Children of Redemption (Children of Vice 3)

My father grinned as if he’d just been shown a treasure map, turning to face Wyatt and taking the cards from him to shuffle.

I had to count on him? Ha! He was joke.

He could die for all I cared.

Take it back. I tried to look away from them.

Take it back.

Urgh! Why was I the only one tortured! Why didn’t they understand me?

Mom…I hate this. I hate them all.

ETHAN – AGE EIGHTEEN

“You’re the Ceann Na Conairte,” he stated, leaning against the doorframe, still dressed in his blacks. The funeral had ended hours ago, but he was still walking around like the dead. “You must be happy, you’ve finally earned the keys to the kingdom.”

“Let’s not do this today, Wyatt—”

“Do I have to call you Boss now, or would you prefer the less formal SIR?” He snickered as he moved into my room. I watched as he stammered. The closer he got, the more I could smell the alcohol coming off of him.

“I’d prefer if you weren’t drunk and in my face.” I glared down at him.

He ran his hands through my hair. “Who do you think is going to die first? You or me?”

“The way you’re headed—”

“I hope to God it’s me.” He smiled cruelly and pointed his finger into my chest. “You have to live…outlive me, brother. Because if you don’t, we all know I’m going to be the one to bring this thing down. So let me go first.”

“Wyatt—”

“DON’T YOU DARE SAVE ME!” he hollered at my face. “Because I refuse to go to another funeral for the people I love. I won’t. You can’t make me.” He pulled off his tie and threw it at my feet. “I’m done. I’m free. I’m not joining this death march. I’m going go to medical school. I’m going to live a normal life and forget you’re my brother. You die here like everyone else, and I’ll stay out of your way. Deal?”

The moment he held out his hand, I wanted to punch his face in, but instead, trembling with rage, I forced myself to walk away. I walked around him, ripping the door open, and walked right out. I made it only a few paces before I heard his cries. Balling my fist, I bit my lip. I turned back, only making it to my door before I saw Helen, her arms around him as he sobbed. Her eyes met mine, and I shook my head, closing the door on them.

He was pitiful.

He was fucking selfish.

And he knew how to gut people with words.

He could at least cry.

Me. What could I do? Who could

I cry to?

Fuck tears.

He could cry.

I’ll work.

He could run.

I’ll carry this on my own.

Just like I knew I would.