Chapter 29
Ethan
“We know we fucked up,” I say to Annabelle, going to her. “We know. But right now, it’s us or him.”
“That isn’t a choice,” she says. “It’s hell.”
“Is it? You don’t know hell, Annabelle. You don’t know what it’s like to grow up with that man.
” I kneel on the rug in front of her. I need her to see the conviction in my eyes.
She is trembling. My brothers stand behind me, but right now, my voice is the only thing that can bridge the gap between her terror and our truth.
“He didn’t just kill our mother, Annabelle. He destroyed every bit of light in our house. He tried to craft us into versions of himself. We spent our entire lives learning how to be the opposite of him while using the very skills he forced upon us to stay alive.”
She pulls her legs closer to her chest. Her blue eyes are wide. “You lied. You let me sleep in a bed with the sons of a killer.”
“I let you sleep in a bed with the only men who will give their lives to keep you breathing.” I reach out, my hand hovering near her knee.
I want to anchor her. I want to pull her back into the safety of our orbit.
“Do you see now why we want you? Why we need you? Why you caught our attention and didn’t let go?
You were destroyed by the same man who destroyed us.
We weren’t going to let it get to you the way it got to us.
You are light, Annabelle, not the dark. You don’t belong in the shadows, drowning in despair and wanting to take your own life because of it.
You belong with us. We are the ones who can save you.
You know it. You’ve seen the difference in yourself these last couple of days. ”
“I want to believe you,” she whispers.
“Then do it. Trust the fact that our hatred for him is older and deeper than yours.” I wait for her to blink. She does, and a single tear tracks down her cheek. I want to catch it. I want to swallow every bit of her grief until she is empty of everything but me.
“You’re a part of us now,” I say. My voice remains steady even though my blood is a riot. “He thinks he can use you to get to us. He’s made a mistake. He’s given us a reason to be more vicious than he ever was.”
Callan moves to the back of the sofa. He doesn’t touch her, but his shadow falls over us. We are a wall. A fortress.
With a shaky hand, she reaches out to cup my face, and I know she has forgiven us, even if she won’t admit it to herself. “I’m scared, Ethan.”
“I know. Use it. Let the fear make you stay. Let it keep you close to the only men who can keep him away.”
“You’re going to kill your own father,” she says, but it’s not an accusation. It’s a fact.
“Yes.”
“I want to help, but I’m exhausted, Ethan. All the lies, all the grief, all the trying to be normal when all I want to do is cry and live under the duvet. Help me.”
The last two words are whispered, and it fucking breaks my heart. I drag her towards me, crushing her. “We will, Tinks. All of us. You will never be alone again. We won’t let you grow tired of living, and we will never lie to you again. I will cut out my own heart and serve it to you if I do.”
“Eww,” she snorts between sobs. “That’s gross.”
“It’s true.”
“We can leave the gory declarations. I only need the promise.”
“You have it.”
“You have it,” Aidan says, dropping next to her.
Callan sits on her other side and, to my utter shock, places his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her away from me to him.
He wraps his arms around her and sniffs her hair like a weirdo, but it’s a sight I never thought I’d see.
I always wondered how he’d fit in with her.
I guess he figured it out. “You have all of our word that we will never lie to you again. We never wanted to. We were misguided in trying to protect you from us, but that was wrong. We are a unit. We should never have tried to separate.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself. We are a closed circle now, a singular entity bound by blood and a shared hatred for the man who ruined us. Callan is the one who avoids contact, yet he is the one anchoring her.
“Get some rest,” I say. My voice is steady. “This has been a lot to process.”
Annabelle looks at me. Her eyes are still wet, but the terror has turned into a dull, aching exhaustion. She is done fighting the inevitable. She is done being the victim. “Take me to your room,” she says.
It’s a test and one that I will willingly pass. It was always the plan to have her in my space. The main bedroom is big enough for all of us. It’s been waiting for her. “Come,” I say, standing up and taking her hand.
She rises slowly, like every limb weighs too much, and lets me guide her down the hallway.
My room is at the end. Ours now. I open the door and take her inside. The space is dim, cool, controlled. Dark bedding. Clean lines. Floor-to-ceiling curtains drawn over the city. Nothing out of place. Nothing accidental. I keep it that way because order is easier than memory.
Annabelle stops just inside and looks around. “This is very you.”
“Obsessive and expensive?”
“Cold,” she says, then glances at me. “Not in a bad way. Just... clean.”
“He’s a germaphobe,” Aidan says, entering behind her.
