Own My Soul (Sixty Days 3)

“Eric!” Bran cried, but his brother didn’t listen. “Eric, stop! I’ve got video fucking evidence!”

But no. Eric’s feet were hard and fast, his strength impossible to counter in his anger as he went ballistic at the man who’d torn their family apart. Bran was nothing but a mass of limbs being cast aside by his brother – driven by cold, hard rage.

Brandon was still reeling when Eric dropped to the floor and grabbed hold of Drake’s grey hair, staring into his bleeding mouth as he gulped and grumbled.

“Stop…” Drake said. “I’ll pull the strings on this whole sorry video… send you down to your own hell…”

I shook my head as I listened. Not quite believing he was still such an idiot, bigging up his own power in the face of his destruction.

“You already put us in our own fucking hell!” Eric snapped, and hammered the old man’s skull against the hard tiled floor underneath.

“Stop it,” Bran said. “Seriously, Eric, fucking stop it.”

But Eric didn’t stop it. He didn’t hold up in the slightest, bashing his skull over and over as the vile old man’s eyes rolled back in their sockets.

“I can’t let him go for this, Bran,” Eric said, and his voice was shaking, his eyes wide as they met his brother’s. “He killed Dad. He fucking killed him. Killed him and dragged us along with this fucking bullshit.”

My stare fell on the man I loved. My heart pounded with affection for the man who was clearly torn with his own heartache.

“Yeah, he fucking killed him,” Bran said. “But he’ll get put down for it. I’ve got the videos to send off. We just need to get the hell out of here.”

Eric’s head was shaking, his hands bloody from the butchered skull of the man on the floor. “But he won’t…” he said. “He won’t go down for it. He’s got too many fingers in too many fucking pies and always fucking will have. And he’s got to pay. No matter fucking what, he’s got to pay.”

I let out a shriek myself as he unloaded another punch right in Drake’s mouth. The old man gurgled and rattled with a whole new retch of discomfort.

“Come on,” Bran said, and held out a hand to his brother. “We need to get going. We’ll send the video to the right contacts and trust for the fucking best.”

Even I knew he was talking crap. I could feel it buzzing from him, the disbelief that a man like this one would go down for his shit. My own insides were knotted, hating all of it.

I got to my feet and stepped up to the man I’d been waiting for. Taking hold of his arm and squeezing tight. Feeling like I needed to. Feeling like I needed to help draw a line under the explosion.

“Rebecca needs us,” I insisted. “She’s really not doing well.”

That seemed to hit Eric. He looked up at me and raised his eyebrows, shaking his head at the bloodied man at his feet.

“She was a fucking mess last night in here,” he told me. “Took a whole fucking shit ton of abuse. She’ll need a doctor as soon as we can possibly get her to one.”

“Then we’ll get her to one,” Bran said, and the relief washed over me.

Having him here was perfect. Exactly what I needed. Even with bandy legs and sore wrists I felt the happiness rising.

Brandon’s fingers found mine and squeezed hard, his smile one of utter love as his eyes twinkled my way. And he was gorgeous. Absolutely totally gorgeous.

“I’ve been coming for you,” he said. “I was as quick as I could be, I’m sorry it took so long.”

I pressed my forehead to his shoulder, smiling bright. “I’m just grateful you came,” I whispered. “I was desperate to see you. Desperate to hear your voice. Desperate for anything.”

The wolf was a gurgling mess on the tiles staring up at us, his eyes misty but filled with spite as he glared in our direction.

“You’ll both pay for this…” he spluttered, and Eric landed another foot in his ribs at the sound.

It gave me a shiver, the threat, knowing full well a man like Drake could send anyone after us. Anyone on a mission to do any terrible bidding.

“You’ll pay for killing our fucking father,” Eric spat right back at him, and landed an elbow to the man’s cheekbone, but still Bran cursed under his breath, telling his brother to stand back from it.

Until the door opened at the far end of the dungeon.

Brandon pushed me behind him, his hand still tight in mine as a tall, broad guy walked on through with a security guard either side of him.

My eyes squinted as I recognised him. Truly recognised him. Not from up here or down south. Not from being someone in this space that I’d passed on my way to the dressing room, or stumbled across in the dungeon.