Mark (Mallick Brothers 3)

Not a damn thing.

Ten years on a fools mission.

Ten years dedicated wholly to a vengeance that would never be had, because it could never be had. There was no eye for an eye. It wasn't as 'easy' as killing the person who killed your loved one, in getting true revenge.

In six months, no one would remember us. No one would know why we did what we did. No one would have a better life because of us.

We just created a secluded little bubble to live in for no freaking reason.

It was sad.

But I was completely alone in that realization.

It was the loneliest I had ever felt in my life.

In an effort not to drag anyone else in on my pity party, I just kept to myself.

That didn't mean I couldn't do the job.

I could do the job.

I would do the job.

Maybe it wasn't the life I wanted for myself anymore, but they still wanted it. And I wasn't going to take that away from them, at least not so close to the finish line. It seemed cruel and pointless to do that to them.

Then, well, we would be halfway around the world.

Maybe that was good.

It would be a truly fresh beginning. I could bunker down, learn the languages and customs, learn the area, do some soul-searching and figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Then I could settle down. I could maybe find a good man. Maybe have a couple of kids which was an idea my life hadn't afforded me so far.

Things would get better.

They had to get better.

I was tired of being a wet blanket already.

But seeing as things were just the same still, I couldn't shake it.

When we were done, I would find some relief.

"Alright," Nixon said, shrugging. "Me and Atlas are gonna head into town to stock up on some more groceries before we are locked up around here for a month after."

That was the drill.

Same shit, different day.

Ugh, I was being a petulant child.

These were the choices I made. I had no right to be so mopey about them.

"Sounds good. I am going to go check on the garden, make sure everything is how it should be."

That was part of the drill for staying there. We had to keep up the garden as well as let the chickens out to roam during the day, take the eggs out of the coop, then put the birds back in at night.

It all pretty much fell to me, which was fine since I was in a mood and no one wanted to be around me anyway.

I was sitting smack dab in a garden row twenty minutes later, the warm sun beating down on me, loading me up with some good, old-fashioned vitamin D, and mildly lifting my spirits, clutching an itty bitty chick to my chest because, apparently, we had missed an egg or something.

"Careful it doesn't imprint on you," Kingston's voice called to me.

"I think those are baby ducks," I supplied, petting his soft head. "Besides, Mama Bird is right there keeping an eye on things. No nuggets getting made out of her babies. Right, Mama?" I asked, listening to the clucking noises she made as I put her chick down and watched him run toward her. "What's up, King?" I asked as he looked off across the cleared part of the woods, sectioned off with deer fence, so no nosy critters got any wild ideas.

"Talk to me, Scott," he demanded softly, sitting down in front of me.

"Why? With all that noise in the house, I'd think you'd enjoy all this solitude out here."

It was no secret Kingston liked alone time as well, needing to clear his head, get out before he blew his lid and freaked on one of us.

"You know what I mean," he said, ducking his head a bit to catch my eyes, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. "Come on, Scott. You can't keep it all bottled up. I know I might not be as good as having Mom or a girlfriend around, but I'm here, and I care. Talk to me."

"I didn't want to leave," I admitted, looking away from him, not able to confess it while he was giving me that understanding look. I reached for a weed growing between the rows of carrots, plucking it, then tearing it up. "It's stupid," I rushed to add. "I know that. It was just a day, you know?"

"But you wanted more," Kingston said, making my eyes find his. "I get that, kid. I really do. Believe me when I say I tried to talk those fucks out of leaving so soon. It was actually Rush of all people who told me that we would only make it worse on you if we kept it to ourselves and let you get closer to him. I know they... we might seem dense at times, Scott, but we really aren't. And the last thing we want is to see you get hurt. This," he said, waving a hand at me. "Has been making us sick for two and a half weeks, but it is, in a way, proof that it needed to happen, don't you think? What would you be like if you got a couple more days, a couple more weeks with this guy?"