Page 45 of Reluctant Rebel

“Noble, my arse,” Brax retorted. “I made the only choice I could that wouldn’t shame you or Father.”

Mikhail’s head snapped up. “You did it for us,” he breathed, realisation setting in.

“I sure as shit didn’t do it for myself,” Brax replied swiftly. “Or the people—who seem to love you unconditionally if today is anything to go by.”

Mikhail wasn’t so sure about that. There was bound to be drama on the horizon. But he would deal with it. He nudged Brax. “Not even a little bit for the people?”

“Maybe a little,” Brax allowed with a scowl.

Mikhail chuckled. He knew his brother better than the man knew himself. “Brax, I owe you a debt I can never repay. But feel free to call it in anytime.”

Brax’s face was a canvas of conflicting emotions, and Mikhail remained silent, giving him time to process. Eventually, he clasped Mikhail's forearm in a warrior's grip, then pulled him into a fierce embrace, slapping his back. “I missed you so fucking much, Mikhail,” he said roughly.

Mikhail swallowed back the lump in his throat, giving Brax his weight. The last of the friction keeping them off balance sloughed away. “I missed you too.”

“And I miss Z, damnit,” Brax confessed into Mikhail’s shoulder. He pulled away abruptly and began to pace. “I miss the little shit. I still love him, I think,” he said quietly, almost too low to hear.

Mikhail’s throat burned. “I do, too.”

“What are we going to do, Mikhail? We have to find him. This has gone on long enough. We can’t let him win,” Brax proclaimed.

“We won’t,” Mikhail guaranteed, meeting Brax’s tortured gaze. “We’ve come too far. And we’ll do to him what we would do to any other crazy fucker who kills so many people and threatens the throne.”

“Make him pay,” Brax stated, squaring his shoulders.

Mikhail nodded once. “Right.”

They made their way from the balcony, receiving support and praise from the team. “There’s already a line of people waiting to see you,” Sabre informed Mikhail.

Mikhail groaned. “Great.”

Brax grinned genuinely as he rubbed his hands together. “I’m so glad this is no longer my problem.” He slapped Mikhail on the back. “Good luck, brother.”

Mikhail grabbed his arm before he could flee. “You’re coming with me.”

Brax tried to free himself to no avail. “Like hell I am.”

“The people need to see us united,” Mikhail said, not letting go. Brax would make a run for it if he did.

“We just stood on your fancy balcony like a couple of princelings and hugged it out for all of Purgatory to see,” Brax reminded him. “They know we’re united.”

Brax had a point. Still … “They need to see a smooth transition then. Your leadership to mine. The only way to do that is to address the initial craziness together.” Mikhail released Brax slowly, watching for any sudden movements.

Brax narrowed his eyes, planting his hands on his hips. “One hour.”

“One week,” Mikhail countered.

Brax scoffed. “Not gonna happen. One day.”

“Fine. One day.Thisday,” Mikhail emphasised.

Two minutes later, Mikhail followed a sulky Brax downstairs with their guardians. Looking back one last time, he smiled when Jinx’s eyes met his own. She offered him a thumbs-up, giving him the confidence he needed to face the consequences of his actions.

19

Jinx hurried down the dimly lit street, her boots clicking against the cracked pavement. The old warehouse loomed ahead, its weathered brick facade softened by the glow of the setting sun. It may have looked like a derelict building to many—one that held brutal street fights—but to Jinx, it was a sanctuary. And her home.

Her eyes traced the familiar contours of the building. Rusted fire escapes zigzagged up the sides, their metal steps worn smooth by countless feet. Ivy crept up the corners, a vibrant green against the faded brick. The air around the building was tinged with the scent of rust that mingled with the smell of blood from the interior.

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