Page 7 of Chaos & Carnage
All I can see around Cain’s broad frame is the side of his head, showing off a multitude of discolored bruises in various shades of healing and a long gash running from his temple to his ear. My eyes narrow, my teeth gritting in anger. No kid should have to endure what he did. Dante and I have both been there—both been at the wrong end of their torture. We wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all a kid—one Sawyer has fought her whole damn life to protect. If none of us had coveted Sawyer the way we did, he never would have ended up with the sharp end of Santos’ blade carving into his skin. If only we could have let her go, but I know that was never an option. It’s just such a shame that Luc had to pay the price for our obsession. If I could, I’d have taken his pain as my own. I’d have sat in that chair and endured Santos’ brutal punishment in exchange for him.
If I could have.
Butcould-haves andwhat-ifschange nothing.
I flick my gaze up, finding the guy from before still staring at me, his eyes narrowed as he studies my expression. I quickly wipe whatever he might have read from my face and glare at him in warning. He just stares blankly back, unperturbed by my glower.
Missing Cain or Oliver’s response, I zone back into the conversation as Luc glances over Cain’s shoulder, spotting Dante and me behind him. His face immediately scrunches up in heated anger. “What the hell are they doing here?!” he snarls, sounding like a miniature Cain.Oh, great, just what the world needs—one more surly bastard who hates us.
“Fuck if I know,” Cain grunts out before side-stepping the kid and heading toward the back of the house.
“We’re looking for Sawyer,” I state, as though it should be obvious. There’s no other fucking reason we’d be in this dump. This definitely isn’t a social call. I’d sooner take a knife to my gut than chat over beer and pizza with any of these assholes. Ugh, they probably drink that piss-tasting whiskey, too. No fucking class.
My words only seem to rile Luc up more, his fists clenching at his side as his nostrils flare. “So you can steal her away again? Force her to bend to your will and mold her into whatever you want? Newsflash, she won’t fucking bend. Sawyer doesn’t break—not for anyone.”
I have to squash the side of my lip that wants to hitch up. My amusement at the astute assessment of his sister will only piss him off further.
“It’s not—”
“She’s my wife,” Dante bites out, speaking over the top of me. I immediately want to smack him over the head.Seriously, man, if you won’t use your fucking words, then don’t talk at all.I see the unadulterated anger that flashes through Luc’s eyes, and I’ve no doubt that if he had a weapon handy, he’d be reaching for it. Not that I could blame him, what with the sheer tone of ownership in Dante’s voice.
“She only married you because of me!” Despite the angry yell of Luc’s voice, it cracks over the words, giving away his genuine emotions bubbling underneath, like a pot on the stove. All it would take is for someone to turn up the heat a fraction or two and he’d boil over, burning everyone and everything in his vicinity.
“I saw the way you were with her in that church,” he sneers, regaining his composure. “Manhandling her down the aisle. And again at that dinner. The way you talked over her and kept trying to put her in her place. The way you’d glower at her every time she spoke. Sawyer’s not some puppet whose strings you can pull and manipulate to do your bidding, to behave howyouwant. She only simpered to you because of me, but now she no longer has to. She’s going to rip your balls off and force-feed them down your throat.” He finishes his threat with a confident smirk, and I have to hand it to him, the kid has balls to face off against Dante and threaten him like that. Many men wouldn’t even dare look him in the eye, never mind deliver such a forceful promise.
A tense moment passes as Oliver, the other guy, and I wait to see how Dante will respond. He’s not known for acting rationally in the face of a threat, but this isn’t some lowlife scum or traitor giving him blowback. It’s Sawyer’s brother, and some part of him seems to know he can’t just snap his hand out and break his neck.
Eventually, a noise that resembles some sort of laugh bubbles up the back of Dante’s throat, escaping through his lips. “That is definitely not what she’s going to be doing with my balls.”
