Fighting For Light: A Dark Sports Romance (The Coldwell Brothers)

47. Kai

I watch Cordelia go up the stairs and take a deep breath. She killed someone, and it probably hasn’t set in yet. I’m more afraid of what will happen when it does. I’m worried about her because she doesn’t need this kind of stress, yet it came to our front door.

“Don’t move,” I hear Liam yell from the dining room. One of them is still alive, but Liam has him tied up. The man stops struggling under Liam’s weight and glares at me.

“I knocked him out on purpose. I have questions.”

The man’s eyes narrow even more so. It’s taking everything in me not to shoot him in the face for coming into my house and threatening my wife and child.

“Dude, can you get a shirt? This is not Hooters. Put those away,” he says, nodding to my chest. I roll my eyes, ignoring my little brother.

“Two, you need to see this,” Emerson says, walking into the dining room. He holds up a phone with a message thread on a burner.

I want proof when you’re done, and it better be clean.

I can only assume my father and the Costas are responsible for this. My only question is whether they were here for Cordi or me and to what end?

“Gag him and tie him up. He’s coming with us,” Emerson says to Liam. He nods and gets the man on his feet, resting the barrel of his gun on the man’s temple.

“Move, and I will shoot you through your jaw. You’ll survive, and I’ll make you wish you didn’t.”

The man glares at Liam but cooperates.

We get the other two bodies in Emerson’s truck, then Liam and I clean the place up the best we can. In other words, if the police come around, we don’t give them any reason to look further.

Emerson stalks back into the house and holds up his phone. “Get Cordelia. We need to leave now. They went after Mom. She was at the beach house in Malibu. She’s fine. The security team took them down, save one.”

“This was coordinated,” I mumble. Nervousness, fear, and anger feel like they are ripping me apart from the inside. They went after my mother. They came for my wife and child. What the hell does he think we’re going to do? Sit down and take it?

Emerson squats down and picks up a few pieces of my crushed coffee table that we missed. “Come on,” he grunts. I nod, studying the hallway and making sure it looks good. Once it feels okay, I run up the stairs to find Cordelia sitting on the bed with two bags stuffed full of clothes, staring at her hands. I slip into our closet and grab a shirt, pulling it over my head before approaching her.

“Gem?” I say gently, knowing we need to hurry. She looks up at me with tears in her eyes.

“Kai? What have I done?” she cries.

I sit next to her, knowing we need to go, but the reality has set in. I’m surprised it took this long. I grab her hands and kiss each of her fingers. I know all she sees is blood on them, even though they are spotless. Unfortunately, I have plenty of experience in this realm. Each of my brothers does. For Emerson, it was me or him. For Liam, it was stain Emerson’s soul even more or stain his own. He chose to ease the burden for Em. For me, it was my little brother or him. It wasn’t a debate in my mind, and I’d do it again, just like the others under a tarp in Emerson’s truck. I’d do it again, and I stopped asking what kind of man that makes me.

“You did what you had to do. It was me or him, and you chose me. Thanks, by the way.” I kiss her cheek and taste her tears on my lips. I hate seeing her cry. I hate that marrying me was the sole cause of those tears, but we don’t have time for regrets right now. We need to go. “Are the bags packed, baby?”

She nods. I pull her to her feet and hug her into my chest. “I love you, Cordelia. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you had to pull the trigger. We can talk about it, but we need to leave right now.” I almost tell her about Mom, but she’s okay, and I want to keep her calm. I’ll tell her in the car when we leave.

Her cheeks puff out. Then she grips my shirt, yanking me down to her level, and kisses me like the world is burning down around us. Like this is all we have left.

My hand slides to the front of her throat, and I angle her jaw up and plunge my tongue into her mouth. She whimpers, and I nip her lip before pulling away. Our eyes lock, and a silent I love you passes through her baby blues.

She lifts her chin and walks out of our bedroom. I grab our bags to follow behind and don’t look back. We might have to disappear for a while. I don’t know for sure, so there’s no point in lingering over things that you can’t bring with you, the memories you have no choice but to leave behind. Usually, it’s not this hard because there haven’t been many to leave behind. This time, I’ve lost count of the good ones. I keep my head facing forward, refusing to look into my son’s room and fly down the stairs. I check the area one more time. Everything is clean and bleached. Liam takes the bags from my hands and tosses them into his Land Rover as Emerson helps Cordelia into the back seat. I set the security again and lock the door behind me before hopping into the SUV with Cordi.

The twenty-minute drive to Mom’s house is silent. I catch Liam checking his mirrors constantly in case there are more than the four men sent to our house. The one left alive is tied up in Emerson’s truck, lying with the other bodies in the bed.

This is one of those moments where time is of the essence and information is king. Fred Coldwell has finally made his move. But the bigger question is, was this a kidnapping attempt or a hit? The only way to figure out the why is to get them talking. Regardless of the answer, it tells me that my father’s circumstances have changed.

“They came after Mom, too,” I say quietly to Cordelia, reaching for her hand. She slides to the center of the back seat and tucks herself into my side.

“Is she okay?” Cordi asks.

Liam glances at me through the rearview then looks over his shoulder at Cordi. “Yeah, Cordi, she’s alright. She’s a little shaken up, but knowing our mom, she’s more pissed than anything,” Liam says.

She looks at me long and hard for a moment before laying her head against my chest. “Tell me it’s going to be okay, even if it isn’t. I need to hear it right now,” she whispers. I kiss the top of her head, breathing in her honey scent, tinged with gunpowder.

“It’s all going to be okay. We are all going to be okay,” I tell her, placing my hand on her belly. She’s seven months now. Time is truly of the essence because this baby boy is coming, whether we’re ready or not.