Page 72 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Devin

I ’m close enough on their tail for them to notice.

I didn’t want to be, but it would have roused more suspicion for me to have stayed back. Stupid fucking car that was in between us had to be a selfish prick and make a right turn and that left me exposed. Left me visible.

Besides, I’m not expecting to get anything out of today. It’s a reccy, nothing more.

Each bend my brother takes feels like he’s slipping further from my grasp, taunting me with the possibility that not only does he know where Paitlyn is, but he delights in the fact I don’t.

It’s a game of chase, like a wolf playing with its prey.

And I fucking hate it.

I grip the wheel tighter, feeling the familiar pulse of frustration itching in my fingertips. My brother is sharper than he looks, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that he always has one eye trained on the rearview mirror.

I drop back, keep better distance, attempting to blend in with the sparse traffic; a passing car swiftly grants me the shelter I need, and I breathe out, if only for a moment.

Then the instinct kicks in, my gut screams in rebellion. He knows I’m here. The way he turned just before the drive suggested he caught a glimpse of something amiss. Every sense in my body ignites with tension.

I pull back further, letting the distance grow, annoyed at how easily he seems to read my moves.

Suddenly, we’re weaving through backroads. My heart races, it thrums in sync with the rhythm of the tires against the tarmac. I can’t shake the feeling that Conrad is leading me on a wild goose chase, that he’s enjoying this cat-and-mouse game a little too much.

The sky is a canvas of brooding greys, the sun a mere suggestion behind the thickening clouds. It’s as if nature itself is conspiring to reflect the turmoil within me.

I find myself on a stretch of road lined with overgrown brush and dilapidated fences, the kind of place that time forgot. The road isn’t even tarmac, it’s something older, it’s covered in potholes. Pitted with them.

It’s here, in this neglected slice of the world, that Conrad’s car slows to a crawl before disappearing behind a copse of trees.

My pulse quickens.

This is it.

I kill my headlights and coast to a stop, parking a safe distance away. I don’t dare follow any closer; I’ve come this far by trusting my instincts, and they’re screaming at me to proceed with caution.

I step out of the car, the chill in the air biting through my jacket. The silence is almost deafening, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. I move forward on foot, using the shadows as my ally, each step measured and silent.

I’m a hunter closing in on its quarry, yet the prey is elusive, always one step ahead.

“She’s not here, Devin.”

His voice is thick with derision. With mirth too.

I can’t see the bastard. Can’t figure out where he’s hiding.

Behind me, I feel a flicker of it before I see it, before I recognise what it is.

Fire.

It catches quickly, it engulfs my car with record speed.

I stare at the flames, wondering what it would feel like to step into them, to wrap myself around them, to let their heat and their beauty embrace me.

The screech of tyres rings out, telling me what I already know, that Conrad is gone. That the coward played his trick and then fled.

I’m miles from anywhere. Even the main road is a good hike from here.

A laugh seems to bubble up. It explodes out of me, and I sink to my knees on that muddy, dirty, stick riddled floor.

Is this meant to be a threat? Is this meant to what, put me on warning?

My other brother apparently knows me just as little as Magnus does.

I would hike for days, I would crawl across the longest dessert, through trenches filled with needles, if that’s what it took, if that was what was necessary.

Unlike them, I enjoy the pain, I enjoy the journey.

I don’t need the easy way. I don’t want it.

The fact that I have the strength to do what I know most men would fail at, proves what I am, what I am capable of.

I reach out, taking handfuls of dirt in my hand.

It clumps under my nails, it collects there.

Is Conrad celebrating right now, does he consider this some sort of ‘win’?

Stupid bastard. I’m tempted to sneak my way into Oblivion, to find his pretty little wife and snap her spine in a far more final way than he has.

But that would be too permanent. I have hopes that Conrad might play a more favourable part in all this. He was always the better brother to me, so it stands to reason that he might turn from Magnus.

I shut my eyes, rubbing that dirt over my skin, relishing the coolness of it.

Killing his wife won’t help me get Paitlyn.

But breaking into Oblivion… that might just be the solution I’m looking for.

My lips pull into a grin as it sinks it what the answer to this is, how obvious it’s been this entire fucking time.