by Kay Maree
Griz scowls at the crimson that trickles from beneath my palm and drips onto the floorboards, then indicates over his shoulder.
“Who the fuck is he?”
My teeth grind and I can’t tear my eyes away from my woman’s pale face. “No one.”
“You a twin?”
I feel Bishop eyeing me warily. I ignore him and glare at Griz, meet him right in the eye so he can see as well as hear the weight of my words.
“No, I’m fucking not. You are the only true brother I’ve ever had.”
Griz stares hard for a long moment before he nods once. “Ruck!” he yells.
Ruck appears instantly as if he’s been standing outside the door the entire time.
“Hunt and hit is off. Send out word.”
Ruck looks between me, Griz, Tova and the dead man as he pulls out his phone. He’s gone in a flash and the tension in the air between me and Griz is crushing.
“Who the fuck released you?”
“You know I’m not going to fucking rat,” I snap as I try to find a comfortable crouch. “As if it matters anyway.”
“Oh, it matters,” Griz rumbles.
I glare hard, trying to gauge his intentions. Now that the adrenaline high is receding from my veins, the craving for nicotine gnaws at me again, and that in turn makes me pissy.
“What? You gonna make an example out of the only member who used his fucking initiative to work out that I wasn’t trying to off my own fucking woman?”
Griz scowls back, his green eyes are cold and hard. Beside us, Bishop does what he does best; he becomes a ghost, somehow melting into his surroundings where he’s not noticed while still being physically present.
“Have you fucking seen him?” Griz throws a hand behind him. “I never wanted to doubt you, Slade, but put yourself in my fucking shoes. What if Mariposa was still alive and an arsehole who looked exactly like me had pulled a hit on her?”
My fist connects with Griz’s jaw, leaving his sisters blood in his beard. “Don’t you ever fucking bring Mariposa up again. That’s different and you fucking know it.”
“Only because she’s already dead.”
I lunge at him and knock him backwards. I don’t wait until he hits the floor before I come out swinging; anguish and despair fucking with both my head and my heart. Griz lands multiple blows to my kidneys and jaw as he fights dirty and unhinged. Fuck him for twisting my words, and fuck him for bringing up my little sister.
Apart from Tova, Griz is the only other person I’d told Mariposa’s story to. Tova got the vanilla version, Griz however… he got the full fucking version after a night of booze, drugs and women, and never once did I think he would throw it back in my face.
Hands are on me, lifting me off Griz and dragging me away to where my boot can no longer connect with his ribs. Ruck and Colt hold me back while two other brothers lock Griz down.
It’s as I battle to regain my breath that I realise I’ve left Tova’s side, and that re-ignites my fight. The only thing that calms me slightly is seeing Bishop kneeling beside her—taking care of my woman while my frustrations over boil, her blood coating his hand as he holds pressure against her jaw.
Only when I hear the wail of sirens in the distance do I relax for the barest of moments, up until a shout comes from the front porch.
“Fuck, Griz, the pigs are coming too!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Tova
My eyelids flicker, and before they open I’m already aware of how bright the room is. If Slade has left the bedroom light on I’m seriously going to maim him!
I must have been grinding my teeth while asleep because my jaw is aching badly. When I reach up to press against it, my palm meets a wad of padded cloth, and before my fingers can explore further, my hand is snagged away.
“Fuck! Nurse, nurse, she’s awake!” Slade bellows, bringing attention to my pounding headache.
“Slade?”
His touch warms the other side of my face. “It’s okay, Tove, I’m here. You’re gonna feel pretty shi-”
“Bright!” I groan, interrupting his surprisingly soft-toned reassurance.
His deep chuckle fills the room as he lets go of my hand, and a second later the brightness vanishes. He calls out for a nurse again then mutters under his breath. I crack an eyelid to watch him prowl across the room and back to my side.
“Happy now?” he smirks.
“No.”
He frowns down at me and brushes a lock of hair off my forehead. “Why’s that, little bird.”
