Beautiful Nightmare (Dark Dream 2)

Because he was a Morelli.

And as with all things in our family, this was about revenge.

Mine, of course, but also his.

He knew he wasn’t going to win, I could see it in the way he took each punch and almost blindly powered on. He knew it. But he would wreck the utmost damage on my person before he finally went down.

One of his uppercuts caught me on the chin and my skin split under his knuckled force. Another pounded me just under my bullet wound, sending pain wheeling through me so that I lost my sight to black spots for a vital moment. Then, one to my other shoulder, another to my gut.

He seemed frustrated when I just grinned at him, blood spilling down my chin.

Of course, he didn’t understand that the pain cleared my exhaustion and surged through me like battery acid. This was what I knew, I wanted to tell him, this is what he did to me.

But I didn’t say the words.

It was time for the language of violence and it flowed through me as sweet a wine.

I kicked into high gear and finally went on the offensive with a series I’d picked up from Hardy Hayes, the world champion boxer, himself. Lucian tried to defend himself, but I was an unstoppable force. Hatred and misery, bitterness and the triumph of revenge crackled like kindling in my heart. My brother hit the ropes and raised his hands futilely.

I didn’t know I was laughing until the last blow landed, glancing off his cut cheekbone so his head went reeling to the right, spit and blood flying in a wide arc.

I stepped back, breathy laughter leaking from my mouth as Lucian struggled to stay standing then collapsed into the ropes.

Silenced echoed through the huge basement. I never knew quiet could be so big, impossibly loud. It pushed against my eardrums painfully, like pressure too deep underwater.

Lucian stared at me as he sagged heavily against the ropes, eyes so black they were blank, cheek cut and dripping blood, suited body slicked with sweat and apostrophes of spilt blood.

I knew I looked a mess, my chin split, bullet wound reopened and aching, seeping beneath the bandage.

But I felt incredible.

It wasn’t often a man got the opportunity to beat down two demons in the span of a week.

Black, sticky vengeance and righteous indignation roared through me.

Then, something shifted.

Lucian.

He waved away Leo and Carter who were behind him, outside the ropes, and rose to his own feet without wincing even though the tightness beside his eyes told of his pain. When he started forward on heavy steps, Walcott almost intercepted him, but I jerked my head slightly and watched my brother come to me.

If he took a swing, I was ready.

The idea that this fight might turn deadly was a real possibility.

Every muscle was strung taut as a bow, my fists quivering like notched arrows.

But Lucian didn’t take a swing at me.

He stopped a foot away, close enough I could smell him, the tang of sweat and musk of some no doubt ungodly expensive cologne. Close enough I could see the faint difference between the dark of his pupils and the dark of his irises, the sweat beading out of each pore.

I hadn’t been so close to him since I was a boy and suddenly, the proximity made me feel sick, nauseated to the very pit of my stomach.

He studied me for a long, quivering moment and then raised his hand, still shaky with adrenaline.

At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, just hovering between us. It didn’t make sense when I’d been expecting violence. As always, expecting the worst.

Then I realized he was offering a handshake.

A gesture of truce.

My bloody chin canted into the air as I gathered my anger and indignation around me like a shield. He read it in my eyes, my refusal to bend.

I wouldn’t have anything less than a spoken apology.

Lucian’s jaw spasmed as his hand still floated untethered between us. When he opened his mouth, it was with an audible creak, like opening an old, unused box.

“I’m sorry,” he said and the words were surprisingly quiet, soft. “I’m sorry for what Bryant did to you.” A hesitation that vibrated. “I’m sorry that I stood by and let it happen. And let Leo—” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry that I was a cold motherfucker afterward. I should have stood up for you. I should have stood up for all of you.”

The words struck my heart like a fucking gong, every inch of me shaking minutely. It rattled loose the last of the secrets and emotions I’d hidden away so long ago and they all spilled into my chest with a clatter that set my teeth on edge.

It made breathing difficult so my voice was strained when I demanded, “Are you genuine or is this only because you lost?”