Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Broderick

Watching the Rhodius family speak softly to each other makes me so fucking uncomfortable. I have spent so much of my life hating the other factions, a hate that only ramped up after the night that changed everything. From what we’ve pieced together since, Aisling worked with Ciar of the Mystics and Deacon Walsh to conspire against us. The Mystics provided the drugs that the dinner was dosed with, and the Amazons sent a squad to barricade the exits and light the building on fire. If not for the fact that my brothers and I had skipped dinner because Abel called a surprise meeting, we would have died in that fire.

Aisling is Monroe and Winry’s mother, Jasper’s older sister. These three might not have been any part of the decision that ended with forty innocent people being killed, but they are part of the ruling family. They’ll have made different hard decisions that involved different deaths.

It’s easy to hate from a distance, to pinpoint their differences, their sins, and build them up to be larger than life. To be villains. With that kind of hate, it’s so easy to build up or tear down people in your head. They stop being people altogether and become the enemy.

In this moment, Monroe, Winry, and Jasper are all too real. I see the blatant love in the way they check in with each other, in the gentle ribbing and sharp words that evolve to them chatting easily. It reminds me of how I interact with my brothers, and isn’t that a bitch of a realization?

When it comes right down to it, they think the same things about us that we think about them. That we’re monsters. That they have to go to great lengths to protect their people from us.

It’s not a comfortable realization.

This is a side of Monroe I’ve never seen before, one that is tender and protective in turns. I don’t know how to fit the puzzle piece into the hellion that I’ve interacted with up to this point. I don’t know why I’m even trying. Who gives a shit if she loves her family?

Even monsters have families.

I jolt as the doors fly open, and Cohen stalks into the room. He gives the trio a long look and jerks his thumb at the door. “All right, kids. Playtime’s over. Get back to your rooms.”

Jasper puts his hands on Winry’s and Monroe’s shoulders and smiles at them. “You’re doing great. Hang in there.”

Monroe covers his hand with hers and glares. “If you look like this next time I see you, I’m going to cut off Ezekiel’s cock and shove it down his throat.”

I flinch. Even Cohen misses a step at the vehemence in her tone. Jasper just grins and pulls her into a quick hug. He turns and strides from the room. All that said, that’s less interesting to me than Winry and Cohen. They circle each other widely, her going so far as to round the couch on her way to the door. She doesn’t so much as glance at him. But he watches her like he wants to pounce.

I’ve never seen my brother look at someone like that before.

It’s disconcerting in the extreme.

He barely waits for Winry to shut the door behind her before he turns on me and Monroe. “What the fuck was that about?”

Monroe lifts her brows. “Are you sure you want me here for this? Seems like a family affair.”

He gives me a look and turns to her. “I don’t give a shit what your plans are or what you’re trying to accomplish. You fuck over Shiloh, I’m going to fuck you up.”

I expect her to do what anyone else when faced with a threat like that from Cohen would do—back up, flinch, show some kind of fear. I really should know better by now.

Monroe laughs in his face. “You Paine boys. You’re so predictable. It’s honestly pathetic.”

“Monroe,” I caution. Abel’s warning is still ringing in my ears. The directive to take care of my Monroe problem before someone else does it for me. Provoking Cohen is a really fucked up way to commit suicide. No matter how fierce she is, she can’t take my brother.

“Do not say my name in that tone of voice.” The look she gives me is pure venom. “Have either of you assholes asked Shiloh what she wants? Have you considered that she’s an adult who’s more than capable of making her own decisions?” She switches her attention to Cohen. “No. You haven’t. You’re too busy threatening little old me, trying to protect someone who doesn’t need your protection.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You haven’t seen—”

“The scars on her legs.” She says it flatly, for once not seeming to enjoy that she’s shocked me. “I’ve seen them.”

Cohen crosses his arms over his chest. “She tell you how she got them?” Like me, my brother knows the basics of what Shiloh survived as a child. We’ve taken in all kinds of people over the years, but Cohen vets each one of them to ensure they’re not adding to our already plentiful roster of enemies.

“Yes.” The word is still too flat. Too…angry.

Surely I’m misinterpreting. I must be. Because only a fool would look at her reaction and actually believe she’s feeling protective of Shiloh. It’s all an act. It has to be. “Then you know she deserves better than to be fucked with.”

