Page 171 of Remorseless
“Asmybrother. As the brother to our brothers. As a nephew, club member, and cousin. As Dad’s son. But he’s a big fat fucking failure asyourbrother and as a husband and Mom’s son. See where the fuck this is going?”
“Yes!” she yelled. “He’s a paragon with men but a douchebag with women.”
“You’re finally clued the fuck in. It only took me thirty minutes to get it through your fucking head.”
“Now, you’re exaggerating,” she said crossly. “This is a fucking dog whistle to remove the fact you went to that club to drink with Diesel and ended up OD’ing. How could you? How could you do that to yourself and to us?”
“I went to the club totalkto Diesel aboutyou. I also went because the night wore me the fuck out. I felt so fucking alone.”
Because of Harley. Rebelhatedthat heifer.
“I don’t know why I drank the lean.”
The pain and regret in his voice tortured her and stole all her anger. “Were you scared?” she whispered.
“In the few moments of awareness before I collapsed? I was fucking terrified.”
She thought about curling next to CJ as she sometimes did when they were younger. Once again, it was mainly him and Harley and her and Rule. Yet, despite how much time CJ spent with Harley, he always had time for Rebel, Mattie, Rory, and their brothers. He always gave of himself and showed how much he loved his family.
CJ helped teach Rebel to fight. He taught her how to shoot marbles, throw darts, and play pool. That wasn’t to say Daddy didn’t do those things at times, but her father, in spite of all the boys, was an amazing dad to her. Maybe, it was time she truly forgave him. Her parents had been through hell and back. They didn’t need to add Rebel’s snipes and resentment toward a man who’d cherished his family for her entire life.
“I love you, CJ.”
“I love you, too, Reb,” he said groggily.
Smiling, she curled next to her brother, her back to him and sang the lullabies their parents used to croon them to sleep with.
Finally, she heard a little snore escape CJ. Getting to her feet, she turned and kissed his cheek.
“Sweet dreams, brother,” she said quietly, and left his room, grateful he was alive.
Closing the door behind her, Rebel glanced at the end of the hallway toward her parents’ bedroom. She thought about knocking on their door, then decidedagainst disturbing them. They were doing husband and wife things, and she didn’t want to intrude.
Lonely, she headed to the staircase. As she stepped on the second floor landing and turned toward the hallway, heavy footsteps pounded up. Since CJ was asleep and Daddy had retired for the night, she knew it was Diesel even before she saw him, resembling something from a horror show and holding the neck of a tequila bottle loosely in his grip.
He halted midway up.
Rebel couldn’t move or speak. Blood drenched his clothes and spattered his hands, neck, chin and jaw, dusted with five o-clock shadow. Pushed up sleeves revealed his scratched arms, mirroring the ones on his cheeks. Red rimmed eyes met hers; he swayed.
He cleared another step. She stumbled back.
Raising his hands, he halted, a pained expression on his face. She froze because he did. He drank deeply from the half-empty fifth, then wiped his mouth and held the bottle out to her.
“A-are you h-hurt?”
He raised up his bandaged right hand. She hadn’t noticed it.
“Other than a small matter of impalement?” he slurred. “I’m fine.” He tipped the bottle back and forth. “Take a drink.”
Wary, she didn’t move. “Why are you all bloody?”
“On average, the human body contains about five liters of blood.”
“Wh-what?” she squeaked.
Using the fifth, he indicated himself. “When you spill as much of it as possible, this is the result.”
“Y-you killed somebody?”
