Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Finally, he says, “That’s one thing about that night that never sat well with me. Or at least our version of events. No matter what else Eli is, he was your friend.”
“You know as well as I do that friendship doesn’t mean shit when it comes to power.”
Broderick sighs. “Yeah, I know. I just think that it’s entirely possible that he’s telling the truth. It seems like some roundabout shit that Eli would do.”
That’s the crux of it. Killing my father so I wouldn’t have to is exactly something the Eli I knew would have done. Some high-handed bullshit designed to save me from unnecessary pain. “It doesn’t change the end results.”
“No. It doesn’t.” Broderick leans forward and looks at me. Where some of our brothers take after our mother’s red hair and freckles, Broderick and I are purely our father’s sons. Sometimes I wonder if looking at me bothers him the same way sometimes I see the ghost of our father’s face in one of his expressions. He frowns. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” It seems to be the answer of the day. No matter how confidently I projected to Eli, the truth is that this isn’t playing out at all like I expected. I didn’t anticipate Harlow, and I sure as fuck didn’t anticipate feeling anything but loathing for Eli. “If I were smart, I’d kill him now.” The words ring hollow.
“You can’t. Maybe you could have before you made him a Bride, but if any harm comes to any of the Brides, we’ll have the entire city howling for our blood.”
I give a mirthless smile. “They’re already howling for our blood.”
“Harming one of the Brides will give them the ammunition to strike without worrying about the consequences.”
“I know.” I drag my hand over my face. The truth is that I don’t want Eli dead. I did when I came back to Sabine Valley, but that desire died within the first twenty-four hours. No matter how angry, how hurt, how betrayed I felt, the truth is that this man was my best friend for more than two-thirds of my life. My father might have been cold enough to strike him down without hesitation, but apparently I retain enough of my soul that it’s an impossible ask.
Maybe that makes me weak. I don’t know anymore.
Eli isn’t the only one I have to worry about, though. “Harlow wants us to figure it out.”
“Harlow, huh?” Broderick shakes his head. “She could be playing you.”
“She could be,” I agree. “But I don’t think so. She’s not great at lying, and her priorities are the Raider faction above all others. She’s an asset, and she could be one hell of a leader if she had a long enough leash.”
“You’ve let her negotiate with the Brides on your behalf.” His tone is careful, but he can’t hide the tension there. Not from me.
I look at him. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”
“Only that Monroe came back to the rooms happy as a pig in shit earlier today, and that can only mean she’s about to unleash some chaos to make my life harder.” He takes a pull from his beer. “She’s still spending a lot of time with Shiloh.”
Ah. That’s one complication I should have seen coming. I knew Broderick held a flame for Shiloh, even if he never made a move to morph their friendship into something else. Giving him a Bride was destined to fuck with that, but I didn’t expect Monroe to pick up on that unrequited situation so quickly—or to use it as a pressure point against Broderick. “Like I said the other day, there’s an easy enough fix for that.”
“No, there isn’t. Shiloh is my friend, and even if I wanted to do something about it, I have a Bride now.”
“A Bride who’s an enemy. All that you had to do was consummate the handfasting Lammas night. You never have to touch Monroe again.”
“I won’t.” There’s something there, something haunted in those two words.
What the fuck happened between him and Monroe on Lammas night?
I can’t ask. He won’t thank me for prying, and if it’s not something fixable, it will just rip open a barely closed wound. Still… “You have shit handled?”
“Yeah.” Broderick gives a steady smile that doesn’t fool me for a second. “Don’t have a choice, do I?”
“It’s only a year.”
“Only a year,” he repeats. He takes another pull from the bottle, a longer one. “So the only question is what you’re going to do about Eli. Rekindle the friendship, or spend the next year tormenting the fuck out of him?”
When he puts it like that, it turns out I’ve already made my choice. I don’t know if I can trust Eli again, but sometime in the last few days, I’ve lost my desire to see his head on a platter. “I’ll figure it out. The one person who most deserves to suffer is Deacon Walsh, and that fucker is already dead.”