Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Broderick

The last thing I expect when I get to my room is to find Shiloh waiting for me. Despite myself, my attention snags on the faint red marks on her mouth and neck from Monroe’s lipstick. Even through my rising irritation, heat surges hot enough to have me fighting my body’s reaction. Of course, I find the idea of them together attractive. They’re both gorgeous. I’m only human. It’s nothing more than that.

I clear my throat. I need to apologize. I know I need to apologize. I just have to find the words. “Shiloh. What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” She stands slowly. “I was very, very angry when I left the bar, but I’ve gotten a bit turned around since then.”

“I’m sorry.” I am. Truly. I never wanted to make her feel bad for anything, and she’s right—I don’t have a claim to her since we’re only friends. The reminder never used to feel like sandpaper beneath my skin. I respect our friendship. Putting Shiloh in an uncomfortable position because of my feelings is out of the question. And yet… I drag my hand over my face. “I might have been a bit out of line.”

“A bit?”

Heat flushes my face and neck, and I have the uncomfortable suspicion that I’m blushing. “Monroe makes me lose my cool.”

“Monroe,” she says the other woman’s name slowly, seeming to test it. “Yes, Monroe has a way of provoking people.” Except Shiloh doesn’t sound like she thinks that’s a bad thing.

“She’s trouble.”

“You’re right.” Just like that, the softening of Shiloh’s expression disappears. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Maybe if you stopped avoiding her and actually dealt with the situation, she would get into less trouble.”

I take a step back. Shiloh has a point, but I can’t bring myself to admit it. Spending more time around my Bride, trying to corral her, will just pave the way for Monroe to provoke me further. I don’t recognize myself when I’m around that woman. “She’s poison.”

“Is she?” Shiloh glares. “She’s an ambitious, terrifying woman. She’s an enemy of the Raider faction and your family. But that’s it. That doesn’t make her poison.”

“My brothers and I were almost killed because of what the Amazons did.” Not just the Amazons, but I’m not handfasted to a Mystic currently. “They would have seen every single member of my family burn.”

“I know what the Amazons are capable of.” Shiloh goes still. “Do you think I could possibly forget?”

No, of course not. We’ve talked about it more than once, how that night of betrayal and ash changed the course of my family’s life forever. We weren’t exactly living the dream life, not under my father’s rule, but at least we had stability. After the night of the coup, we were hunted.

And every single faction in Sabine Valley was responsible. Amazon. Mystics. Even the Raiders in the form of Eli Walsh’s father. It’s since come to light that Eli wasn’t behind the plans that nearly killed me and my brothers in the house fire, that he wasn’t even aware of it, but it’s still hard to let go of eight years of bad blood. I’m working on it, because Abel loves that asshole, but I can barely look at Eli without tasting ash on my tongue.

Shiloh knows what it means to never be able to go home again. Her parents made my father look like he should be accepting Parent of the Year awards. Even without the specific details, I know she was abused and that they’re religious zealots. I try not to think about her past too much, because doing so is shitty for my blood pressure, and she won’t thank me for trying to step in and save the child she used to be.

“I know you didn’t forget,” I say quietly. “But you have to understand how I felt seeing you two in the bar…” I wave my hand at her. “Seeing it now. It feels like you got into bed with the enemy.”

“In bed with the enemy,” she repeats. Shiloh narrows her eyes. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you not fuck Monroe on Lammas night?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” She stalks toward me. “So different that you’ve been hiding from her ever since. The only other of your brothers who’s avoiding his Bride is Gabriel, and he’s a baby.”

“He’s twenty-eight. He can be forgiven for not knowing what to do with Fallon.”

“Then she shouldn’t have been his selection. Better that he get Matteo or Winry.” She stops and makes a face. “Maybe not Winry.” Shiloh shakes her head. “None of this addresses the fact that you don’t have a say in who I sleep with, Broderick. And if you’re determined to avoid Monroe and pretend Lammas never happened, then you don’t have a say in what she does, either.”

The fact that Shiloh isn’t going to leave me alone.

Monroe’s words echo through my mind in really unpleasant way. “She’s dangerous. She’ll poison you.”

“That’s my decision to make.” Shiloh laughs, but not like anything is funny. “As for being dangerous, so is every other person in this house. So am I. Or did you forget everything I’ve done since I joined up with you?”

“I haven’t forgotten.” We all have blood on our hands. Every single one of us. Fighting hasn’t been the first course of action, but most of the time it’s inevitable. When we were exiled from Sabine Valley, we lost our claim to anything resembling home territory. No matter where we went, we were always the interlopers, always the one that had to be driven off by whoever owned that space. Often violently.

She searches my face. I don’t know what my expression is doing, but whatever she’s looking for, she doesn’t seem to find. “This is a mess.”

