“Who was it?”

He hesitates and then says, “His name was Leo, he was a towheaded little bitch, sharpest shot we’d ever seen. In Leo’s mind, Raven took a place he wanted, but he was too dumb to realize it wasn’t a place we knew would be filled. Bass was already ahead of him, but they were cool, so when Bass was suddenly the one called on, Leo grew even more bitter. He was fucking up before then, but obviously, it took over his weak little mind, enough to try to take our own out.”

Jesus. I swallow. “So what happened when Leo got up?”

“He ran for Bass’ back, a big-ass piece of broken glass in his grip. Maddoc went for Raven.”

“And you helped my brother.”

His eyes snap to mine. “Shouldn’t have had to. He should have called when she asked him to take her somewhere.”

“But he didn’t, and you still had his back.”

Royce glares at the busted airbags. “He had hers, and not just that time.”

“Was he in love with her?”

“Nah, I don’t think so, but only he could say for sure.” He pauses, and then says, “They both came from a fucked-up place, so he understood her, and she understood him.”

“Where’s Leo now?”

He eyes me. “Ask your brother. I tried to get Bass to leave the crash site with us, but he refused, said he knew just where to take Leo to drown him out.”

“Drown him out... my brother didn’t know how to swim.”

He shrugs. “Maybe Leo didn’t either.”

I sigh, looking along the car. “My brother. He’s not here, is he?”

“No,” he answers instantly, watching me closely.

“Did you make him leave?”

He stares a long hard moment and then shakes his head.

No.

He didn’t make him leave.

He chose to leave and didn’t tell me.

Did he feel like he couldn’t?

My chest begins to ache as I stand in front of a car I’ve been waiting to find parked outside my aunt’s house for the past four years.

Bass said he was working to better our lives, and maybe he is, but what a shitty sister I’ve been to do nothing other than wait for his hand to take mine.

I’ve been sitting idle, waiting for my big brother to call and tell me it’s time, that we’d be a family again and build a new life somewhere away from it all. Start over.

Why should I be his responsibility?

Why should he have to grind his ass for anyone other than himself?

Maybe he no longer wants the added weight a little sister brings?

He didn’t ask for the messed-up life we had, and he’s already saved me once, many times if I count all the days and nights he took the beatings for me.

I step back, eyeing the Cutlass, flashes of the day he was finally given the keys, still too young but able to reach the pedals to drive it, coming back and with it, the ache of the blows that followed increasing in numbers.

I never told my brother how every time he’d leave for an angry evening’s drive, angrier hands would come down on me.

He needed his escape, and I was okay with being the punching bag that allowed him that.

I was younger, thinner, and weaker, smaller all around, but for a few short minutes, I was protecting him.

Or that’s what I convinced myself.

Anger swims in my stomach, stiffening my muscles as pressure builds behind my eyes.

My dad told me if I wanted it to stop, I’d tell my brother to stay home.

I lied to my dad and said I begged Bass to, often, but he wouldn’t listen, all so my dad would think Bass didn’t care as much as our dad thought he did.

If I really had asked, Bass would have stayed without hesitation, sold the car and stashed the cash so the desire to hop behind the wheel was never there. My dad would have then used the knowledge to hurt us in a different way.

Bass by going after me, me by going after him.

My hands begin to sweat.

I’m so sorry, brother. It’s time for you to live your life without having to worry about mine.

I lift the bat over my head, bringing it down with all my might, and the windshield shatters the rest of the way, breaking off and falling into the front seats of the car.

I lift it again, taking it to the back ones. I swing and swing, from right to left, left to right, until, finally, they too bust through.

I growl and grunt, the bat between my shaky hands held high in the air when suddenly Royce is at my back. He uses his hips to push me forward until my body is pressed into the car.

His hands start at the curve of my elbow, warning me they’re coming, and slide up from there, not stopping until his fingers are spread wide along mine. He wraps his palms over my hands and pushes even closer.

I’ve got it is what I imagine he’d whisper if he felt the need to speak, but his body does it for him, strong and firm and unmoving.

I let go.

My arms fall like dead weight, but with his held up the way they are, the way mine were, mine can only drop backward, over our heads.

My elbows rest over his chest near his shoulders, my wrists lying perfectly at the curve of his neck, our height is so different.

When he doesn’t force them down, I make a risky move. I give him all my weight, hoping he’ll accept it and close my eyes as blackness takes over them.

He does with zero hesitation.

My heart pounds wildly in my chest, and I attempt to calm it, but each breath comes out choppier than the last, more ragged.

Royce’s arms drop back, his fingers finding and lacing over mine at the base of his neck. He folds them there.

I hold on to him, but really, it’s he who is holding on to me.

I turn my head to the left and tilt it up a bit so my cheek rests near the beat of his heart and focus on the tempo.

I breathe him in, blend into him, our heartbeats in sync.

“Slow and steady,” he rasps.

Deep and full.

His hands release mine, and when mine don’t fall, he wraps his long fingers around my wrist and tugs.

My eyes pop open and it takes several seconds for the fog to clear, and then they meet his.

He watches me a long moment, and at my back, his chest rises a little fuller, falls a little faster.

Suddenly his hands are on my hips and I’m spun around, his body pressing into mine as his features pull tighter and tighter, the muscles of my stomach doing the same.

His fingers twitch against my skin, pressing firmer and tugging some unexpected strings low in my abdomen.

This isn’t what it feels like, Brielle. Don’t fool yourself.

Don’t fall.

He slips closer, his right hand coming up, his knuckle glides up my breastbone, my neck, until it’s resting beneath my chin. He tips my head back, and his begins to lower.

His eyes are hard and focus on my mouth and I forget to breathe.

To blink.

To think.

My lips part.

A low groan leaves him.

All at once, the weight of his hands, the heat of his breath, and the pressure of his body is gone.

As if left starved, I drag in a desperate lungful of air, and his eyes cut away.

“Come on,” he says, a slight strain in his voice. “Let’s put this back.”

I nod, clearing my throat, and with slower steps, I follow behind him, stepping to the side as he leans into the back of the SUV.

“So.” I swallow, shifting us back into proper territory. “Do you keep a bat in all these cars?”