Page 55

Maybe I’m pouring salt in the wound, twisting the knife, but right now, I don’t give a shit. Let him carry some of the burden I’ve shouldered alone all this time.

“What the fuck is going on?” Maddox asks, his voice low, deep, full of both confusion and a touch of anger.

They would have heard me when I’d raised my voice, but apparently, Madd had been so hellbent on fighting Brix he missed a majority of the verbal beating I gave Kato.

“I never aborted our fucking baby. I didn’t fucking run away from you. I lost the baby when my father’s men nearly beat me to death. I stayed away to keep you three dumbasses alive. And the next person who treats me like shit will experience way worse than my knee in your balls. I am not that sweet girl anymore. I’ve had to survive on my own with no help and no money, no fucking protection from the nutjobs and pervs out there. Oh, and the next fucking one of you who makes some fucking joke about paying me for my tits or pussy…”

I don’t need to voice the rest of the threat. The way Madd’s hand lowers to cup his own dick tells me the words aren’t necessary.

“You lost the baby,” Maddox says. He stares at me, his green eyes growing darker by the second as his pupils dilate with nothing short of insanity. “He killed our son?”

“Or daughter,” I say with a shrug.

I wasn’t far enough to even find out what we were having. I had only found out I was pregnant a few minutes before I’d texted them to meet me. I’d only known I was pregnant a few hours before I’d lost our first child.

Our only child. The thought of getting pregnant, of bringing a child into the same type of world where the four of us grew up makes me sick. I might be a better mother than my damned near nonexistent one and I know these three would be better fathers than the men who’d sired us, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be born with a target solely because of their parents.

As I stare at Maddox, his body appears to grow larger as he trembles, blood drying on his upper lip and chin. He balls both hands into fists and he suddenly resembles his name – Madd. As in insane. Psychotic.

Fucking murderous.

He takes a step back. Then another. And another until he turns and storms through the bedroom door.

“Fuck,” Brix grits through clenched teeth, turning on his heel and following him.

“Don’t you fucking do it, Maddox!” Kato yells, lunging to his feet and sprinting from the room.

What the fuck is going on now?

Following Kato into the living room, I’m forced to stop before fully entering due to the shards of glass from the coffee table and the two glasses that had been shattered during the brawl between Brix and Maddox.

Brixton has Madd against a wall, his forearm against his throat as Madd thrashes against him while Kato quietly and calmly tries to talk him down.

“He killed our son! He almost killed her!” Maddox roars. He looks unhinged, like a beast waiting to be uncaged.

I have a feeling the moment Brix or Kato steps out of the way, he’ll head directly for my father.

And be gunned down the moment he attempts to make his way through the gate.

“Madd,” I say, glancing at the glass then to him again.

He either doesn’t hear me over his own growls and curses or he’s so lost in his head he isn’t registering the risk he’s attempting to take.

Brix is six feet seven inches tall and has to weigh close to three hundred pounds in sheer muscle. Yet he’s struggling to restrain Maddox.

Fuck it.

Ignoring the bite of pain as slivers of glass embed themselves into the soles of my feet, I move closer, reach for the hem of Brix’s shirt, and tug it over my head.

Let him see the tattoo. Let him see the ruined marks. Let him see the scars left by my father’s men.

But most of all, let him see me. All of me.

“Maddox,” I say, louder this time as I carefully make my way closer. I might want to help, might actively be ignoring the fact my feet are getting cut up, but I have no desire to feel a fist or elbow slamming against my face if I get too close while they’re struggling to restrain him.

“Stop,” Kato says when he looks over his shoulder and sees me advancing. When his eyes drop to my body, then my bare feet, his brows slam together. “Fuck, E. Stop. Your feet.”

E. Hearing my second husband call me by my nickname stirs a mixture of emotions inside me.