Fucking hell. I almost wish he had tried to snap Luc’s neck. That would be much easier to handle than the look of absolute shock and horror on Luc’s face right now. I dart a glance toward Oliver, finding him standing to the side with his arms across his chest, watching on with an amused smirk. I’m glad someone is finding this comical. Meanwhile, I’m just watching the hole Dante is digging us into getting deeper and deeper.
Luc’s lips part then close as he struggles to come up with some sort of response. I take the opportunity while he’s floundering to stop things from deteriorating further. “You’re right, kid. Sawyer’s no push-over. She’s fiercely strong and frustratingly independent. She doesn’t trust easily, especially when it comes to entrusting others with the one person she cares about the most. Yet, she trusted us to help get you out, so that must say something, right? She trusted us enough to let us in on her nighttime activities.” Luc’s eyes widen at my cryptic admission. Obviously, Oliver knows about Sawyer’s double-life as a vigilante, but I don’t know if any of Cain’s men do, which is why I didn’t spell it out in black and white. “Don’t you think she’d have tried to kill us by now if she didn’t trust us?”
I can see the wheels churning behind his eyes as he mulls over my words, distrust still clear to see on his face. “Well,Idon’t trust you.”
Nodding my head, I state, “I wouldn’t expect anything less, but just so you know, you will eventually come to trust us.” He raises a brow at my confidence. “‘Cause the three of us, we have more than just our love for Sawyer in common.”
His face scrunches in confusion. “What?”
I lean in, lowering my voice. This confession is for Luc, not for Oliver’s prying ears. “We all survived at Giovanni’s and Santos’ hands. Dante and I have both been in your shoes.” I latch onto his widened gaze, searching for the tells. “We endured the mental manipulation, the physical suffering, the beatings, the cattle prods.” And there it is, the flash of recognition. The acknowledgment, the surprise, the shudder of fear. “We endured, we survived, we came out stronger because of it. You wanna know what sets Dante and me apart from all the other Antonellis? It’s that. It’s the fact that neither of them broke us, no matter how hard they tried. The three of us may be a little bent, a tad twisted up inside and well past the line of redemption, but we’re far from broken.”
I see it, the moment he latches onto my words, an anxious hope in his eyes. I see the silent question. “It’s all in the eyes,” I explain. “I know broken when I see it. You know it too. I’m sure you’ve seen it often enough in the people of this town who have given up and succumbed to the miserable existence they’re forced to bear instead of demanding something more. They’ve given up. Society has beaten them down so frequently that they can barely lift their heads off the ground to see the sky above.”
“And how do you know I’m not like them?”
“Because I see the fight burning bright inside you. The forest fire raging. If anything, I bet it’s only building in intensity. Your time with Santos struck the match, but now it has been set to kindling and left to blaze. Not only are you far from broken, but you’re no longer complacent in the life you once had. You’re demanding more, willing to fight back and stand up for the injustice done, not only to you but to everyone around you.”
He holds my gaze, searching, and I let him. I let him see every damaged part of me, every part that Santos and Giovanni tried to destroy, but I also let him see that I will fight for Sawyer, that I will fight for us. That I’d fight for him too. I let him see the darkness that lives within and the light in the form of Sawyer, whose presence stops me from stepping into that darkness and never returning.
I can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on us, our whispered conversation too low for anyone other than Dante to hear. I straighten my spine when Luc steps away, still holding his gaze.
“Alright,” he relents with a nod, “but I still don’t trust you.”
One side of my lip lifts in a smile, and I nod back, a silent agreement between us. If it’s trust he wants, it’s trust I’ll give him.
His gaze flicks to Dante, narrowing in suspicion. Evidently, my speech did nothing to soften Luc toward him. I guess Dante will have to earn his trust all on his own. When Luc steps away, moving back into the living room, I lift my eyes to meet Oliver’s. Something akin to impressed—perhaps, even respect—reflects back at me. While I definitely don’t need his respect, I guess I’ll take it. Who knew getting Luc to warm up to us was the key to getting the gangsters to stop seeing us as the enemy?
Chapter 3