Page 49 of Risky Taste
The drive feels like a lifetime, even the soft hum of music as I turn on the radio not making it any better. I barely make it inside before my gaze catches on Kurt leaning against the back wall. He gestures toward the stairs and I follow in silence, heading toward what looks like small apartment rooms. He stops at the one toward the back exit, the light flickering out as he opens the door and plops down at the table.
There are no words exchanged as I sit behind him, the door thudding shut, Kurt pouring a healthy serving of whiskey into glass and then sliding it toward me. I mull over what I want to say but it’s better just to get answers at this point.
“What’s the point, Kurt? If it was just to hurt your brother, you didn’t need to go this far. All this shit—deployments, deals—what’s it for?”
He cackles as he leans back, threading his fingers behind his head. “Don’t you see? He’s only part of the problem. My parents should’ve never been in jail. They were innocent. Sure, some other innocent people got caught in the crossfire, but every single thing I tinkered with was people who fucked over my family.” A wild glint sparks in his eyes, like all this makes sense in his twisted head.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” My brows furrow as I try to understand where he’s coming and fail, miserably. “Your parents were convicted by a jury of their own peers. Evidence piled high—treason, deals, the works.”
“Sure, but were they actually guilty, or were they scapegoats? You ever think about that, Declan?”
I frown trying to follow his logic, because it’s unhinged. Over the past few days, I’ve dug into that case—court records, old files, shit I pulled from contacts who owe me. The evidence was damning: coded messages, bank trails, witnesses who saw them plotting. Kurt’s parents weren’t saints caught in a net; they were players, deep in it, and a six-year-old Noah’s 911 call just lit the match.
Either Kurt hasn’t seen the evidence, buried his head in the sand, or he’s too far gone to believe it, clinging to this delusion that they were wronged. “You’re full of shit. They’ve got proof stacked against them and you’re still crying innocent?”
“They were myfamily,” he snaps. “Noah didn’t know what he was doing, but he set it off—ruined us. And everyone else? They piled on, turned their backs. All I’m doing is returning the favor, making them pay, every last one.”
There’s no way Kurt is this lost, right? “Your parents were guilty, Kurt. The evidence was airtight—messages, money,witnesses. You’ve got to see that. Turn yourself in, man. End this.” My hands rest on the table, open, like I’m offering something, but I feel the tension coiling, ready to snap.
“I should’ve fucking known you didn’t come here to help me.”
“Help you with what?” I ask, exasperation bleeding into my voice. “Man, I’ve got none of the skills you need to disappear. Sure, maybe I could drive you to a border, get you on a plane, but that’s the tip of the iceberg. Do you even have a plan after that?”
“I’ve got plans for my plans,” he says, offering me a crooked grin. “And I’m asking you to come with me. The four of us were brothers once but the stuff you and I got up to?”
A strangled laugh pulls from my throat. “Why the fuck would I come with you? This is your fight to bear, not mine. I never once wanted to rig the system or whatever else you were doing. As for the shit we used to get up to, we were stupid and thought we ruled the world. I couldn’t do half of that shit without being put on a fugitive list somewhere.” My hands flex, the absurdity of his request hitting me hard, and I shake my head, trying to figure out what the hell he’s thinking.
“Then why’d you come?” His face scrunches up, suspicion running through his expression. His gaze dips to the liquor he shoved across the table minutes ago and as much as I hate whiskey, I sip it anyway.
“Honestly? I wanted to see my brother one more time—the man I served with, fought beside. I wanted to see if that man was still in there.” My voice cracks and I hate how soft it sounds, how much I mean it, because I did—I wanted a glimpse of the Kurt I knew before this mess swallowed him whole.
“Seriously? You’re softer than I thought. That’s it? That’s all you wanted?”
“Yeah,” I say, slow, my chest tight. “Based on what you showed me, I’d know whether I’m turning in my brother or a traitor.” Ihold his gaze, steady, waiting, and I see the flicker in his eyes, the moment he breaks.
Kurt heaves a sigh, his shoulders falling in disappointment before he whips a gun from his jacket, the barrel flashing in my line of sight before he squeezes off a shot. The bullet grazes my shoulder, splintering the kitchen island behind me. The heavy beat of music down below overshadows the sound which means not one person is going to be rushing upstairs to help us.
Something Kurt probably knew.
The icing on the cake, though? “You were always a terrible shot, Kurt. This isn’t gonna end the way you want it to.” The man is great at nearly everything but his marksmanship skills left a lot to be desired.
“I have a gun,” he snarls, waving it, his hand shaky, his grin faltering.
“That you do,” I purr, standing up and discarding my jacket. “However, a gun isn’t gonna stop me, Kurt. You hurt my family, the love of my life, everything I stand for.” I jump up onto the table, the wood groaning under my boots, and launch myself at him, my body crashing into his. He hits the ground hard, a grunt ripping out of him, and I straddle his stomach, pinning him there, my knees digging into his sides. His hand flails, the gun still clutched, and I tear it free, my fingers wrenching his wrist until it clatters away, skidding across the floor.
He thrashes under me, cursing, his face red, but I’ve got him, my weight holding him down, my hands gripping his shoulders. “I’m gonna make this hurt, Kurt,” I growl, leaning closer so that he can hear the words crisp and clear. “But don’t worry—I’ll leave you alive so you can face your crimes.” I slam a fist into his jaw, the crack echoing into this small space as his head snaps to the side.
My knuckles sting, but I hit him again, harder, feeling the give of his cheek, the rage pouring out—every time he hurt Noah,every lie, every fucked-up move he pulled. He swings weak, his hands clawing at me, but I grab his wrists, pinning them above his head, my breath heaving.
Kurt has always been slightly smaller than us but he’s been the leader. I’ve never needed to use my size against him until now. And by god, it’s going to be glorious.
“You won’t get away with this,” Kurt breathes out, struggling to get free. I just shift my weight so that knee is pressing into his gut, his face turning red from the effort still needed to breathe.
“Who said I was getting away with this? I just need to make sure it hurts.”
I throw another punch at his head, my other hand still wrapped around his wrists. When his head snaps to the side again, blood trickling down his chin, it pulls a twisted sense of satisfaction from me. This is going to be fun.
And I might need more than two days.
