Page 228 of Ruptured

“Why do you hate her so much?”

“I don’t like small chicks,” he yelled, his eyes wild. “Ihatethose cunts.” He jabbed a finger at Easton. “You know that,” he snarled. “I’ve already told you.”

“You hate most cunts,” Easton replied, injecting as much respect into his tone as possible. So fucking hard to do when dealing with Bash. “Isn’t Meggie’s someone’s little sister?”

It was the only card he had to play. It worked last fall when Bash sent that psycho, Tío, with Easton to help a biker by the name of Roman Mac, whose little sister had been in danger.

So distracted by his thought, Easton didn’t see Bash until the motherfucker gut-punched him and doubled him over.

This entire situation was a clusterfuck. He’d hoped burning the rectory would remove the possibility of anyone ever finding the will. Or at least give the illusion that it was gone. Father Wilkins was savvy and cutthroat, not so far removed from being a criminal instead of a man of the cloth. Once Bash discovered the building had gone up in flames, he’d dismissed that avenue.

“That cunt got her brother killed, too,” Bash screamed, reminding Easton of the conversation. “She’s no little sister. She’s Outlaw’s bitch!”

“She’s Johnnie and Val’s little sister. Yours, too.”

A heavy silence fell in the room before Bash’s maniacal laughter came again. “By marriage, fuckhead, so don’t try to fucking play me. She’s our littlesister-in-law. There’s a difference. And you fucking know I don’t hate all women. I love Celia, and Kendall…” He grinned.

As far as Easton knew, Bash only met Kendall in passing. Breathing hard, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to straighten. His stomach was throbbing. “Have you been stalking her?” he asked, hating his weak tone. The motherfucker knew how to inflict damage.

“Stalking Kendall?” Smirking, Bash looked at Easton, his eyes twinkling. “Why would you say that?”

“You seem a little…fascinated…with her. If you’ve never met her, how can that be? My reports have mostly been about Meggie.”

“A bit of stalking along with her husband running his big stupid idiot mouth about her. The motherfucker doesn’t deserve her,” Bash reiterated. “He can’t protect her. Not like I can. Kendall is tall and gorgeous like Hopper. I like both of them.”

“Two fierce women. Meggie’s fierce as well. You said so yourself.”

“But she’slittle—”

“Suppose Aunt Celia was little? Would you hate her?”

“She’s different,” Bash snarled, on the verge of more violence. “She could be the size of an elf and I’d love her. Most small sluts are abusive bitches and easy to fucking break.”

Abusive bitches? That was a new one.

Easton didn’t want to give Bash a pass for all his many crimes against women, but he’d bet the irrational hatred stemmed from his own trauma and injuries.

“Fuck her! FUCK Meggie!” Bash yelled, droplets of spit flying in Easton’s face. “Fuck her.”

“Bash…Dad.” Easton kept his voice soothing. “I like Meggie. You’d like her too if you’d stop seeing the cunts who abused you in her.”

Bash’s eyes widened.

“Who knows?” Easton continued. “If you work withOutlaw, instead of Johnnie, you may get satisfaction.”

Clenching his jaw, Bash glanced away. It was the first time Easton had ever seen a hint of vulnerability from the man. Aunt Celia believed Bash cared about family in his own way. She believed he’d had feelings for Easton’s mother, explaining why he’d so easily accepted him when he showed up.

“Was my mother tall?” he asked, long wanting the answer to that question, but hoping Celia was right and he’d break through Bash’s unreasonableness. “Did you force yourself on her?”

He’d never asked about his birth mother. Though he considered Bianca DeLuca his mom, he still wished to know about the woman who shared his DNA.

Bash scratched his bald head, decorated with tattoos. “How much do you know about her?”

“Not a thing. I just know I’m not the biological son of the DeLucas.” Mostly, he’d gotten over the lie he’d lived his entire life through no choice of his. But spending time with Aunt Celia, seeing how Meggie protected her family by any means necessary, left an ache in Easton. A need to know more. A desire to have a connection to not only Aunt Celia, but his uncles and cousins. Perhaps, even Bash, if he could ignore everything he hated about him. “The day before Mom died, she told me the bare minimum of the truth.”

“I didn’t force her, Easton. Your mom was Celia’s good friend.” Bash smiled, the one only reserved for his brotherly moments. “Your aunt wanted me to settle down. She thought…” He shrugged. “She thought her friend wasthe one. Celia has always been a romantic.”

“What was her name?”