3
SCOTTY
All that can be heard in our Bonded chambers is the gentle scrape of cutlery across plates and the quiet clink of glasses.
No one’s spoken since my honest claim in response to Tate’s equally honest promise.
I think everyone’s lost in their own heads in the other room.
I know I am. I could hardly even feel the guilt I should have when Tiger looked at me so heartbroken, so betrayed, when I gave Tate permission to end me if I don’t manage to save Ezla.
Yet all the crappy feelings rush in now as I think about how I can’t make myself take those words back.
I can’t live without my Bonded.
Even if I could, the guilt of my failure would kill me eventually. And how would I be able to take care of my brothers if I couldn’t even take care of the woman I love?
Sitting alone in our Bonded bedroom while everyone continues to eat at the dining table, I bring the golden satin clenched in my fist to my nose, inhaling the lingering hot-cinnamon scent with a hint of smokiness to it.
The gold that had adorned Ezla’s body last night is all that’s left of her in here, and without moving from my hunched position on the edge of our bed, head hanging low, I shift my gaze to the pile of glinting jewellery that Tiger so eagerly collected only hours ago.
My grip tightens on the dress as the memories of mine and Ezla’s time together rush through me.
Ezla, Love, are you okay? Just give me a sign. Anything. Tell me you’re alright. Or even tell me that you hate me, that I’m an asshole for what I said to you.
I try to push the words her way, as I’ve been attempting for the past ten minutes, but they meet a familiar impenetrable wall that I’d hoped to see less of after last night.
A gentle swoosh of taalk glides through the air.
Soft footsteps sound, but I don’t bother to look at who enters the room. I’m as perceptive to my new brothers as I am to my blood one.
“I need some time alone, Cooper.”
“And I need Vengeance back, but we can’t all get what we want, can we?”
Brows dipping low, I slide a glare up to find a steady deep russet gaze fixed on me. The way he spoke sounded provoking, but there’s none of that on his face. Not much of anything, really. I can tell he’s studying me, though, and it’s a little unnerving.
“Did you mean what you said?” he asks.
“If you’re here to—”
“You did, didn’t you?” he interrupts, coming to sit beside me on the end of the bed.
“I don’t blame you. Fuck knows I’m not staying around if we fail her.
” He glances down at the liquid-like material in my hand, then away again as if the sight alone is too painful, jaw tensing.
“But I also refuse to let that be an option. We won’t fail her.
And you have to remember that it is a we.
I know everyone always acts like everything’s on you, and I’m also aware that you like carrying so much for those you care about .
. . But this isn’t on you, Scotty. And no one could take on all you’re trying to without being completely crushed. ”
“I’m not trying to play hero. This is my role in the group.”
He raises a dark brow, and I feel like said roles are currently reversed. “We don’t have specified jobs here, you know.”
I blow out a heavy sigh and scrub a hand over my face. Wincing at the pressure put on the mess made of the skin there, I drop that hand a moment later. “You know what I mean.”
He’s silent for a moment before he says, “Ezla would want you to relax.”
Some incredulity bleeds into the expression I turn on him. “In what world are you associating the word ‘relax’ with our Bonded?”
Cooper snorts. “Okay, yeah, well, things have changed now.”
And we both sober instantly as the truth of that statement sinks in.
“Just . . . think about it this way, then—you don’t take care of yourself, there will be nothing left to give Ezla. You actually need to be in working condition in order to help her.”
“I am in working condition.”
“Right,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Tell that to the bruises and cuts all over you. And I’d like to hear you say that in a week’s time when you’re passed out on the floor from exhaustion.”
Dismissing the first part of that, I reply, “We’ll have Ezla back before then. She still needs to train.”
He doesn’t respond to that right away, and my eyes leave the satin I’ve been rubbing between my fingers to rest on him.
“We both know that doesn’t mean anything.
We won’t really have her at all.” Before I can give any more words on that matter, he says, “You need to go to the infirmary. Tate did a number on you. Have you even taken any Avritabs?” When I don’t speak, he carries on, voice hardening slightly, “You haven’t, have you?
What the fuck, man? Are you punishing yourself or some shit? ”
Teeth gritting, I answer, “It’s a reminder—”
“No, it’s unhealthy, that’s what it is. I’m really trying not to be an asshole here, but I have to say, Scotty, you’re pissing me right off.”
My brows shoot up, pain stabbing into every crevice of my face as a reward.
“Now, I don’t like to do this mushy shit with anyone but Vengeance—not that I’ve really had many bloody chances—but you know damn well without me having to say it that I view you as a brother, and I do not fucking need to be worrying about you when I am this close to losing my shit and hunting Ezla and her disgrace of a sperm donor down and making both our prickish words to her be all for nothing.
” Cooper stands without warning, then points a stern finger at me.
“Take some Avritabs. Then we’re going to the infirmary. ”
“Cooper—”
“I’m not messing around here, Scotty. I swear I’ll get Tate to carry you there if you don’t move your ass. Ten minutes, that’s all I’m giving you. The others are worried, too—especially Tiger. He’s not spoken, but he keeps looking over here.” Guilt picks at me again. “This isn’t helping anyone.”
Swallowing roughly, I nod.
Dipping his chin in return, he turns on his heel, heading back to the dining room without another word.
The fact that he’s just given me a scolding like that, Cooper of all people coming to help me, only further drives home how bad things are. But it effectively gets me moving. I refuse to cause my brothers any more pain than they’re already drowning in.
Closing my eyes—or eye, I should say, when one’s already sewn itself shut—I bring the bunched satin closer to my face again.
I breathe Ezla in, attempting to get as much of that hot cinnamon as I can before the scent fades, just in case .
. . Then I get up, sucking in a sharp breath as pain crashes against my ribs in searing-hot bursts.
Folding the dress neatly, I place it gently on top of the pile of gold by the wall, and I go to the people I care about who I can actually do something for right now.