And I Love You the Most (This Love Hurts 3)

Cody’s mouth parts, his bottom lip quivering with anger, but it’s just as quickly shut, snapping and offering me nothing but silence. Turning his head to stare straight ahead, his eyes focused on the sofa as if someone lays there across from him, his eyes gloss over and he murmurs, “Fuck you.” He doesn’t move his gaze as he picks up the tumbler once again.

I can imagine what he sees, what holds his attention. The memories of her, lying on his sofa. He took her there once. All I did was watch as he held her.

I could have been the one to have her.

Instead neither of us do.

I’m reminded of my mantra and the reason why I left her with him. Bad men always lose. I was always going to lose her. It seemed justified to let him have her.

But he’s just as corrupt as I am. They all are. The ones who find sanctuary in the day and the righteousness. All of us are bad men. It’s just to what degree we share that piece of us.

This isn’t how I pictured the reunion with my brother. My hands aren’t wrapped around his throat, squeezing the life from him as he begs for mercy. He doesn’t blame me as I imagined either.

A part of me knew he wouldn’t beg, but I expected hatred in the same dose as I feel toward him. Some part of me still capable of feeling guilt and remorse is aware that he must blame me.

Perhaps it’s because I feel it too. Whoever took her … there’s a very strong chance that it’s because of one of us.

Just as the words I repeated over and over on the drive here are tasted on my lips, the accusations and spiteful truths, I’m silenced by his phone.

He’s faster than I am, reaching for it as if doing so is enough to save her.

My pulse races as he furiously types back. I could look to see who it is and what was sent; instead I wait, unable to move. It’s the fear, I know it is, that keeps me from breathing. It paralyzes me. Either it’s something that will help find her, or it’s nothing.

I would rather live in this moment of hope, but isn’t that what fear is. You must be consumed with fear, to have even a glimmer of hope. It’s been so long since I’ve felt such things pierce their talons through my flesh and bones.

“There’s movement on Ross Brass.”

It’s an odd thing, hope. It flickers and leaves me with distrust.

Before I dare to question, Cody adds, “He’s sending the information now.” My brother anxiously taps his thumb against the side of his cell phone. He sways for a moment and at first I think it’s the alcohol, but then I realize the fool hasn’t slept in the least. I’ve lived off short hours scattered through the hours since I was nine years old, since I was trapped in that cell.

Instead of questioning his current sanity, I ask the more important question, “Who sent it? Is Brass the one who has her?” His name is one of several I’d put on my list of suspects. As far as I knew, though, he hadn’t used his phones or credit cards. He has no associates in the vicinity. Facial recognition from the precinct hadn’t pinned him or anyone else from my list in a ten-mile radius from Cadence’s place.

Angered that he has a lead, our only lead, and I didn’t know it first, I press for more. “Who’s giving you this intel?”

My question brings his gaze to mine. “Evan, a member of my team. We’ve been keeping an eye on him since the threatening note that was left at her place.” Herman’s face shows clearly in my memory. Narrowing down a fine line of men, all threaded together with blue ink that connects their violent acts and greed, names appear in my mind. Lists of names. So many of them, but at the very top are Brass, Reynolds … and Talvery. The crime boss who relies on Reynolds for the laundering. The one who’s unknowingly funded and backed the series of depraved transgressions. I fixate on a series of potential events, each one falling like dominoes. I move pieces and play out the game, but I can’t focus. With every thump of my heart, her gorgeous face, her warm touch, and her perfect lips interrupt my thoughts.

Walsh and his partner type away. Messages coming and going as I wait, allowing myself to remember, allowing a warmth of memory to keep the hope burning inside. It’s weakness, but that’s exactly what she is to me.

“His movement puts him an hour away.” Cody speaks up as he reads through whatever it is that Evan Aldaine sent him. “It’s not his stomping ground.”