Series: Shame On You Series by Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Back in the beginning, when everything went to shit and Carter stood up for us, protected and fought for us, and we followed him into this life, it was only us.
For years it was just the four of us. No one knew a single move we made. We didn’t rely on a damn soul to get to the top. We fucking earned it.
My grip tightens and I nod, a hint of nostalgia easing some of the concerns.
“Good ol’ days,” I comment, remembering how different those times were.
There have been more than a few times in the past where we’ve had to bring the plans in. Shut out some people and limit who we trusted with our plans. It’s been years though since it’s only been us. Just the brothers. A grim smile almost pulls my lips up. It doesn’t quite reach though as I hold my souvenir from this trip tighter. A notebook, with every little detail the detective has on the case against us. Hopefully, it’ll include a name here or there or a hint at who the fucking rat is. Or rats. My heart beats harder and anger simmers. All I want is the name of whoever the hell set up my Braelynn. The name of the person who let her take the fall knowing full damn well we’d have her killed.
“He’ll know it was us,” Carter comments, interrupting my thoughts. Thank fuck.
I clear my throat and look down to the floor, nudging a chunk of ceramic from a broken vase as my brothers talk.
“No shit,” Jase answers and then adds, “he won’t be able to prove it though.”
I take another look around the house that doesn’t look like it has been updated since the ‘80s. This small town on the outskirts of the city is old, way off the highway. So it wasn’t surprising to see dated wallpaper in the cramped space and cigarette smoke clinging to the worn leather sofa. It was decently maintained for a single man like Mauer. I imagined he barely spent any time in this place until we got to his office upstairs.
It was a mess before we got there, with ashtrays and empty bottles scattered among filing boxes, but it’s trashed now.
And the photos of us from some PI are covered in gasoline…well all apart from the ones tucked away in this little notebook with handwritten details of our whereabouts and businesses. Within the first few pages were hypothetical dealings he suggested we were involved in.
And he’s right.
Which means tonight the house will turn to ash and he’ll meet that fate soon as well.
Better him than us.
At that thought, Carter opens the door and chilled but fresh air meets us. Jase is behind us and the window he opens creaks before he follows us out.
Even though the podunk town the detective lives in doesn’t have a house in sight, we still keep our faces covered as Carter and I climb into the unmarked van.
It’s a fair bit away and all the while my mind races. This isn’t tit for tat. This isn’t skirting around the law and lining pockets. This is war with only one side living at the end.
In my periphery, an orange light brightens and catches my attention.
Jase lights a firecracker and tosses it through the open window in what was once Mauer’s living room before running to the open door of the van.
He slides it shut as Carter pulls the car away. The door thuds, the gravel crunches beneath the tires and in the rearview mirror, the fire lights up the window, the flame immediately tall and bright.
Before I can exhale, the house explodes with fire.
Braelynn
Emotions are bullshit. I wish I couldn’t feel them. Especially when I’m alone.
I almost want to lie down and hide in the covers for the rest of the day, but that won’t solve anything. With Declan gone, there’s not much more I can learn. That doesn’t mean I have to sit here feeling like shit for hours.
I can face the day and feel like shit, too. It’s not the first time I’ve had to and I remind myself that I’ve certainly felt lower. Progress is a silver lining I suppose.
I get up and make the bed. It’s small, but it’s something I can actually accomplish. I take my time with it since I don’t know when Declan will be back.
Then I go into the bathroom. No need to rush this part, either. I take a shower, letting the hot water run over my muscles. I don’t think I’m sore from my short stint in the interrogation room at the jail. I don’t think it was the sex, either. I think it’s stress, which is the worst kind of soreness. The hot spray washes away the filth and every negative thought.
I work at it anyway. I get dressed and let my hair dry while I scroll through my phone. Careful not to comment on a single thing. I only watch for entertainment although I hardly feel a thing. It’s more of a distraction and with it, I scroll and scroll, thankful that my mind is not left to my own thoughts. That’s how I end up spending most of the day. It’s easy enough to click from one thing to the next. All the while, I listen for Declan. I’m all too aware that I’m simply biding my time until he comes back and the time is ticking by slowly.