Page 6 of Beautiful Trauma

“Try to push me away like the others would. I know when you’re cut to the bone, mate. You and I are bonded by trauma, remember?”

I sucked in a harsh breath at his words and the haunting memories they evoked. A shudder of revulsion and regret echoed through me. Five years ago, we’d been forced at gunpoint by our degenerate of a father to oversee our beloved sister, Maeve’s, rape.

We’d been trying to save her from an arranged marriage to an odious man by helping her to escape into a new life. When we’d been caught, our father’s punishment and deterrent for Maeve was to be “claimed” by her future husband at that moment. Instead of being able to save her, Eamon’s and my punishment was to have to hold her down.

That day I learned you could die, yet your heart would continue breathing.

While Eamon had lost himself in drinking and womanizing, I’d tried rebuilding my broken parts with love and companionship. After all these years, scar tissue had grown over our wounds, but they were still there. Even though Maeve was blissfully happy now and married to the man she loved, we could never forget. The scars remained for all of us.

Staring into Eamon’s determined eyes, I exhaled a resigned sigh. “What is it you want me to say? That you’re right, that I’ve been working out because of Reagan? That as hard as I try, I still think about her.” I swallowed hard. “That I stillfeelsomething for her?”

Eamon gave me a regretful look. “Despite always wanting to be right, I sure as hell don’t want to be about this.”

I swept my hand over my face. “I know you’re not that big of a bastard.”

With a cheeky smile to cut the tension, he replied, “I have my moments.”

A welcomed laugh burst from my lips. “That’s true.”

Eamon’s expression sobered. “I just want you to be free of that bitch and to be happy. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, boyo.”

The ding of Eamon’s phone brought us both out of our emotions. With a grunt, he reached for his phone. “What do you bet it’s Callum telling us to hurry the fuck up?”

Chuckling, I replied, “Come on. Let’s go.”

Instead of showering and slipping into a crisp black suit like I usually did before going to our family office, I headed to the elevator in my workout gear. Four years ago, my brothers had purchased five floors in an up-and-coming residential building a few blocks from our home base. My older brothers, Quinn and Dare, had immediately taken over two floors for their apartments. I’d followed about a year later.

When we got upstairs, Callum sat at the head of the conference table. Quinn and Dare were noticeably absent. After I slid in beside him, Callum wrinkled his nose. “You stink, boyo.”

“Fuck you. It’s not like your request gave me time to clean up,” I playfully replied.

Callum slid the pile of manila folders in front of him over to me. “We’re short twenty-five hundred from this week’s take.”

Nodding, I picked up the first folder of our warehouse records. While my Finance degree set me apart from my older brothers and their Business degrees, I’d been handling the books since I was in high school. My bastard father loved to goad me by saying that a head for numbers was the only thing that saveda waste of a cock like me. My teachers praised me for my above-average math skills, but my father weaponized it as a way to make me feel less of a man than my brothers.

While I scanned over the spreadsheets, Callum scrolled on his phone as Eamon paced around the table while tossing a baseball up and down. After only a few minutes, I leaned forward in my chair.

Narrowing my eyes over a particular column, I shook my head. “It’s Lowry.”

With a snarl, Callum shot out of his chair. “That fucker.”

Peering over my shoulder, Eamon asked, “How bad?”

Numbers floated around in my head as I calculated the damage. “Considering what he did this week, I’d wager probably six to seven thousand over the last couple of months.”

“That dirty fucker!” Callum roared.

Eamon shot me a wicked grin. “Guess Quinn is paying him a visit today.”

Callum shook his head. “I need you two to handle this.”

I cocked my brows at him. As our head enforcer, Quinn always took care of the torture part of the business along with some of our soldiers. From time to time, one of us would also help him. Since I didn’t have much of a taste for blood and brutality, I usually sat torture sessions out and let Dare and Eamon handle it.

“What’s wrong with Quinn?” I asked.

Callum chuckled. “It’s not him. He’s absolutely knackered from Rian having colic.”