Unlike in the memory flooding my brain, it is not me holding the gun, but rather my brother. The chamber of the weapon acts as a tunnel of death and promises aimed toward a writhing Porter. Jude appears crazed: his arms shake, eyes possessed, and forehead gleams with perspiration under the construction lights.
Crow, Hayes, and Trenton are all surrounding me. Crow is the closest, his hand still on my cheek from when he was pleading for me to snap out of my daze.
When I try standing to approach Jude, Trenton’s hands move to my shoulders, firmly keeping me on the ground with his fingers digging into my flesh. Crow’s careful touch brushes over the side of my forehead, and a throb pings to life under the slight pressure. “She’ll have a goose egg for a couple days,” he states.
I jerk my head away from his touch to peer around him at Porter and Jude. A pool of red blooms around Porter. He gasps and squirms, hands cupping the upper inside of his thigh.
Fingers meet my jaw and yank my attention away from the scene. Chrome eyes flit over my face before landing on the swollen, puffy spot on my head again. “Goddammit, Remi!” Crow whisper-yells. “Never try to be a hero again. You’re lucky he was aiming at Porter and not one of us.” I wrench my head out of his grip again and shuffle backward, my mind a mess of confusion.
Jude begins moving backward toward us, his eyes and gun still locked on Porter. Once close enough, he spins around, falls to his haunches in front of me, and curls my hair behind my ear. “I fucking told him not to move, but h-he fucking moved, Remi. I told him not to. H-he made me do it. M-made me shoot him.”
Swallowing hard, I will my throat and tongue to form words. When that fails, I just nod at him, hoping it comes across as reassuring in his moment of unhinged panic.
His hand leaves my hair and slams to the top of his own head where he clenches a handful of black locks — all the while, his opposite hand is still shaking with the gun aimed loosely behind him at a wounded Porter.
I lean forward, lift my hand, and run it along his bicep and forearm until my fingers wrap around the top of the gun. He lets go so quickly that I almost don’t have a proper grip as it exchanges custody. When I do have a solid hold, though, I click on the safety and plop the weapon into my lap with a heavy exhale.
Both hands now free, I cup his face and focus on his wild eyes. “You loved him… it’s not the same as other jobs. I get that. But he was never your 80 percent. Never. No matter how much he made you believe he was. Got it?” Jude’s lips purse under the strain of my pressed palms but he nods in my hold.
Trenton lets go of my shoulders, stalks toward Porter, and kicks him square in the ribs. “He had that and more coming to him—”
A flicker of recognition alights in Jude’s already deranged gaze, then a growling wail screeches from his vocal cords. He heaves away from me, lunging toward Trenton. “You fucking knew! You fucking knew and didn’t do anything about it!”
I scurry backward, stand, and shove the gun into the back of my jeans. “Jude… Jude, stop,” I plead, stepping closer. Crow wraps an arm around my chest and shoulders, pulling me back.
“At least it wasn’t happening under our roof. Your sister was raped and beaten while you slept like a damn baby in the room right below,” Trenton hisses, hunching over, ready to pounce. “At least she had someone to run to and talk to about it — a safety net, when under the surface of your roof was nothing but a sea of fucking danger.”
Jude chokes and staggers, the previous derangement in his dark gaze morphing into painful recognition. He stops prowling forward, and his gaze darts to me. “You told them?” he asks with a strained whisper.
I shake my head emphatically. “No… it… it wasn’t like that.”
“You ran to them?” he bellows, fists clenching at his sides.
“You… you had your own problems. Work. Grief.”
Jude shakes his head. “You chose which side of the stands to sit in, Remi.”
“No… Jude… no. Y-you’re not thinking right. This isn’t you.”
He’s in shock.
High on adrenaline.
His judgement is clouded.
That must be it.
“I… I wanted to tell you,” I explain in a rush. “More than anything. And I was about to—” I cut off the comment, focus darting to Hayes.
Hayes stopped me from telling Jude earlier tonight, just like he tried to stop Crow.
Why?
Hayes swallows hard and slides the papers that have been sitting on the nearby crate behind him and out of sight with a quick flick of his wrist.
Lost in the maniacal whirl of his unraveling mind, Jude doesn’t catch the quick blur of motion; the papers go unseen. Hayes gives me two quick, almost unnoticeable, shakes of his head. Just like in the woods at the meet tonight, he is suggesting I continue to keep quiet on the matter.
“How long, Remi?” Jude repeats his question.
I shake my head repeatedly. “Jude…”
A phlegmy cough comes from nearby, and all attention turns to Porter. “Five years,” he croaks.
“Shut the fuck up, Porter!” Jude screams. The wail comes out strangled, but the next statement drops to a whisper. “Five years.” Spinning toward me again, a menacing growl coats his words. “You have been sleeping with Porter since you were eighteen?!” It’s not really a question. Not entirely.
My eyelashes flutter and the muscles in my throat lock tight. Being on the witness stand is so much harder than I anticipated. Jude begins to pace, hand squeezing into the hair at the crown of his head. He then stops, pulls out his phone, dials a number, and holds it up to his ear with a deep, steady breath. “Someone needs medical attention in the bulk storage warehouse at the West Terminal of the PC Port.”
“Shit,” Crow grinds.
Jude ends the call without saying anything more, turns, walks to his car, opens the door, and slips one foot inside. “This isn’t just about business anymore. Now, it’s personal.” He falls into his seat, shuts the door, and cranks the engine.
Before, the attempt to take over another crew was a strut — a show for attention.
…Now, the entire thing has turned into a grudge match.
CHAPTER THREE
*Jude*
My intention is not to stick around, but I find myself sitting in the entrance of the warehouse, idling long enough for Remi to make a choice. Even in the swarm of my unstable mind right now, I understand that I never gave her reason to choose me — not tonight and clearly not during the past five years. Ever since Dad died, I have been lost, detached, and self-serving when she needed me most. But for the five years prior? Guess I just had this convoluted idea that, no matter what, I would be the one person she leaned on through thick and thin.
This is one of those thick moments.
The guy with glasses grabs her wrist and tugs her backward. She stumbles a bit, head swiveling between me and his Bimmer. Our eyes meet through the windshield, but something one of the Revelry crew says has her attention snapping over her shoulder again. In this moment, I make the choice for her and throw the car into reverse. Our eyes meet once more and stay locked while I maneuver into a two-point turn and shift to first. There is so much dejection in her features and posture — curved shoulders, trembling bottom lip, red and watery eyes.