Monroe snorts. “Her past doesn’t mean she’s not capable of making her own decisions. Respect them.”

Cohen jerks his thumb toward the door. “Get out.”

“Happily.”

We both watch her leave. He barely lets me sigh before he’s in my face. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

I’m getting really fucking tired of my brothers acting like this. I know I haven’t handled this situation as ideally as possible, but that doesn’t change the fact that none of them would be successful going toe-to-toe with Monroe. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“You let those three sit around and chat for how long?”

I don’t react to his rage. “About an hour, all said and done.”

“Why the fuck did you think that’s a good idea?”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea, but Harlow set it up, so I handled chaperoning.” I clench my fists, but I make no other move. Cohen is wound more tightly than I expected. He’s practically emoting, even if it’s rage. “She’s right, though. They work better as hostages if we allow them to see each other.”

“It gives them too much time to plot.”

“Are we supposed to keep them prisoners for the entire year? Should we all take a page out of Ezekiel’s book and tie our Brides to the bed? You think soft little Winry would survive that without untold mental trauma?”

He flinches. It’s the tiniest of movements, but it’s there nonetheless. “I didn’t say that.”

“We had a plan when we came into this. It involves letting Monroe and Fallon travel back and forth between here and their respective factions. Their good behavior is solely dependent on the quality of hostages we have here. Keeping them from their family is counterproductive.”

Cohen exhales and looks away. “I’m aware.”

“What’s the real problem, then?”

“Your Bride.”

Now it’s my turn to flinch. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sure Abel already talked to you, but if you don’t get this situation under control, it’s going to get ugly.”

All this is true. It also doesn’t explain why Cohen is so fucking emotional. He doesn’t know Monroe, and even if he did—she’s not family. Cohen’s priority lines are stark and clear; the few people he cares about and everyone else. “And?”

“And what?”

“Why do you care? She’s just some Amazon. Who gives a fuck if she lives or dies?” I do. I push the words down, hoping they don’t show on my face. “Why is everyone on my shit about this?”

Cohen stares at me for a long moment, the menace coming off him nearly filling the room. He finally says, “If Monroe dies, it will make Winry sad.” Without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the room.

I release the breath I was holding. I expected the coldness from Cohen, same as I expected it from Abel. I didn’t reckon on the reason. I don’t know what to make of that. My brother has been acting strangely, but we’ve all been acting strangely since returning to Sabine Valley, from Abel down to Gabriel. This situation, no matter how much we’ve planned around it, is a lot more complicated than we expected. These Brides aren’t just pawns to be moved about a chessboard at Abel’s whim.

They’re people.

Sabine Valley isn’t just another city for us to linger in until it’s time to move on. It was home once. I know at least half of my brothers hope it will be home again. I don’t know if that’s possible. This place has held some of the happiest and some of the most horrific times of my life. My feelings are too damn complicated, and if I could just scrape the taste of ash from my tongue, maybe I could think properly.

If I can’t figure this shit out and Monroe dies as a result, more than Winry will be sad, and Cohen will be at my throat. Shiloh will be sad. She cares about Monroe enough to get intimate with her, and that’s reason enough for me to have a frank conversation with both of them.

Not because I care.

I want Monroe, but I don’t give a fuck about her. Not one bit.

It takes longer than I want to admit to get my head on straight. By the time I go to the room that’s supposed to be mine and Monroe’s, it’s late. I don’t really expect the women to be asleep—or otherwise engaged—but I knock all the same. Just in case.

A few seconds later, Monroe opens the door and leans against it. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt and little else. She grins. “Hey, handsome. Come here often?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why? It’s so funny to see the way your jaw clenches when I do.” She steps back, holding the door open for me. “From the very serious look on your face, I suppose you’re not here for fun.”

“No. I’m not.”

“How unfortunate.”

I step into the room and look around. “Where’s Shiloh?”

“Not back yet.” She shrugs. “I thought she might be with you.”

“She wasn’t.” Despite my best efforts, I can’t help staring at the bed, picturing the sight that greeted me last time I was in this room. I clear my throat. “She’s not happy with me.”

“You think?” Monroe drops onto the bed and stretches her long, bare legs out. I notice the most absurd thing. Her toes are painted purple. She wiggles them at me. “See something you like?”

“No, of course not,” I lie. “Just my pain in the ass of a Bride.”

