Chapter 40
Her back is to me, and she clutches a bottle in her grasp like she’s worried we will take it from her or she’s planning to kill us with it. Either one wouldn’t surprise me. Moving silently to the side, I see her profile, and my heart aches.
She looks so lost and alone, not like my usual little hellion. Part of me hates seeing her like this, while the other part cracks and tightens, my protective instincts roaring to the forefront. Her weakness is a pain in my soul. I like it when she’s strong and happy, and seeing her like this . . .
God, I lose the last piece of myself to her.
She glances at me for a moment, searching my gaze, and I let her see whatever she wants. When she’s done, she turns away, and I almost stagger from the loss of her attention. Everyone else knows, even our guards, the power she has over us, but she seems oblivious, trying to push us away.
I let her think she’s in control and that she could walk away if she wanted, but if she tried . . . well, she’d end up right back here where she belongs.
She claimed us as hers, and she doesn’t get to walk away from that, not when she has stolen our hearts.
It is obvious she hates being vulnerable, especially in front of us, but I won’t let her go through this alone. We tried to give her space, but it wasn’t working, so now I’m going to be here, with my brothers, until she’s okay.
Her voice is thick with unshed tears when she speaks. “Which car is the most expensive?”
We share a look before I point at the Bugatti in the corner, and she walks toward it, swaying as she opens the door and climbs into the driver’s seat, then a sob echoes around the garage.
We tread closer as she sips the bottle and cries against the leather, smacking the wheel with her other hand.
“If you’re going to cry, it’s better to do it in a fancy sports car, right?” she murmurs, wiping her eyes as she leans back, taking a swig of the alcohol.
Kneeling near the open door, I reach for my handkerchief, but she beats me to it, grabbing my wallet from my pocket. My eyebrows rise as she opens it, chucks it back at me, and dabs her eyes with wads of cash.
“Even baddies get the saddies sometimes,” she rasps, and I can’t stop my soft chuckle. Even hurting, she is still able to make jokes, and I know she’s going to be okay.
If killing Butcher will help, I will hunt him down and tear him to pieces and give her his head on a platter, but I know she needs to be part of it.
Bexley needs to know he’s truly dead, so I won’t do that.
She doesn’t need us to protect her as much as I wish she would.
She needs us to trust and help her, and that’s exactly what we will do.
“You don’t need to entertain us,” Zayn murmurs as he stands behind me.
“You don’t have to feel anything except what you feel right now.
You don’t have to be strong here, carino.
” The endearment makes me look at him. It’s what my father called our mother, and Zayn once told us the only woman he would say it to was the love of his life, the one he knew he would marry.
If that doesn’t solidify us never letting her go, then I don’t know what would.
She looks at us with big, tear-filled eyes.
“Let go,” Neo encourages as my bad ear starts to ring, making me wince as I do my best to ignore it. “We’ll catch you. You’re not weak for it, and no one else will ever know. I promise.” We create a barrier between her and the world, and tears slide down her cheeks. She’s so fucking beautiful.
“Let go, hellion,” I murmur, and it’s like it gives her permission.
Bexley screams, hitting the steering wheel as she begins to sob.
We are her silent guardians, knowing how much of an honor it is to protect her in this moment.
We don’t speak, not even when she leans back and wipes her face again. Her chest heaves, the bottle of booze forgotten. “We need to find him and end this,” she states, her voice hoarse and low. “I need your help.”
“It’s yours,” I reply instantly. “Everything we have is yours.”
“We’ll find him,” Neo promises.
“And then we’ll watch you kill him for good. He doesn’t get nine lives. He’s nothing special, just a cockroach,” Zayn adds.
Nodding, she looks out of the front windshield.
“Keep Oliver alive if he isn’t already dead.
We might need him. We need to go to the street to get the word out and discover what’s happening.
If he’s lying low, he can’t hide forever.
He was hurt and needed help, and there aren’t many places to go for that, but he forgets they are my streets now, not his. I will remind him of that.”
Some of her spark is returning, the blazing anger chasing away her fear and sadness.
“We’ll go with you and find him,” I tell her. Nodding, she slips from the car, and we back up. If she doesn’t get some of her anger out, it might cause her to react too quickly.
“Let it out,” I say once more. “I see the rage in your eyes. We need Karma, who is smart, calculating, and just crazy enough. Get it all out here, and let’s end this.”
She frowns for a moment before blowing out a breath, knowing I’m right. Turning, she walks over to the wall where we keep tools to maintain our cars—we have our own team of mechanics, but none are here now. We kicked them out when we saw her heading this way.
Gripping a tire iron, she stalks back to the Bugatti and smashes a back window and then a tire. Her muscles easily swing the iron bar. “Feel better?”
“Yes, actually,” she says, and then she swings again. We let her.
She smashes the Bugatti and then moves on, ranting as she wrecks the cars.
“Fucking useless piece of trash. He dares to live? He dares to attack me? I’ll tear him to fucking pieces.
I’ll make him beg for death!” she screams as she lands a particularly hard blow onto a hood of my newest Rolls-Royce.
I flinch, not at the car, but at the way her hands lose their grip on the iron.
It must hurt, and I can’t have that.