Page 203 of Boy of Ruin
“But what about Brooklin? You think she ever wants to see you again? And what about Maverick?” I take a step forward, and Jeremiah moves with me, not dropping my arm.
My palm is sweaty, but I grip the knife tighter. It feels like the past two decades of rage are bubbling up under my skin, and now I can see the man I can take it all out on. He’s right in front of me. He’s threatening my fucking husband.
I want to kill him.
“Maverick fucking hates you,” I tell him, digging a little deeper, because I know the 6 only give a fuck about their sons. “He can’t stand you. Your wife can’t stand you. Who are you, Maddox? Who the fuck are you, beneath all that anger?” I finally let my eyes rake over his body, everything.
When I bring my gaze back up, he arches a brow.
“You like what you see?” His voice is a whisper. “You’re used to getting on your knees for your fucking relatives,” his jaw twitches, “why don’t you come over here and do the only fucking thing you could possibly be good for—”
Lucifer’s growl makes me flinch, pushes past my anger, and before I can even look at him, he’s grabbing the gun, yanking down Maddox’s arm and pulling away from him.
A shot rings out in the room and I flinch, the sound ringing in my ears as I somehow manage to get out of Jeremiah’s grip, charging at Maddox.
“Sid, no!” Lucifer’s voice is full of panic, but it’s too late.
I collide with Maddox, one hand on his arm, the other angling the knife and sinking it down into his chest. It takes effort, his skin and muscle resisting, but they give way as he stumbles back against the front door, reaching for me, one hand digging into my side as we sink to the floor.
I vaguely register that means he could still have the gun in his other hand, but I can’t think about anything but how good it fucking feels to do this. To get rid of one more demon that broke apart my world. My husband’s world. Jeremiah’s. My brother’s.
I make to pull the knife out, blinking as I register the blood, the fact that my body is pressed against his naked one and I want to puke, but just as I go to yank it out, I feel something warm against my belly.
Beneath my shirt.
Maddox’s other hand is still around my waist, and I smell his sweat. Hear his laughter rumble through his chest, one hand still above his heart, the other clenched around the knife.
But I’m frozen.
Leaning against him, blood oozing around the blade, I force myself to look up. To meet his gaze.
And with his hand around my arm, barrel of the gun to my stomach, I can’t move.
Behind me, I hear nothing.
Sense nothing.
It’s just me and Maddox, locked in some sick sort of standoff, too close to one another. So close, I want to fucking puke.
His lips pull up into a sneer, and I think about how much his eyes are just like Maverick’s, maybe his hair, too, but there’s nothing else about my brother that reminds me of this sick fuck of a man.
I notice too, though, his skin is turning pale.
Sickly.
I didn’t stab near his heart, on the wrong side, but it’s getting to him all the same. Even so, I know it doesn’t take much effort to pull a fucking trigger.
My throat feels like it’s closing up as his fingers dig into my waist.
“You’re a fucking bitch,” he says, and I hear the floor creak behind me. His eyes dart past me, narrowing into slits. “Don’t. I think we all know by now it’s in my best interest that Sid Rain is dead and buried. If you keep coming, you’ll only give me more incentive to put her out of my misery.”
“How could you?” I ask him, taking the attention off whoever is moving at my back.
He seems to slump more fully against the door, and I shift with him, the gun warm against my skin, just over the J carved into my flesh.
Something like grief seems to take over from my anger, the adrenaline leaving my body, a bone deep heartache in its wake.
It would’ve been nice to have a parent who cared. It would be nice to know what it means to love. Really love. I don’t regret things I’ve done, who I am. But that security some people feel in the arms of their parents? I think that would have been really nice.
