle beneath the pressure so that I shrivel up and die.

  As usual, I can’t begin to figure out what Ezra’s problem is.

  The first two weeks after he caught me kissing Damon, he was a nightmare to handle, but this last week has only amplified his behavior to a point where he never has anything kind to say. He only strikes out at me with cutting remarks and bullshit comments designed intentionally to hurt.

  A smart girl would have walked away.

  She would have tossed up her arms and waltzed her happy ass out of state just like Ivy did with Gabe.

  But the guilt is holding me in place. That and the worry I feel for both of them.

  I know Damon’s dad has been harassing him lately. Not that he answers the calls, but just the name appearing on his screen is enough to set him off.

  Every time I’ve pulled up my big girl panties to approach Ezra about it, he’s chased me off again by saying something nasty, pretty much ending any conversation before I have the chance to start.

  It only means I’ve been seeing Damon more than Ezra, and fortunately, I’ve been doing so alone. Handling one at a time is a hell of a lot easier. Damon is more likely to come over here than have me meet him at their house. I think it’s to avoid his brother. They haven’t been getting along that well either.