Broderick (Sabine Valley 2)
“You’re wasting your time.” But he does as I ask, slamming the door behind him.
I cross my arms over my chest and stare at the two people on the bed. “Answer honestly—are you consenting to this? If you’re not, I’ll get you out.”
Beatrix snorts. She’s attractive in the way the ruling Mystic family seems to be—red hair, pale skin, eerie gray eyes. She’s softer than her niece Fallon…though she’s not as soft as her nephew Matteo. Being soft doesn’t make her less dangerous, though. She looks at me like I’m something she’d like to scrape off the bottom of her shoe. “We’re fine. Run along, nursemaid.”
“Bea,” Jasper murmurs. He’s Monroe’s uncle, but I see none of her in him. In the Amazon faction, there is always a queen and never a king, but our information on Jasper says he’s not particularly ambitious. He does what needs to be done, but he has no designs to change Amazon culture and take the crown for himself. He’s also got a reputation for being a soothing force on Beatrix’s temper.
He meets my gaze steadily, his hazel eyes giving nothing away. “We’re fine. We chose this.”
I want to argue, but it’s not my business what bedroom games Ezekiel gets up to…as long as everyone is on the same page. “If that changes—”
“It won’t.” Beatrix stretches out on the bed with a sigh. “Now leave us alone, Broderick Paine. I’m sure you have an Amazon heir to corral.”
At that, Jasper’s gaze sharpens. “How’s Monroe holding up?”
I’m not sure how to answer that. She’s so fucking bulletproof, it never occurred to me that she might be having issues. Not that I care. I certainly fucking don’t. “She’s Monroe. I’m sure she’s somewhere starting a riot or setting something on fire.”
He snorts. “Yeah. Sure.”
It seems that there’s nothing else to do here. If they insist they consented to this, then stepping in isn’t going to do anything but cause some bullshit for no reason. I straighten. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
“About damn time,” Beatrix mutters.
“Bea.” Jasper gives me a winning smile that’s only slightly dampened by the fact he’s wearing black briefs and covered in scratches and bruises. “I would like to see my niece. Soon.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I turn around and stride out of the room.
Ezekiel is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall and glaring. “Well?”
“You know I had to check.”
“Did you? Because they’re the enemy.”
This is the reminder I wanted, the reason I sought him out to begin with, but… “We don’t torture people.”
“Don’t we?” He laughs roughly. “Maybe you don’t. When Abel needs someone to get their hands dirty, Cohen and I don’t get precious about it.”
“Zeke—” I don’t know how to fix this, how to fix him. Like me, he’s unraveled in his own way since coming back to Sabine Valley. Fuck, I can’t even fix my own head; how am I supposed to give my little brother advice? “If you want to talk—”
“I don’t.” He looks away. “Did you need something else or did you just show up to check on us?”
I bite back my questions. Ultimately, we’ve all made our own choices about how we’re going to go forward and survive. Survival is all that matters. It’s all that’s ever mattered. “Why did you let Beatrix stay? She’s not your Bride; Jasper is.”
“I picked him to punish them both.” He shrugs. “Having her here just makes it easier to deal out that punishment.”
I knew the answer before I asked the question, didn’t I? “Are they sorry?”
Ezekiel finally looks at me. “Who the fuck cares if they’re sorry? An apology doesn’t change what happened, Broderick. Forty people drugged by shit acquired by the Mystics, dead in a fire that was helped set by the Amazons. Forty people who depended on us for safety and got killed for their loyalty. Someone saying sorry isn’t going to bring any of them back.”
I’ve thought the same thing over and over again. So why am I standing here, fighting with an urge to argue with him? I came here for reassurance, not to tell him he’s going too far. Fuck, I really hope he’s not going too far. “Neither Jasper nor Beatrix had anything to do with that.”
Ezekiel opens the door to his bedroom and pauses. “I know you’re used to looking out for us, but I don’t need a babysitter, and I sure as fuck don’t need some kind of father stand-in. We had a father, Broderick. He was a piece of shit. We’re all adults now, so stop worrying about us and mind your own Bride.”
Monroe. My Bride. The enemy.
Chapter 9
Monroe
There are few things I hate more than aborted orgasms. I might admire Broderick’s restraint and cruelty the smallest amount, but that doesn’t make me less likely to crawl the walls as I stalk around the house. Shiloh hasn’t found me yet, and I refuse to worry about her. She’s fine. More than fine. It’s about damn time her and Broderick stopped being so nice to each other. He might lie to everyone else, but I know the truth; he’s not a nice man. Not even a little bit.