I suppress a shudder at the mention of birds. “What happened?”
My entire face feels numb yet inflamed. I work my tongue around my mouth and feel the panic rising when I find missing teeth and the inside of my cheek swollen.
“You don’t remember?”
I wince as I try to shake my head. “Sore.”
Slade’s expression remains closed. I’m about to try and demand answers when the nurse breezes in and tuts.
“Mr Edwards, please refrain from yelling. The call button is sufficient to get our attention.”
Slade crosses his arms over his chest and pulls his shoulders back. “It’s Kalem. And I forgot,” he adds sheepishly.
The nurse tuts again and comes at me. “Welcome back, Miss Costello. How’s your pain on a scale of one to ten?”
“Zero,” I lie, because I’m a hard-arse who doesn’t admit defeat.
The nurse raises her brows then cuts her eyes to Slade. “Do you agree?”
“Nope. I’d put her middle of the road,” he smirks.
I muster enough energy to raise my middle finger at him for ratting me out.
The nurse’s touch warms my arm. “It’s okay to admit you’re sore. We don’t want you to suffer needlessly. Your body needs time to rest and heal, and it won’t be able to focus energy on doing so when it’s battling pain.”
I close my eyes and huff a defeated breath. “Fucking sore.”
When she doesn’t answer and I hear Slade smothering a snigger, I re-open my eyes to see her glaring at me.
“Colourful language is to be kept to a minimum. I’ve already told him,” she indicates to Slade, “and your brother.”
The mention of Griz gets my attention; in all my life, I’ve never known him to set foot in a hospital or medical facility of any kind—even for the birth of his own daughter. He’s never said as much, but I know it’s because Mum died in hospital after she gave birth to me and there was nothing they could do to save her once she started haemorrhaging.
“Why I here?” I croak. Talking is an effort I’m about to give up on.
The nurse pegs me with a dubious frown then dashes a look towards Slade again. I notice the subtle shake of his head before she starts speaking.
“Medically speaking, you were brought in two days ago with a gunshot wound to your jaw. Thankfully it wasn’t deep, grazing the bone instead of a full impact. However, you needed surgery to remove shards of displaced bone as well as a couple of teeth that suffered significant root damage. Expect to be in here for at least a week so we can make sure that jaw of yours heals as it should.”
Tears well in my eyes before I can stop them. She’s being so damn nice and her eyes are full of compassion and empathy. It’s right then that I miss my mum a thousand times over, and the crush in my heart has my eyes squeezing closed tighter.
“I know it’s a lot to take in. You’re a very lucky girl, Miss Costello. Someone must have been watching over you.” The nurse gives my shoulder another squeeze. “I’ll get some pain relief charted for you. Back in a tick.”
“Christ, Tova,” Slade murmurs and bundles me into his arms awkwardly from the side of the bed. “You scared the fuck out of me. I’m so glad we didn’t lose you.”
I pull back a little and finger the dressings taped to my face.
“Changes things,” I rasp.
Slade snags my hand. “It doesn’t change a goddamn t
hing. Do my scars change the way you see me?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrow and he fights the smirk. “In a bad way?”
I let him lie me back on the pillow. “No.”
“Exactly. You’re a fucking fighter, and the fact that you took a bullet before I stopped the arsehole is something I have to live with. Thank fuck you’re going to be okay.”
I frown as a fragmented memory flashes in my mind.
“Twin?”
Slade drops into the chair at my side and runs his fingers through his hair. “No. A brother I didn’t know about. Story for another day, babe.”
There’s a soft knock on the door then the nurse breezes back in. Hot on her heels is Colt. He locks eyes with Slade and I don’t like what passes between them.
“Boss needs you,” Colt deadpans.
Slade is on his feet in an instant. “News?”
I dart a glance at the nurse to see she appears to be ignoring their vague conversation.
Colt eyes her too. “You could say that.”
“You stayin’?” Slade demands.
“I am.”
“I trust you, brother. Look after my woman.”
