Chapter 25
COLLINS
Sneaking down into the kitchen, I stop as my older sister turns, a cup of freshly brewed coffee cradled to her chest.
This is the most normal I’ve seen her. Dressed in an oversized band shirt and black sweats, her dark hair is twisted into a knot on her head. Our green eyes clash, hers sunken with bags underneath, as she scans my button-down blue striped pajamas.
Blowing on to the black mug, she regards me, silently.
I swallow. This is the woman I saw nights ago cut a man’s neck without a second thought. We haven’t talked since then—which isn’t unusual. But it’s surreal to put the two halves of who she is together. Much like me, she keeps those sides separate.
“You’re up early,” I comment, moving to the cupboard next to her. My favorite green tea and a few other flavors are always kept in stock.
She makes a muffled noise as she sips. “I haven’t been to bed yet.”
Glancing to the bay kitchen window, I check the sun. It’s still dark. I have to be up for rounds, not because I want to; she should still be asleep. “Trouble sleeping?”
Maeve shrugs, curling into the kitchen chair. Unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen isn’t designed after medieval castles. With sleek stainless-steel appliances, cream cabinets and thick white granite counters, it’s a chef’s wet dream come to reality.
My favorite part is the large picturesque window by the table, with a built-in window seat. Right outside are three large hydrangea bushes—violet-blue flowers bloom in the spring and last all summer until late fall. The flowers are dead, but I swear I can smell their heavy perfume.
It’s the one spot where my mother's roses were never planted.
Placing the kettle on the gas stove, I wait until the flame flickers to life before turning toward my sister. She’s so small, sitting in the darkness, holding the mug to her chest as if it will save her. An old book sits by her elbow, the cover worn and unreadable.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, still looking away.
I pull on my sleeves. “Better. Not great. But better.”
It’s been days since Bruno’s attack. Thankfully, my rounds were done and I only had a few classes to attend, with Hayes as my trusty shadow. The panic I thought I would feel, never returned. It was silenced with Hayes’ presence.
Today, I had to return for clinicals and I’m on guard. Though I know Hayes will be with me, Roman doesn’t give up so easily.
The kettle whistles and I make my tea, sliding into the seat beside her.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair. I saw my older sister kill a man days ago in cold blood. The sister I could never get a read on—who actively tried to be anywhere but with me—killed a man and is sitting here, drinking coffee as if it’s nothing.
No guilt. No pause. Just the fortitude of her mind and the steel of her back.
Kinship blooms in my chest. I knew she was Pops’ heir, but I never knew we could understand each other on this level. Never knew she was capable of such things.
That I wasn’t alone.
“Where did you go when you left?” I ask timidly, sinking into my oversized pajamas. At her raised eyebrow, my hand waves into the air. “When I came home. You and Killian ran out.”
Rolling her lips, Maeve sets the mug on to the table. “I got even.”
“How?”
Her green eyes—flecked with gold like our father’s, roll skyward. “This isn’t something I should be discussing with you.”
“Maybe, but I’m not Sloane,” I defend. “Pops kept her out of the family, but he dragged me into it, kicking and screaming. He wanted me to be the clan doctor.”
Those eyes narrow. “I know,” she says coldly. “But that doesn’t mean I want that.”
“I’m going to medical school for this.”
“You’re going to medical school because you wanted to be a doctor,” Maeve argues. “Since you were a little kid. You wanted to help people. That’s why you’re going. Not because Pops wanted it.”
She grabs the mug, coffee sloshing over the edge. “And just because he wanted it, doesn’t make it right.”
Sighing, I rub my forehead tiredly. “I don’t want to argue. But it’s my life you’re messing with. And there aren’t many secrets left between us.” She freezes, remembering I watched her slice a throat and left the blood to pool under her boots. “I should know how I was avenged, if at all.”
She scoffs. “You doubt I wouldn’t defend you to Bruno?”
I clasp my hands. “Maybe. You have to show face. I’m part of the clan. An attack against me strips you of your power.”
“Going after you,” she says, licking her lips, “is an attack on my blood. Forget my power. Bruno doesn’t get to hurt someone I care about.”
My eyes water, but I don’t cry. That’s as close as she’ll ever get to telling me she loves me. Sighing, I gesture to the air. “Then what did you do? I can handle it.”
“Just like I could handle you telling me about what Pops did to you?”
Now, it’s my turn to freeze. My lungs stop functioning, air trapped in my throat. Did it suddenly get hot in here? Sweat dots my brows. Why can’t I breathe?
“I don’t know—”
“Or how you knew he was hitting Sloane and never told me?”
My heart hammers in my ears, blood rushing so loudly I can’t focus. Not quite guilt, but something like it causes my stomach to cramp and bile to rise up my throat.
