Page 7 of Snapped
“We can use that weakness in our favor.” August spoke softly.
“Indeed.” Cillian beamed, lifting his mug, the three of them toasting, the copper cups clanging together loudly. “Stay focused on the plan, Augie.”
“Remind me, Cillian, what is ‘the plan’, exactly?” August asked sarcastically, finger air quotes and all.
One side of Cillian’s face lifted to form a crooked sneer. “Retribution, of course—for your sister and for my misery.”
August leaned back in his chair, head cocked to one side. He studied Cillian’s face for any signs of deceit and saw none. Marta was making the rounds, so they stopped talking business and ordered another jug of beer. A more ironclad plan was made before they went their separate ways, agreeing to meet up again after the next full moon.
Back in his room at the barracks, August lay awake for a while, picking everything apart in his mind. Could he truly end the life of a woman that was with child? He prayed Aiya delivered before they set their plan in motion, so he didn’t have to make a rash decision. He wasn’t certain he could go through with it. Just the thought alone made his blood boil. He wanted justice for his sister, regardless of the circumstance.
Keep your head in the game, August!He chastised himself silently.Aiya is pregnant—so what? Autumn will never have the opportunity, and it was stolen from her by Aiya, her brother, and that fucking hypocritical family of hers that thinks they control the world.
Closing his eyes and inhaling a deep, calming breath, then exhaling slowly, August pushed his wayward thoughts to a dark, empty place in the back of his mind, instead focusing on a memory of his sister. They were sixteen at the time, running through the forest August had chased the fox in mere hours before. Her red hair hung loose down her back as she ran, looking over her shoulder several times, the light from the sun making her green eyes shine like emeralds. And that laugh, ringing through the empty terrain, sounding like the bell chiming from the church on Sundays.
“I miss you so much—every goddamn day. Why am I questioning myself now, at the eleventh hour?” His words died in the darkness of his room.
Rolling to his side, August grabbed his pillow, punching the down material several times with his fist. Whether it was an attempt to fluff the flat pillow or an outlet for the pang of loss he felt deep in his gut—who knew? Who cared? No. This had to be done; his sister must be avenged. Damn the price he would have to pay, or the mark it would probably leave on his soul.
