Inked Babies (Inked Brotherhood 6)

Zane swallows the whiskey down like it’s water, and coughs. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.

The silence stretches, Zane staring into his empty glass, the others looking at me, waiting for a cue.

Leaning forward, I take a sip from my glass, the Scotch burning a trail down my throat. “We need to know more, Zen-man. More about what happened to you when you were young, and where you saw this man recently.”

He curses.

I lift my hand. “It doesn’t matter if you’re not sure of your memories. Doesn’t matter if you’re not sure who you saw, where or when. But we’ll need you to do your best to remember. Because without this info, we can’t do shit. Can’t figure out how to help you, and we will—” My hand is clenched so tight around the glass it’s about to shatter. “We will help you, dammit.” I glare at him. “Fuck you for not coming to talk to us on your own.”

And making me hurt you by forcing the truth out of you.

“I’m gonna need another drink.” Zane lifts his glass and his gaze is darker than ever, dark and cold like outer space. “Before you twist the knife.”

I wince as he echoes my thoughts. I want to say it’s not true. That we’re just talking. That I’m not a bastard for pushing him like that. Twisting the knife, like my dad—no, not my dad, like Jake Devlin did to me, carving me up, leaving me to writhe in pain.

Guess my mind’s all fucked up, too.

There’s no knife, Tyler, I tell myself.

There’s no basement, no faces leering over you as you choke on the burning pain, the anger, the sorrow. If you twist the knife, it’s to lance the wound festering in your friend. You need to get the poison out, and for some reason, you’re in charge today.

So do it. Whatever it takes.

I raise the bottle, pour Zane some more Scotch, and despite my resolution I hate myself—for agreeing. For asking him to do this. For filling up his glass. He hasn’t drunk a drop since his sister passed away, and now I’m practically forcing the Scotch down his throat hoping he’ll talk.

Christ. Suck it up, Tyler, and do this. It’s the least you can do for Zane. You owe him. Big time.

So I watch in horrified silence as Zane downs the booze and coughs, his eyes glittering bright, then I pour him another.

Because fucking hell, making it easier for him is all I can do right now.

“Fuck’s sake.” Ash suddenly bolts from his seat, grabs the bottle from my hand and marches over to the desk. He slams it down on the polished surface hard enough to crack the surface and stalks back to his spot beside Zane. “Enough.”

“The fuck you mean. I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” Zane sucks on the barbell in his tongue, glaring.

“Yeah, well, I was there when we found you, remember? In a fucking coma from alcohol poisoning, in your trashed apartment. So cut the bullshit and talk, or I’ll punch your lights out, and this conversation will be over before it starts.”

Zane draws a rattling breath. “Back off, Ash.”

Ash rubs at the back of his neck, his pale wolf eyes flashing, and when did he take the lead of this discussion? “You can hate me all you want, but I’m not letting you drown in fucking booze again.”

Jake Devlin beat us every time he was drunk. Hell, he carved me up, and put so many scars on Ash’s back and soul it’s a miracle he’s still here. Almost losing Zane to alcohol poisoning sealed that deal for Ash, so I can’t blame him for being so pissed off about this.

Zane glares at my brother, and instinctively I tense up, readying for a fight. My mind twists, feeding on the past, throwing back memories of Ash punching me, of the others holding him back as he snarls in my face about my failure as a big brother.

Funny how two years of peace, love and babymaking can feel like a lifetime of happiness.

But Zane doesn’t hit my brother. He doesn’t move, although his hands curl into tight fists. “It ain’t easy, damn you,” he whispers, his voice rough, his teeth gritting.

“I get it,” Ash says, just as tightly. “I know.”

“You know shit. I don’t wanna fucking remember.”

“But you do. And you will.” Ash leans toward Zane until they’re nose to nose, until Zane’s eyes go so round it’d be damn funny at any other time. “Because otherwise you’ll just sink more and more and we—I—won’t be able to pull you out.” He leans back. “Can’t fucking lose you, man. None of us will survive it. We need you with us.”

I’m not sure about this little speech, but Zane is still staring at him, his dark eyes unblinking. He shakes himself slowly.

“Dammit, Ash,” he whispers. “Goddammit. You don’t