“Maeve, how—"
“Stop,” she whispers, voice flat. “I know what he did to you. And I hated him for it.” Looking down into her mug, her lips frown.
“I hated him for a lot of things, Col. I hated what he did to Sloane—how he forced you to stay silent. How he made us all hate each other.” She looks around, thinking.
“He didn’t want us together because he was afraid of what we’d do as one. ”
I inhale, cupping my mug, looking for stability. It makes sense. Ferguson hated women—and he loved control.
“I tried like hell to keep you all clean of this. I took the hits so you, Sloane, and Briar would never have to know this world existed. But he still touched all of us—his mark is still here, no matter what I do to clear it off.”
Finally, she looks at me, eyes unreadable. “He’s gone, Col. You don’t have to pretend for him anymore. You don’t have to do what he wants—no one is going to hurt you for being you.”
My mind spins, but I look away. “I’m not pretending,” I lie.
Maeve tilts her head. “You are. You’re ashamed to show those dark parts of yourself.
Because Pops always wanted you to be the perfect daughter.
” Her lips curl. “Perfect. Obedient. He used to flaunt it, in front of his enemies, you know. Tell them all about his perfect daughter while I sat there. Bleeding for this fucking clan.” My heart cracks, at the undercurrent of pain coming from my older sister’s mouth.
I never knew. Never thought of how my survival would affect hers.
That’s a lie. I didn’t think about it because I didn’t care. I only cared about me.
“I don’t want to be…” I trail off, voice cracking. “I can’t be—”
“Me.” She nods, running her tongue over her lips. “You’re afraid to be me.”
I shake my head, wincing. “No, Maeve.” But it’s the truth. I see a piece of myself in my older sister. I see how she embraces the dark, lets the depravity loose and flaunts her blackened soul. I have that inside of me and although I let it out to play, I can never truly merge with it. Not like her.
“It’s alright.” Her green eyes flash with softness and I frown. “I know what the world thinks of me. I know what I am. But you? You’re too good to ever sink to my level. You’ll never be like me.”
“I would. If I didn’t…” I falter, words escaping me. “If I didn’t let what Pops did twist me. I would be that ugly monster he tried to make.”
The monster that haunts my soul, feeding off violence, blood, and carnage. The beast that Hayes saw, smiled at and asked for more. He’s the only one to do so.
Pops screwed me up, but Hayes allows me to be.
“So?” She raises an eyebrow. “Sometimes, Col, you’ll feel more like yourself in the dark than you ever could in the light. Sometimes, you need to be a monster to survive. And sometimes? That’s okay. Sometimes, we’re loved even for being ugly.”
My heart cracks. She doesn’t know how her words affect me. How close they are to what I want—for someone to want me, all of me, and love me regardless of the stain on my soul.
Reaching over, she gently taps my hand three times. “You’re beautiful, kid. No matter what happened. I just wish you saw what I did.”
Taking a large gulp of my burning tea, I let the heat sear my throat and ignore the emotions rolling in my gut. “I don’t feel beautiful,” I whisper.
“That’s alright too.” She soothes. “Most days, I don’t feel human. It doesn’t make you any less deserving of love. You learn to accept it as you go.”
“Is that what happened to you? To Hayes?”
She tilts her head. “When you’re in this world, for as long as we are, it either breaks you or forges you into something else. I was forged. But Hayes?” She shakes her head, smiling slightly. “Hayes rebuilt himself from it. He became something more.”
“It sounds like you admire him.”
“I do,” she agrees. “Not many people can do what he did. I assume you know who he is?”
“Yes.” I grip the mug tighter. The thought of all those horrible men touching him as a child turns my vision red, and my nails chip at the paint on the mug. Maeve looks on, calm in my maelstrom of emotions.
“Good. Then he trusts you.”
Something explodes in my chest and I rub at the ache. Hayes trusts me. A man who has put me back together again, held me when I’ve been at my lowest, trusts me. I want to shout it, sing it and sink into the warmth spreading through my chest.
“I just have one request.”
“Anything.”
My sister traces the mouth of the cup with one pale finger. “Don’t hurt him.”
A simple command, but there are many emotions behind it. Not knowing what else to do, I pat her arm kindly and smile.
“Never.”
Standing, she grabs her mug, intent to leave. Before she goes, I call out to her. “What did you do to Roman?”
Stopping at the door, she keeps her back to me as if to hide her sins in the shadows. “I let my inner monster out and killed an entire unit of his men.” I gasp. “You won’t have to worry about him for a while, kid. I made sure of it.”
Maeve killed fifteen men for me. Because Roman tried to come after her sister. There’s a small part of me that wants to feel appalled—but a bigger part, the darkest shade that she knows about, bathes in her love.
This is how she shows she cares. With actions and force.