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He’d told himself it was nothing at first, admiration, respect. A whisper he could ignore. But it had grown. Twisted. Become something dark and hungry.
She was Brian’s. That should’ve been the end of it. But it never was.
He stood by Brian on his wedding day, smiling through the ache, watching Quinn glow under his brother’s touch, knowing deep down, he wanted that glow for himself.
That made him the worst kind of man.
Not because she had been Brian’s.
But because Brian hadlovedher.
When his brother died, the grief nearly destroyed him. Not just because he lost the man he admired more than anyone in the world, but because of one filthy, brutal thought that slithered into his brain in the dark.She’s not Brian’s anymore.
He’d wanted to claw it out. Burn it out. But it was there, and some broken part of him had felt unshackled.
He’d taken the boys because he had to. Not to punish Quinn. Not to take. But because she was drowning, and she wouldn’t let anyone save her.
Even now, when she was finally back, when she touched him like she meant it?—
It still felt like a sin because he’d wanted her for so long. Because some part of him had always been waiting.Did that make him unforgivable?God, maybe it did. But he didn’t know how to stop wanting her. Not then. Not now. For the first time in his life, he had no idea how to fix that.
When Dagger got up the next morning, he was bone tired. The shower didn’t help.
The brutal cold rinse didn’t help. The goddamn screaming match in his head didn’t help.
By the time he stepped into the breakroom for muster and PT, he was ready for whatever fresh hell the day had in store.
As soon as he pushed open the door, heads turned. A fist flew at his face.Bam.
It was like getting hit by a sledgehammer wrapped in concrete. Pain detonated in his jaw, sharp and unforgiving, sending him staggering back, his vision whiting out for half a second before he hit the floor, hard.
Brawler didn’t hold back. Ever.
The man fought like he was born in a back-alley brawl and never left. He wasn’t just big, he was brutal. Built like a bouncer who never let troublemakers leave the club in one piece. Six-three, thick with muscle, streetfighter instincts honed to perfection.
He’d grown up learning how to hurt people before the Navy gave him the skills to make it lethal. And right now, all that power was aimed directly at Dagger.
Dagger blinked, jaw throbbing, blood filling his mouth.
Brawler stood over him, a fucking mountain, arms crossed over his massive chest, his gray eyes locked on Dagger like a judge, jury, and executioner.
But there was something else.
Something flickering behind the fury.
Hurt. Brawler’s nostrils flared, like he was breathing through something bigger than anger. The way his jaw worked, like he was grinding down the words hewantedto say but wouldn’t.
Not the kind from throwing punches, the kind that settled deep in the ribs, the kind you couldn’t shake.
For a split second, Dagger saw it. As if he wasn’t already in emotional overload. He’d hurt the big man, dammit all to hell!
“You going stay down,” Brawler growled, voice like gravel, “or you going get up and take another?”
Dagger wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, spitting blood onto the tile.
He sighed.
Armageddon was upon him.