Mess is a gigantic understatement. I look down at her, and I suddenly miss her so fucking much, I can barely breathe past it. We haven’t exactly been apart, but something’s changed between us and we both know it. I feel like she’s slipping through my fingers, and no matter how tightly I try to grasp her, to reclaim the easy intimacy of our friendship, I only make things worse. “I’m sorry,” I say again.

“I know.” Shiloh looks away. “But being sorry isn’t enough, Broderick. I know being back here isn’t easy on you, but you’re not the only one having a hard time.”

Is she talking about herself? I reach out hesitantly and clasp her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

For a second, I think she might, but Shiloh finally shakes her head. “No. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.” She covers my hand with her own and gives it a squeeze.

We look at each other and it’s the way things used to be. I can almost picture how the rest of the night should go. I’ll offer to pull out a movie from Finnegan’s endless collection, she’ll get the snacks, and we’ll hole up in the mini movie theater for the duration. For a few hours, things will be normal again.

But then Shiloh steps away and I let my hand drop. She moves past me to the door and opens it. “If you want to keep hiding, that’s your choice. But not all of us have that option. Not all of us want that option. If this is home now, for better or worse. I’m going to make work.”

“With Monroe.” The words are out before I can call them back.

She gives me a long look. “She’s the enemy, but she’s also your Bride for the next eleven months. Have you considered how you could use that to the advantage of the Raider faction?” Shiloh is gone before I can come up with a response. It’s just as well. I’m not sure what I’d even say.

Use Monroe to my advantage?

That orgasm must have gone to Shiloh’s brain, because the woman I know never would have suggested such a thing. The entire reason we came back to Sabine Valley and Abel stepped into the ring on Lammas, the very purpose of our Brides, is to get revenge. Sending Fallon and Monroe back to their respective positions during the day means we have an in with both Amazons and Mystics. A way to get to the very heart of them and rip it out.

The same way they ripped out our hearts eight years ago.

Shiloh doesn’t get it. Even as close as we are, as many times as she’s heard the stories, she doesn’t fucking get it. How could she? She’s not from Sabine Valley. She didn’t wake up in the middle of the night to the scent of smoke on the air. She wasn’t forced to flee a burning building that left forty of our people dead. It was sheer luck that none of my brothers were among them. She didn’t become an orphan that night.

My father was a monster. I was more than old enough at twenty-seven to understand just how fucked he was when it came to running the Raider faction. But he wouldn’t have run it forever, and Abel is not the same kind of monster. No matter what pieces of himself he carved away over the last eight years to keep us and our people protected, he has more than proven he’s fit to lead the Raider faction in the past three weeks.

Things are working out exactly like they’re supposed to. So why the fuck can’t I get my head on straight? Why can’t I escape the feeling of a sword hanging over our heads, just waiting until the right moment to fall and sever us from the world of the living?

I can barely stand to be inside my own head. Desperate to talk to someone with the slightest bit of sanity, I seek out my brother Ezekiel. He won’t have softened on our main goal. Not when the betrayal he experienced was so damn personal.

When we were driven out of the city, Ezekiel was one of a trio of friends who represented the hope for the future. A Raider, a Mystic, and an Amazon. I’m still not sure how they met, but they were constantly together through most of our childhood. I think Ezekiel expected them to come for him after the exile. It was the first time they were separated since they were little.

They…didn’t.

When we were doing our research and planning for our return, we discovered that Jasper and Beatrix were dating. Not only had they moved on from the loss of Ezekiel, but they moved on together. When he found that out, my brother went quiet in a way that worries me. He hasn’t been the same since.

He insisted on Jasper as his Bride, and Abel allowed it. I don’t think anyone expected Beatrix to show up, too.

I make my way down to the second floor and knock on Ezekiel’s door. He doesn’t make me wait long, but when he opens it, all I can do is stare. He’s shirtless, his lean body covered in scratches. That’s not what shocks me. No, it’s the fact that he has both Beatrix and Jasper handcuffed to his bed, wearing nothing but underwear. Ezekiel leans against the doorjamb as if that is not a huge fucking red flag. “Need something?”

“Zeke?” His childhood nickname pops out of my mouth. “What the hell is happening here?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I really wish that were an option. Hell, I wish that the only reason I cared was because of the potential fallout of having the Amazon queen’s younger brother and the leader of the Mystic’s younger sister cuffed. The truth is that it doesn’t matter who they are. This isn’t okay.

Ezekiel used to be a nice kid. Sweet, even. The kind of innocent that even Gabriel never quite accomplished. All that changed with the exile. The past eight years, he’s gotten colder and colder, until he rivals Cohen for being the most monstrous of us.

This is too far, even for him. This is too far for anyone.

I shake my head slowly. “You know I have to worry about it.” Abel oversees everything. Cohen runs our soldiers. I’m in charge of the household. “Move out of the way.”