Monroe just grins, though the expression fades slowly. “If you stopped seeing Shiloh as some damsel in distress, she’d stop being unhappy with you.”

The words seem simple enough, but that doesn’t explain why she’s offering them. “Aren’t you invested in driving the wedge between us deeper? Why try to mend it?” Surely this is some sort of trap, but I can’t divine the dimensions of it.

“I don’t like seeing Shiloh unhappy any more than you like making her unhappy.” She fiddles with the hem of the shirt, lifting it an inch. For the first time since we met, I don’t think she’s trying to provoke me. “It was fun to prod at your relationship at first, but she’s really upset at you and I know her well enough now to recognize that ruining your friendship further will hurt her. That doesn’t work for me, no matter how irritating I find you.”

I really need to stop staring at that bared inch of her hip. Right now. I swallow hard. “You can’t really expect me to believe you care about her.”

“I don’t really give a shit what you believe.” She frowns. “Broderick.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t freak out, but I do believe we’re having something resembling a civil conversation.”

My skin goes hot, and I have to look away. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” I really have been an unforgivable ass to both Monroe and Shiloh. Monroe might delight in provoking me, but she hasn’t forced me to do any of the things I feel so fucking tormented about. She just dangled the bait and prodded me, and I went after her like a bull charging a red flag.

I clear my throat. “I don’t want to ruin my friendship with Shiloh further, either.” I also don’t want to lean on Monroe in regards to this. She’s just as likely to harm me as she is to help me. But I’m starting to believe her when she says she cares about Shiloh.

We have that in common.

What a strange thought; one that puts us on the same side for the first time since I met this woman.

“I have a few ideas if you’re willing to listen.”

Shiloh chooses that moment to save me from having to come up with an answer. She stops short when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”

I am so damn tired of fighting with this woman and constantly saying the wrong thing. I miss us. I miss spending time with her and the easy banter and knowing we have each other’s backs no matter what. I don’t know how to reclaim the closeness, how to undo the damage being back in Sabine Valley has caused.

But I know where to start. “I’ve been an unbelievable ass.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Go on.”

Trust Shiloh not to make this easy on me. We haven’t fought often over the years, but she more than holds her own when we do. How had I forgotten that? Or the fact that she holds a grudge better than anyone I’ve met? Gods, I miss her.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted that you knew what you were doing. I shouldn’t have tried to override your choices or acted like I knew better than you did when it comes to yourself.”

“You also should have done your duty instead of dodging it.”

“And I should have done my duty instead of dodging it,” I admit.

She stares at me for a long moment. There’s something lingering in her eyes, something almost like the relief and hope I feel blossoming in my chest. “Is this apology just because you can’t stand for me to be mad at you? Or are you actually going to change your behavior going forward?”

“The latter.” When she stares, I feel compelled to add. “I’m going to try. Being in this city is fucking up my head more than I expected, and I can’t pretend I’m not going to mess up in the future, but I’m going to try. I promise.”

“I’ll try, too.” Shiloh nods. “You’re forgiven.”

“How entertaining.” Monroe claps her hands. “You two are sickeningly sweet. Really, you’re giving me cavities. How is that you aren’t married with half a dozen babies by now?”

I stare at her, my face heating. Monroe is a human-shaped wrecking ball, and I kind of want to toss her right out the window. She knows I want Shiloh, and even if she’s not actively trying to fuck with our friendship at the moment, she can’t seem to help poking at it and saying things I’d rather kept silent. “Shut up, Monroe.”

“We’re friends.” There’s something strange in Shiloh’s voice, a note that draws my gaze despite my best intention to look everywhere but at her. She’s…blushing?

I blink. “We’re friends?” I mean it to come out like a statement, but the words tilt up at the end, morphing it into a question. I know how I feel, but Shiloh has never given me the slightest indication that she might feel the same way.

Monroe snorts. “Okay, let’s try this a different way. Broderick, do you want to strip Shiloh down and do all sorts of filthy things to her?”

I choke. “What the fuck, Monroe?”

She laughs and lowers her voice. “That’s a yes, husband.” She focuses on Shiloh. “And you? Do you want to see what kind of heat he’s packing in those fitted pants of his? Maybe try out the thing he does with his fingers?”

“Monroe.”

“Also a yes.” She claps her hands together. “So glad we got this out of the way. Let’s get naked.”