Page 56 of Fight for You

A dazed look flashed before his eyes. Little Brody licked the blood from a gash on his bottom lip. “Alright. First one’s free,Jamie. I see you’ve still got that mouth of yours. I suppose it’s because we always allowed you to have your say.” He dipped his head. “Well, on account that you were speaking, we’d allow you to have your say. Mark my words. You say another thing about your family?—”

I stepped toward him.

“Okay, you proved your point, bro,” Camdyn said.

I jerked away when he put a hand on my chest.

“Not yet.” Here I was, allowing anger to play me like a fiddle. Lordy, I couldn’t stop myself from getting all up in Brody’s face, beard be damned. “Is this the part where invisible masking tape should shut me up like it did when I was a child, huh?”

Brody patted the side of his bearded face, daring me to deck him. “No. Go right ahead.”

“The trafficker that’s after Jordyn didn’t pay that coward to try to execute me while standing behind a friggen badge. You have those police affiliations, right?”

“We do,” Brody said honestly as Camryn asked, “What coward?”

“Name them.”

“Why?” Brody lifted his chin.

Jordyn slipped out of the car. “If you wouldn’t mind just humoring Jamie. Maybe one of you said something to a cop buddy, and he’s also on the take from Aleksandr Chelomey.”

“What sort of name is that?” Brody frowned.

“Russian,” I spoke up, flicking a glance at Jordyn.Great. She witnessed my outburst, the unhinged man I once was. This, after all the talk I did about becoming a new creation and how I’d help her with the nightmares and the lies that swarmed in her head.

“We don’t affiliate with no Russians.”

Camdyn nodded. “No smiles, no hello, no ‘you good.’ Nothing, Jamie. We don’t have ties with any Russians.”

“Just name the names,” Jordyn said.

Brody lifted a brow, and I didn’t like the way he glared at her.

“Do it,” I ordered.

“There’s Uncle?—”

“No. Not him.” I shook my head. “I … Uncle Nolan saved me. I spent time with him even … after the time at Willow’s.” He’d gone to a few of my therapy sessions. Told me later—once we were away from the therapist—that I hadn’t meant to kill Hector. That it was trauma. An accident. He blamed the therapy buzzwords—disassociation. PTSD.

It made the guilt sting less. For a while.

“Not him. Not …” I started to double down on my retort, protect Uncle Nolan. But then the memories started to flash?—

A Lincoln Continental.

McDonald’s.

Uncle Nolan’s hand on my head.Son, at least eat your nuggets.

I was sad. So damn sad.

Okay, Captain Obvious, you were sad for most of your childhood. But this—this wasn’t some random bad day. My memory seemed to unlock in waves like a thief carefully cracking open an impenetrable vault.

Almost impenetrable.

First, it was the cage.

Me. Willow. Davi.Jordyn.