Page 52 of Risky Taste
“Help me down there. I’ve got some choice words before they take him in.” I steady him as he sways, his headache etched in the lines of his face, and we stumble down the stairs, my arm around his waist, his breath ragged but determined.
We hit the living room, and Heath’s there, sprawled on the floor, clutching his bloody foot, screaming curses while Logan looms over him, the shotgun still in hand. Noah shakes me off, stepping forward, before leaning down over Heath. “In no world was all this worth it, following my brother—well, cousin. You fucked everything up for what?” He glares down at Heath, searching his expression, and then his face shifts, a dark laugh breaking free. “Oh my God. You’re in love with him. Did you think following his every order would have him reciprocating your feelings? You’re a sorry excuse for a human,” he spits. For a moment, I think that’s it and then I remember the gun still in Noah’s hand as he angles it just high enough, poised at Heath’s other foot.
It's a glorious sight, watching this man wail, both of his feet now wounded. The man will never walk the same again, the rawedge of Noah’s rage bleeding into me as police swarm into the hallway, surveying the scene, voices barking over the chaos.
Yannis and Smisson are among them, confusion written all over their faces. “What the fuck?” Yannis barks out. “What the fuck is all this?”
I have to suppress a laugh because in no world did theynotknow some version of this was going to happen. Then again, looking the other way definitely helps keep them connecting the dots. Noah just leans back against me, his strength waning. “It’s what Kurt calls a fail-safe. It’s very easy to pin shit on people when they’re dead. If you wait a little longer, Kurt might show up as well.”
Smisson frowns, his head tilting. “Isn’t he your brother?”
Noah shakes his head before grimacing and resting further against me. “He stopped being my brother when he decided his revenge was more important than my life.” I string an arm around his waist, keeping him upright and press a kiss to the top of his head, hoping he knows how perfect he is, how strong he is.
Then I speak up, explaining the situation. “There’s one guy upstairs who broke in through Noah’s window. Noah shot him in self-defense. Heath came through the front door without an invitation. All shots were made to keep him from killing Noah.”
Heath sputters out a laugh. “That’s fucking bullshit!” He groans, trying to reach down and hold at least one of his feet but he’s not flexible enough to do so. I’m really not sure how he saw this going.
Yannis stares at the pitiful heap for a few moments longer before meeting my gaze. “Any of you need medical attention? Noah?”
“Just a headache,” I mutter, my grip tightening on Noah. “Hospital already checked him—Kurt fucked his hearing. He’s fine, just hurting.” I gather him up in my arms just as his legs give out before carrying him to the couch. The officers will cleanup the mess as we try to figure out where we go from here. Noah lets out a small whine before sighing, sinking into the pillows. “Babe, you were absolutely perfect, you know that?”
He hums his response, a small grin cracking across his lips. “Yeah, I am. Please tell me this bullshit is over and that Declan is coming home.”
“Soon, babe. You just rest. We got everything else.” I told Declan I wouldn’t try to contact or locate him until he was gone for too long but if we wait any longer, they might actually start believing Declan was working with Kurt.
So, I make the call to bring Declan home. It’s time to start moving forward.
Chapter thirty-eight
DECLAN
I sit on a rickety chair just outside the tub in this grimy motel bathroom, my boots planted on the cracked tile, staring at Kurt slumped against the porcelain, passed out cold. His face is a mess—bloodied, swollen, lips split—and his body’s bruised purple, a map of the hours I’ve spent toying with him, letting the rage pour out.
My knuckles are raw as I flex them, the ache grounding me as I realize I can’t stall much longer. The police will start sniffing around and if I push this too far, they might pin his crimes on me—ironic, after all this. I lean over, twisting the faucet, cold water blasting out and hitting Kurt square in the face. He jolts, groaning, his head lolling to the side as he tries to avoid it.
“Oh good, you’re still alive,” I tease. “Got to make sure I’ve got something to call in so they have someone to charge for all this bullshit.”
He tries to speak, his words a garbled mess through the blood but I cut it off with another punch, my fist slamming into his jaw, loving the way the blood splatters, red flecks hitting the tub, the wall, my shirt. The crack of it echoes against the tiles and I relish in the sound before hauling him out by his collar and plopping him onto the bathroom floor.
I beat him again, a quick jab to his cheek, then his nose. “This the ending you imagined, Kurt?” I ask, my fist hovering over his face, blood dripping from my knuckles. “All your big plans, and you’re here, bleeding out in a shithole motel?”
“Go to hell,” he rasps, spitting red, his eyes barely open, glazed but defiant. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Noah’s dead by now.”
I freeze, my hand mid-air, the words hitting like a gut punch. “What?”
He throws me a weak smirk, his split lip trembling. “Did you really think I just called your ass out here? I told you—I’ve got plans for plans. If I didn’t check in, then the next plan would start.”
There’s no fucking way Kurt pulled some shit like that but I also know that his morals are permanently skewed and he truly believes that Noah is the enemy. I scramble for my phone, seeing that there’s a missed call from Sebastian.Fuck.I dial Noah, my thumb slipping on the screen, and it rings, once, twice, then voicemail. My chest tightens, and I try Logan next, same thing—voicemail. Sebastian’s last, my breath hitching, and it’s voicemail again despite the fact that he called ten minutes ago. I turn, my eyes locking on Kurt, sprawled there, grinning through the blood.
“What the fuck did you do?” I roar, dropping the phone, and I’m on him, my fists flying, pounding his face—left, right, left again—blood spraying, his groans turning wet and ragged as he tries to suck in a breath.
I grab his shirt, yanking him up, slamming him against the tub, my knuckles splitting wider with every hit, the pain a distant burn beneath the fury. “What did you do to him?” I scream, my voice breaking, and I punch again, his head snapping back against the porcelain.
His smirk fades, his body slumping on the tile but I keep going, lost in it, the fear clawing at me—my friends and Noah gone—until Kurt’s a heap of mangled limbs, barely breathing, blood pooling under him on the tile.
I’m about to swing again when my phone buzzes on the counter, cutting through the fury. I freeze, my fist hovering before I reach for the device with a shaky, blood-slick hand, Sebastian’s name flashing on the screen. “Where’s Noah?” I ask, the moment I answer.
“He’s safe. We’re good, but you need to get home. Is Kurt still alive?”