Colt moves closer to the foot of the bed and sets his hands on the end bar. “You know it.”
With a nod, Slade turns back to me and leans down to gently kiss my forehead. “Back soon, Sparrow.” He stands then chuckles as he points to the IV line in my arm. “You know, this might be the first time where I tell you to stay the fuck put and you actually do.”
The nurse and I both glare at him—me because he’s being an arse, and her because he swore.
Despite the exhaustion clawing at me, I take a deep breath to push out two words.
“Only time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Slade
I stride down the corridor towards Griz’s office and Tiny doesn’t budge. He’s rooted to the spot and blocking the doorway, staring me down with a fucked-off scowl on his face.
“We cool, brother?”
“The fuck you think, Slade?”
I come to a stop in front of him and crane my neck skyward. “If I apologise will it make you feel better?”
He scoffs. “Nope.”
“Good, now move aside, Griz is waiting to see me.”
He does as I ask with a huff and shuts the door firmly once I step into Griz’s office. My hand immediately snakes into my cut pocket to seek out a smoke; I feel like I’m going to need one. I light up and throw myself into the leather seat in front of Griz’s desk, and he slides a whisky my way.
“So?” I ask on an exhaled plume.
“Does the name Vincent Romain mean anything to you?”
I sit forward and reach for the stiff drink. “First name does. Pretty sure that’s the little twerp’s name that lives a few doors down from Tova.”
Griz points a finger my way while holding his tumbler. “That’s the one. So, Echo set up surveillance at her place and caught him breaking in and snooping around. Don’t know what the fuck he was looking for, but fucking glad I moved all the intel before he set foot in the room.”
“What the fuck! Did he take anything?”
“Just one of her sketch pens.”
I frown, trying to piece this all together while Griz continues talking.
“Needless to say, the boys paid him a little visit this morning, and what do you know, he’s got a sick little collection of items that aren’t his.”
Things are adding up and I don’t like where this is going. “He’s wasn’t the killer though, so what does he have in common with the murders?”
Griz smirks. “Ruck and Diesel brought him in, and after a little coaxing, our boy Vincent admitted to paying for the hits on Tova and the other three women.”
“Shit,” I hiss through a mouthful of whisky. “Did they get out of him why?”
“I did.” Griz’s features darken and my eyes drop to his hands where there’s signs of a fresh beating. “The little fuck got denied by each and every one of those women so he got his little tighties in a bunch and called fucking hits left, right, and centre!”
“The fuck? Where’d he get the money to do that? And why the fuck was it my brother?”
Griz refills my glass. “We haven’t worked out the family connection yet. It may be that it’s purely coincidental, but word on the street is that Kodax ran with the Lucifer’s Guild up north. They tend to not care how dirty their hands get.”
Kodax’s name brings a fresh bout of hatred to my veins, and I wasn’t sure what to bring to my lips first; the cigarette or whisky.
“As for where Vincent got the money…” Griz leans back and swings in his chair. “Little fuck has got a huge-arse personal loan that he’s been drawing on. Hitmen make a fucking mint!”
I growl. That shit I don’t need to hear, nor do I care about. “We dealing with him or handing him over to the pigs?”
Griz huffs and tosses back his whisky. “Handing him over so they can close their bullshit case. The kid’s roughed up, but waiting for you.”
I leer at Griz. “Best fucking news all day, aside from Tova waking earlier.”
Griz sits forward in surprise. “She’s awake? Why didn’t you fucking tell me before now?”
I’m already on my feet and I speak around the smoke hanging from my lips. “You know how we’re programmed; revenge first, details later.”
“Fuck,” Griz mumbles. “Leave him alive, Slade. Get Ruck to supervise so you don’t go overboard.”
I don’t acknowledge. I’m already stalking towards the lockdown room, chomping at the bit to dish out his comeuppance.
CHAPTER FORTY
Tova
They’re forcing me to drink a sip of water through a straw when Slade arrives back, hours later.