Callan follows last and locks the door. The quiet click lands in the room like a vow.
Annabelle hears it too. Her shoulders tense.
I move in front of her and slide my fingers under her chin. “You asked to come here. No one’s trapping you more than the situation already has.”
Her eyes search mine. “That isn’t exactly comforting.”
“It’s honest.”
She exhales through her nose. “Right. Your favourite thing.”
“My favourite thing is you,” I reply.
That gets a tired look from her, but some of the strain around her mouth eases. I take it and keep moving.
“Sit down,” I say, guiding her to the bed.
She does, lowering herself onto the edge with a softness that doesn’t match the storm in her eyes. She looks small against the dark duvet, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, hands twisted in her lap. Worn out. Frightened. Still here.
That matters more than anything.
Aidan goes to the drinks cabinet in the corner and pours water. Callan stays by the door for a second, listening, every line of him alert. Then he moves to the window and parts the curtain by an inch.
I kneel in front of her again. I prefer this angle with Annabelle. It puts me close enough to read every flicker across her face.
“You need sleep,” I murmur.
“I need my brain to stop.” She looks past me, then back. “Is he still down there?”
“Probably.”
Her throat works. “You say that like it’s nothing.”
“It isn’t nothing.” I keep my tone level. “It’s just not changing what happens next.”
“And what happens next?”
“We keep you safe. We draw him out. Then we end it.”
Aidan brings the glass over and places it in her hands. “Drink.”
She obeys because we are thinking for her. Telling her what to do and when. This is what she wanted from us.
Annabelle lowers the glass after a few swallows and stares at the water as if it might give her an answer.
I take the glass from her before her fingers can start shaking hard enough to spill it. I set it on the bedside table, remove her shoes, and help her stand so I can strip off the rest of her clothes except her knickers.
“Lie down.”
Aidan pulls back the duvet, and she gets in. Her hair spreads across the dark pillowcase.
“Right where you are supposed to be,” I murmur.
“Don’t leave me,” she says. “All of you stay.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” I say.
Aidan strips off his shirt and tosses it onto the chair.
Callan lets the curtain fall back into place and turns from the window. “He’s gone. Or at least, out of sight.”
“We saw him; he knows we did. His job is done for now.”
Annabelle relaxes by a fraction. It is tiny, but I see it.
Her body is so tuned to threat that every small release feels enormous.
I stand and undress, then slide in beside her.
Aidan takes the other side after killing the main light, leaving only the warm lamp by the bed.
Callan hesitates for half a beat, then moves to the foot of the bed and sits first, as if negotiating with himself.
After a second, he lies down on top of the duvet near her legs, keeping space where he can.
It is the closest thing to a compromise he has ever made.
Annabelle turns her head on the pillow to look at him. “You don’t have to stay up there like a guard dog.”
His eyes shift. “I know.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because I want eyes on the room.” His voice is flat. “And because if I lie too close to you right now, I might not keep my hands to myself and you are not in any position to take me, despite my brother choosing to ignore that.”
She snorts softly. “I’m on my period, not dying.”
Her face crumples slightly after the last word when she realises what she said. But she draws in a breath.
“Callan would probably rather spoon his own eyes out than fuck you while you’re on your period,” Aidan states, trying to ease the sudden tension. “I have no such inhibitions.”
“So we noticed,” she mutters and closes her eyes, probably so we can end this conversation.
I slide my hand over her waist under the duvet and keep it there, firm and steady.
“She’s trying to sleep, you cunt,” I tell Aidan quietly.
Aidan gives a low huff that might be a laugh. “She started it.”
Her mouth softens for a second before the exhaustion drags it back down. That tiny shift in her face hits me harder than it should. She is still in here. Buried under shock and grief and betrayal, but still in here.
I brush her hair back from her forehead. “Sleep now, Tinks. We’re here.”
Annabelle shifts, searching. Her hand lands on my chest.
“We’re not going anywhere,” I murmur.
Her fingers curl into me, and I hold still, letting her decide the pressure, the contact, the need.
Her breathing starts ragged. It catches now and then, snagged on the remnants of panic, but it gradually evens out. I listen to every inhale. Count the seconds between each one. Her body softens against the mattress in slow stages, not trust exactly, but exhaustion winning ground.
It does something violent to me. I want Jack dead so badly my teeth ache.
Annabelle shifts, pushing her face closer to my shoulder. My hand slides up her arm in one slow pass. Reassurance. Possession. She makes a tiny sound, almost content, and the room settles. The calm before the storm.