Page 128 of Brutal Heir
The second I process the meaning, a cold sweat breaks out across my spine. The macchiato churns in my stomach. My fingers are already shaking before I reach for the phone.
Some unknown force makes me slide it off the wood with a nonchalance I don’t feel. “Gotta use the loo,” I mutter before rising to my feet, keeping my eyes down.
“I can go with you…”
“No,” I squeal, the sharp sound escaping without my control. I haven’t even seen the message but already a knot of dread has formed in my gut. “I don’t think we’re at that stage yet.” I do my best attempt at blasé despite the storm churning through my insides.
“I’m pretty sure we’ve already seen each other at our worst.” He smirks.
“Maybe I’ve seen you at yours, but you haven’t even come close to mine.” I force that cheeky grin again. “No worries, you’ll get your turn, I’m sure. Just not today.”
Alessandro doesn’t question it further, just nods, sipping his espresso like he hasn’t spent the last two weeks obsessively tracking every move I make. But he’s comfortable here. We both are.
I race to the back of the café, my heart lodged in my throat. The bathroom is small but clean. I lock the door, brace both hands on the counter, and unlock the message with trembling fingers.
Conall has Blaine. Says he’ll slit our brother’s throat if you don’t come back. Meet me, Brigid. Just meet me. Then you decide.
My knees buckle, and I stagger back into the sink for balance as bile scorches up my throat.
Bran.
No. No, no, no.
I grip the porcelain so hard my knuckles ache, forcing myself to breathe. Blaine. My baby brother. The cocky little shite who thinks he’s invincible, who once stayed up all night with me when I was too afraid to sleep, making jokes until I laughed through the tears.
Now, he’s in Conall’s hands. And I know what those hands can do.
That monster already ruined one life. Mine. I can’t let him take another.
Jesus, what do I do?
I drag in a ragged breath, staring at my reflection, at the girl who swore she’d never let Conall Quinlan have another piece of her. I swore I’d never go back. The butterfly poised belowmy collarbone glitters beneath the dim light, reminding me of the man I love. My fingers close around it, an anchor in the oncoming storm.
If I don’t go, Blaine dies.
I can’t tell Alessandro. He’d never let me go. Hell, he’d lock me up tighter than Fort Knox, pacing like a caged animal while I tore myself apart with guilt. And what would he think of me then?
Would he look at me with those soft, shattered eyes the same way, or would I see the disgust I’ve always feared?
Could I even leave him behind, knowing I might not come back? Worse… knowing he might tear the world apart to find me…
Ale. My heart squeezes painfully, images of him flooding my mind—his crooked grin, the way his hair falls into his eyes, the way he holds me like I’m the only thing tethering him to this world. The way he makes me feel like I belong, like maybe I could have a future that isn’t soaked in blood.
If I go, I could lose all of that.
But if I don’t, I lose Blaine.
Feckin’ hell.
My trembling fingers fly across the keys.
Me: How do I know it’s really you?
An image comes through. Blaine’s wild auburn hair, the hazel eyes that always spark mischief, the jaw that’s grown sharper, older. He looks like absolute shite, dark circles under his eyes, hollow cheeks. But it’s him.
Me: How did you find me?
Bran: Does it really matter right now?
