“Yeah,” Marcus scoffs, stepping around the bound body and grabbing the front of my shirt. “Whose fault is that? If you two bastards hadn’t put your fucking hands on my girl, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
Guilt soars through my chest. He's right. Roman and I chose not to trust her when Marcus was lying in bed bleeding out from a gunshot wound and look where the fuck that got us. I now know better than to question Shayne’s word, but it was a lesson we all learned in the worst possible way. She tells me she’s moved past it, but even now, when I catch her off guard and move even an inch, the way she flinches kills me.
But after what I did, what Roman did, I’d give up everything I have just to make sure she’s safe. Fuck, I would have done that anyway, but now, I owe her a lifetime of service. I would drop to my knees and give her the heart right out of my chest if she asked for it, even if her intention was to crush it.
“Lay off it,” Roman demands, not in the mood to have this same conversation we’ve had a million times over the past few weeks, each time ending the exact same—Marcus wants to kill me, and fuck it, I almost let him. If it weren’t for how badly I want to see Shayne soar, then I’m sure I would have allowed him to do his worst already.
Roman steps between me and Marcus and pushes him back. “We’re both at fault for what happened to Shayne, but don’t act like you didn’t know about that fucking tracker. You know every scar on her body, you knew it was gone the moment you saw her. We should have fit her with a new one before we went to that tomb party. We all let her down. Now stop fucking moping about it and help me figure out a way to locate this goddamn cabin or I swear to God, Marc, I’ll leave you on the ground right beside this motherfucker.”
Marcus clenches his jaw, hating nothing more than having our big brother put him in his place, but Roman is right. These extra moments wasted getting pissy at each other and playing the blame game isn’t getting us anywhere closer to Shayne, and in a world like this, every second counts.
2
Shayne
The putrid tang of Felicity’s decaying body rests in my nose and makes me gag. Though after two days of this, I figured I’d be used to it by now. Nope, what a load of bullshit that was. I will never be used to this. The heat swirling around the cells doesn’t help either. It’s like a sauna of rotting flesh and maggots in here.
The pools of blood kept this dingy cell damp for most of yesterday, inviting all the bugs until the harsh desert heat finally began drying things out, which included Felicity’s blood all over my clothes and skin.
I’ve never felt so disgusted in my life, which surely makes me an awful person seeing as this poor woman beside me lost her life only a short forty-eight hours ago after pushing out a baby—Roman’s baby at that. But on the other hand, it’s decaying flesh, and it’s the worst thing in the world.
Guilt soars through me at the thought. I shouldn’t be focusing on the smell. I should be focused on getting out of here and keeping myself away from her body. I don’t want to disrespect her in any way because when the boys eventually come for me, they’re going to want to bury her properly, and I can only imagine the foul comments and snide remarks I’d receive from Roman if I were to harm her body in any way by trying to push her aside.
Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?
She just died after being held hostage and giving birth in a cell. Her baby was stolen from my very arms just moments after promising her that I would keep him safe. I’m a walking fucking curse.
The thought of her stolen baby, Roman’s precious newborn son, has my gaze shifting over her face for the millionth time. I’ve been in this cramped cell for two days now, and to be honest, there’s really nothing else to look at down here, apart from the bitch who lives across the narrow, damp hallway.
My gaze rests on Felicity’s face and it’s clear to see why Roman was so in love with her. With a bit of color in her cheeks and clean, volumized hair, she would have been stunning. But the version of her that I met was a haunted ghost of the woman she used to be. What sucks is that after all this time, the boys thought she was dead, and they didn’t even try to look for her. They could have saved her from this. They could have given her the world and Roman would have raised his baby and played happy little family.
They’ll come for me. I can feel it in my bones, in my chest, they’re going to come. They won’t leave me here to rot. They’re my only shot. All I know is that when they come, I need to be ready because a move like this is going to ensure a war, a war much bigger than the bullshit family killing spree going on. The boys won’t just roll over and accept it like they’ve trained to do with everything else in their lives. They’ll seek vengeance and I’ll be right there to watch it happen.
I need to be ready.
Taking a breath, I lean back against the dirty ground, closing my eyes to imagine that I’m somewhere else, that I’m not lying next to a decaying corpse, that whenever I move, bits of dried blood flakes don’t pick up in the dust and coat my dirty skin.
My hands hover by my face and I clench my nonexistent abs before letting out a slow breath and rising into a sit-up. I lower myself back down and try to picture the boys’ perfect faces, their wicked smirks when they’re about to tear someone’s flesh into bright red ribbons, their bodies, and the way they make me come alive under their skillful touch.
My stomach clenches, and just when I start to feel the familiar burn, an unwanted sound fills the underground cell. “What the fuck are you doing?”
My eyes snap open and I stare up at the dirty ceiling, knowing damn well that I would rather have heard Giovanni’s voice than hers.
Ariana McFuckface … shit, I can’t even remember her last name. How appalling of me. Have the boys even offered me one? Maybe she took on DeAngelis after marrying Giovanni. I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s always drooled over DeAngelis dick. Though, I can’t say I blame her. It’s not like I’m any different. Those DeAngelis boys really do know how to use their equipment, and damn, it’s some mighty fine equipment they have.
I let out a heavy sigh and sit up, leaning back against my dirty hands as I glare across the cells to find Ariana’s scrunched up face. “Working out,” I throw back at her. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
She rolls her eyes, just as clearly frustrated by conversing with me as I am by her. “I know what a fucking workout is, dipshit. I meant why. What’s the point? We’re going to die down here. Your precious little boy toys aren’t coming to save us, and you can hardly expect that Giovanni is going to keep paying these assholes to keep us here. He’ll want them back to serve as his protection detail. They’ll go at a moment’s notice and leave us to starve.”
I laugh, allowing a wicked smirk to cut across my face. “That’s cute that you think the boys will save you too.”
Her glare hardens and I let out a sigh, wanting this conversation over sooner rather than later. “I want to be ready. When the boys come, they’ll come guns blazing, and if I need to do my part, then I want to be ready for it.”
Ariana raises a brow and looks at me like a naive little child who thinks the world will be handed to her on a silver platter. “And if they don’t come?”
I shrug my shoulders, knowing that’s not the case. They’ll come no matter what they have to risk. I have absolute faith in them despite our rocky and questionable past. “They will.”
She rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath. “For fuck’s sake. Do you always shit rainbows and unicorns? You know life doesn’t always work out how you think it will, right? Nothing is ever a guarantee in this life, and the quicker you learn that the better. Otherwise, you’re leading yourself toward disappointment.”