Despite hardly being able to talk to him, Colt kept me entertained for the periods I’ve been awake. He’s avoided funny stories since the first one he told had me crying in pain when I tried to smile. I had to hand it to him; for a guy who was carefree and didn’t give a shit about how he lived his life, Colt sure made good company. Right now, he was leaning over the bed with a look of intense concentration as I tried, really fucking tried, to take a tiny sip. It was my nurse’s final mission before clocking off for the night, and she wasn’t going to leave until I’d completed the task.
Colt snaps upright when Slade clears his throat from the doorway, and after a quick conversation, Slade resumes Colt’s place at my side.
He’s walking a little stiff and his movements aren’t as fluid as they normally are. I force myself to swallow a second sip just to please Denise (my nurse) so she lays off. I’m in a bitchy mood at being forced to do what she says, but truth be told, I’ve really fucking appreciated her today; my pain has been well managed and she’s been straight up without being horrid.
“Well done,” she smiles. “I’ll be off now and leave you in peace. Leanne will see you through the night then I’ll be back in tomorrow morning. Rest up.”
I don’t say a word until she’s gone and the door clicks shut. “Spill.”
Slade’s eyes widen at my demand then crinkle as he grins. “Good to see you’re getting your sass back, fucking annoying as it is,” he adds under his breath.
My middle finger pulls a chuckle from his mouth. He’s annoying the shit out of me already—and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Despite Slade fobbing off my demand, I point to his abdomen.
“Sore?”
He hums in confirmation and stays standing at my side. “Yeah, giving Vincent the beating he deserved has aggravated something.”
“Vincent!” I exclaim and immediately try not to cry from the pain after opening my mouth too wide.
Slade’s hand lands on my chest in a gentle restraint. He plants a kiss on my forehead and I can’t help but grimace; I’m in desperate need of a shower.
He relays the afternoon’s events to me and I can’t beli
eve my ears. I always knew Vincent was a creeper, but getting women whacked because they denied him…? I had so many questions I wanted to ask and was frustrated beyond belief that I couldn’t right now.
I indicate to Slade’s side. With a smirk, he removes his cut, untucks his shirt and turns side on. When he lifts the bottom of his t-shirt, my eyes land on a large bandage tapped over the length of his ribcage. I gasp, creating another splice of pain through my jaw, then mime getting stabbed.
Slade chuckles. “No, Sparrow, not stabbed. Inked.”
My pulse elevates at that one word, and I flap my hand at the dressing—wanting more details right fucking now.
Slade’s rumble meets my ears again as he begins to pick at the corner of the tape. “I visited Henley yesterday. He found a little piece of work that he insisted I needed, but it wasn’t one he’d sketched himself.”
I cross my arms and glare as I listen.
“So, I turn up and see a fucking mean Grim Reaper sinking his fingers into a skull while gently holding a woman with long, dark hair. Apparently it was meant for me.” Slade grins widely, smug as fuck that he remembers asking me to sketch him a tat and me telling him that I wouldn’t unless he fucked off.
I don’t answer though; I’m too busy plotting to tie Henley down and ink Necrophiliac across his forehead. However, when Slade peels off the dressing, my thoughts of malice turn awestruck.
Hen’s done a fucking phenomenal job of inking my artwork into Slade’s skin. The depiction of the angel of death, terrifying yet tenderly possessive over the woman in his palm, is absolutely breath-taking. The woman’s face is sorrowful and haunted, yet the way she grips one of the Reaper’s bone fingers tells a story of needing his wretched touch as much as he owns her.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
And it is. Nothing makes pride swell in my soul like seeing my art tattooed onto clients. However, seeing it on Slade’s body takes my pride and love to a whole new level.
“In love,” I breathe.
“With me or your art?” Slade jokes.
My eyes connect with his, trapping us in a moment where no words are needed. He fucking knows right then that I’m referring to him. He freezes, his arm still crooked and holding up his shirt, and the other paused where he’s touching the fresh ink.
