I climb into the bed we shared this morning, the sheets still smelling of Tyler and snuggle down. I’m exhausted, my body bone weary. I reach over to his side of the bed, wishing he was here with me, wishing I could take this burden from him.

I doze for a while, but Whizz wakes me an hour later to check my eyes again. He does this over the next several hours, and in the end, I give up on sleeping.

I’m staring up at the ceiling, my mind blank of thoughts when I hear the door go again and I groan. It can’t have been an hour already. I shift my gaze towards the door, intending to give Whizz a piece of my mind, but it’s not Whizz standing in the doorway. It’s a blood-soaked Tyler.

I sit up fast, pushing the covers down my body and swallow back bile as I take in the blood coating his face and hands, over his tee. His kutte looks clean, though.

I try to muffle my gasp as I climb out of bed and move towards him slowly. He doesn’t say a word, just watches me like a rabid animal, waiting to pounce. His eyes are wilder than I’ve ever seen. It’s like Ty has disappeared and Ravage, the man that people fear, is in his place.

I approach him cautiously, not sure where his head is at.

“Tyler?”

His eyes raise to mine and he mutters, “It’s done.”

My stomach twists at his words.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I watch as his body tenses, stopping me from moving any closer. His hand reaches out, but something flickers in his eyes and he drops it before making contact.

Then he growls out, “He’ll never fucking touch you again.”

31

Ravage

I feel numb as I stand in front of Sash. I knew there was darkness in me, a darkness that was so vile it could never be redeemed, but I had no idea how far down the hole I was willing to go until today.

I stare down at the blood coating my hands, blood that belongs to my brother and feel nausea climb up my throat. I need to get clean, but I can’t make my legs move.

Sasha takes my head in her hands, lifting my chin. It takes everything I have not to flinch back from her touch.

“We need to… wash you.” Her voice cracks with emotion.

I want to reassure her, but my words stick in my throat. I don’t want my filth touching her. I told her he would never touch her again and that includes his blood I’m soaked in.

I let her lead me into the bathroom. I blink as I catch my reflection in the mirror, the blood coating me a reminder of what I’ve done. I can’t meet her eyes as she strips me like I’m a child and my thoughts empty as I stand there, dick swinging in the breeze as she turns on the water.

I’m empty. I wish I could feel anger that my brother put me in this position, but right now I’m not capable of feeling anything.

I know it had to be done, but taking his life wasn’t easy. My skin crawls with dirt and I feel the weight of my actions pushing down on my shoulders.

Sasha guides me under the spray and removes her own clothes before stepping into the cubicle with me. Her eyes dart to my face as she squeezes some shower gel onto her hand and starts to wash me with a gentleness I don’t deserve.

I can’t bear it. I don’t want her to see me like this.

I grab her wrists, halting her.

“Stop.”

“Ty…”

“Enough!” I growl.

Hurt flashes in her eyes, but I ignore it, ignore that I’m the cause of it.

“Get out.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Get the fuck out.”

Her eyes flare, but she climbs out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the rail. I watch as she wraps it around herself before snatching her clothes off the floor and heading into the bedroom.

Once she’s gone, I’m able to breathe freely for the first time since I delivered the final blow to my brother.

I want to scream at her to come back, but then I see the rose-tinted water and the truth of the man I am.

She’s been through hell, too, but I can’t bear to have her looking at me with so much love. Not when I don’t deserve it from her.

I scrub at my hands, at my face, trying to clean myself, but no amount of washing is going to clean this sin from me.

I killed my brother.

There’s a special place in hell reserved for me, just as there is for him. Sin’s not innocent in this. He brought us to this place and I hate him for that. I hate that he forced my hand. My brother had to die, he had to pay for his crimes, but I wish I hadn’t been the one who had to do it.

I wash quickly and methodically, scrubbing the blood from my face, from my hands, from every inch of me. I scrub my skin until it’s raw, but I can still feel his blood on me, I can still hear his voice begging me, see the tears that coated his cheeks. The look in his eyes as I delivered the final blow will haunt me for the rest of my days.

As the water starts to go cold, I force myself out from under the spray. I don’t have any clean clothes in the bathroom, so I wrap a towel around my waist and step into the bedroom. I expect Sasha to be gone, but she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her wet hair hanging in loose strands around her battered face.

When she raises soft eyes to me, I feel my heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Don’t push me away.”

It’s a plea, but I ignore it. If I go to her, I’ll lose my composure and I can’t let that happen. I won’t let my anger, my frustration, my despair spill out on her. I want to lose myself in her, but I’ll never take her in anger. I’ll never use her body for an escape.

“I’ve got shit to do.”

My words come out terser than I intend and I hate myself for making her pull her walls back up with me after I spent so long breaking them down, but I can’t stay with her tonight. I can’t lie next to her and pretend everything is okay, that I don’t have a hole left behind in my heart from my brother’s demise. My body is at war. I fucking hate him. I would send him to hell every day for what he did, to keep her safe. Yet it goes against everything that’s ingrained in me. I’m supposed to protect him. It’s hard not to remember the little kid who climbed into my bed when Johns came knocking. He looked at me like I was his hero. Today, I lost that. The only thing I’d seen in his eyes was fear.

I quickly pull on a pair of boxers, followed by a pair of clean jeans. I find a shirt in the drawer and shrug into it, all the while feeling her eyes on me. My head is a fucked-up mess, a jumble of thoughts I can’t sort through and right now, I just need time to think. I can’t do that with Sasha in my space. I’m too on edge, knowing I can fall off that ledge at any time.

“I’ll be back later,” I mutter, then step out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me. I half expect her to come after me, but she doesn’t.

I head down to my office. I can’t face the brothers, not yet. Dragging open my top drawer, I take out the bottle of Scotch I keep there and swig straight from it, relishing the burn as it hits my throat. I knock back half the bottle before I come back up for air, then I tip my head back against the headrest of the chair and stare at the ceiling.

It feels wrong to mourn a piece of shit rapist, but that’s not who I’m grieving for. It’s the little boy I raised and protected over the years. It’s the kid who looked to me to make things right. It’s the kid I always took care of.