Ezekiel lifts a brow and moves back. “By all means, please play the hero for these two. Your concern isn’t required.” He lifts his voice. “Do you want me to release you, Beatrix?”

She glares daggers at the back of his head. “No.”

“Jasper?”

Jasper’s look isn’t filled with violence, but he doesn’t look particularly pleased, either. “No. We’re fine.”

I really wish I could believe them. I move past my brother and take in the rest of the room. There are the remnants of a destroyed chair on the floor, and one of the paintings has fallen off the wall. Or been knocked off, more likely. On the large bed, Beatrix and Jasper are side by side, their wrists cuffed to the headboard with padded bondage gear. It’s designed not to damage the skin, though I haven’t had reason to use it myself.

They both have a scattering of bruises, and Jasper has a set of scratches to match Ezekiel’s. I meet both their gazes in turn. “Leave the room, Ezekiel.”

“You’re wasting your time.” But he does as I ask, slamming the door behind him.

I cross my arms over my chest and stare at the two people on the bed. “Answer honestly—are you consenting to this? If you’re not, I’ll get you out.”

Beatrix snorts. She’s attractive in the way the ruling Mystic family seems to be—red hair, pale skin, eerie gray eyes. She’s softer than her niece Fallon…though she’s not as soft as her nephew Matteo. Being soft doesn’t make her less dangerous, though. She looks at me like I’m something she’d like to scrape off the bottom of her shoe. “We’re fine. Run along, nursemaid.”

“Bea,” Jasper murmurs. He’s Monroe’s uncle, but I see none of her in him. In the Amazon faction, there is always a queen and never a king, but our information on Jasper says he’s not particularly ambitious. He does what needs to be done, but he has no designs to change Amazon culture and take the crown for himself. He’s also got a reputation for being a soothing force on Beatrix’s temper.

He meets my gaze steadily, his hazel eyes giving nothing away. “We’re fine. We chose this.”

I want to argue, but it’s not my business what bedroom games Ezekiel gets up to…as long as everyone is on the same page. “If that changes—”

“It won’t.” Beatrix stretches out on the bed with a sigh. “Now leave us alone, Broderick Paine. I’m sure you have an Amazon heir to corral.”

At that, Jasper’s gaze sharpens. “How’s Monroe holding up?”

I’m not sure how to answer that. She’s so fucking bulletproof, it never occurred to me that she might be having issues. Not that I care. I certainly fucking don’t. “She’s Monroe. I’m sure she’s somewhere starting a riot or setting something on fire.”

He snorts. “Yeah. Sure.”

It seems that there’s nothing else to do here. If they insist they consented to this, then stepping in isn’t going to do anything but cause some bullshit for no reason. I straighten. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“About damn time,” Beatrix mutters.

“Bea.” Jasper gives me a winning smile that’s only slightly dampened by the fact he’s wearing black briefs and covered in scratches and bruises. “I would like to see my niece. Soon.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I turn around and stride out of the room.

Ezekiel is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall and glaring. “Well?”

“You know I had to check.”

“Did you? Because they’re the enemy.”

This is the reminder I wanted, the reason I sought him out to begin with, but… “We don’t torture people.”

“Don’t we?” He laughs roughly. “Maybe you don’t. When Abel needs someone to get their hands dirty, Cohen and I don’t get precious about it.”

“Zeke—” I don’t know how to fix this, how to fix him. Like me, he’s unraveled in his own way since coming back to Sabine Valley. Fuck, I can’t even fix my own head; how am I supposed to give my little brother advice? “If you want to talk—”

“I don’t.” He looks away. “Did you need something else or did you just show up to check on us?”

I bite back my questions. Ultimately, we’ve all made our own choices about how we’re going to go forward and survive. Survival is all that matters. It’s all that’s ever mattered. “Why did you let Beatrix stay? She’s not your Bride; Jasper is.”

“I picked him to punish them both.” He shrugs. “Having her here just makes it easier to deal out that punishment.”

I knew the answer before I asked the question, didn’t I? “Are they sorry?”

Ezekiel finally looks at me. “Who the fuck cares if they’re sorry? An apology doesn’t change what happened, Broderick. Forty people drugged by shit acquired by the Mystics, dead in a fire that was helped set by the Amazons. Forty people who depended on us for safety and got killed for their loyalty. Someone saying sorry isn’t going to bring any of them back.”

I’ve thought the same thing over and over again. So why am I standing here, fighting with an urge to argue with him? I came here for reassurance, not to tell him he’s going too far. Fuck, I really hope he’s not going too far. “Neither Jasper nor Beatrix had anything to do with that.”

Ezekiel opens the door to his bedroom and pauses. “I know you’re used to looking out for us, but I don’t need a babysitter, and I sure as fuck don’t need some kind of father stand-in. We had a father, Broderick. He was a piece of shit. We’re all adults now, so stop worrying about us and mind your own Bride.”

Monroe. My Bride. The enemy.