The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Thirty-Six

A buzzing started up in Fox's ears, a high whine like a power tool. He blinked once, slowly, to allow this hallucination to pass. But when he opened his eyes again, there stood Devin, still, gray scruff on his chin, deep laugh lines bracketed his all-too-familiar eyes.

Fox wasn't aware of moving. One second he was staring at that stupid smirk, and the next he had two fistfuls of ratty old sweatshirt, the breath leaving Devin's lungs in a quiet oof as his back slammed up against a stretch of empty wall.

He was dimly conscious of a chorus of shouts behind him, but all he could see was Devin's face, still smiling, even as he tried to catch his breath. "Alright, mate," he panted. "I deserved that."

Fox wrapped a hand around his throat and squeezed. Devin made a delightful choking sound before an arm looped around his own throat from behind, and hauled him back.

He got free, and easily, but he had to release Devin to do so. A hand caught his chin, large, warm, and with the thumb digging right into a pressure point under his jaw, and he froze as a pulse of pain shot down the nerves in his throat, a warning. He'd been held like this before – and by the same person.

Abe got in his face and said, "Knock it off, Charlie."

He was fifteen again, spitting blood, ears ringing. He'd pushed himself upright, then, heaving for breath, and taken another swing – only to get his face caught, like this. That's enough.

Fox blinked, and Abe looked so old these days. He didn't know if that would ever stop being a shock. His heart lurched and tripped in his chest, and it hurt to breathe, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't kill Devin if Abe let go of him.

"I know, I know," Abe murmured, gaze sad. His mouth twisted into a frown as he glanced back over at Devin, who rubbed at his throat, still smiling. "He's a real piece of shit, I know. But." He focused on Fox again, head tilting to an angle Fox knew well: you don't want to hear this, but you need to. "There's nobody in the world I know who's better at getting out of this sort of mess you've gotten yourself into."

"You are," Fox argued.

But Abe shook his head. "I'm good at parts of it." The killing part, he didn't say out loud. "He's better at the whole thing."

Fox pulled out of his grip, but Abe hovered in front of him until Fox turned around and put his back to Devin. His pulse still throbbed, and that wasn't helped when he caught sight of the peanut gallery watching him.

Eden had her fingertips pressed to her lips, eyes wide with shock.

Albie looked like he might be the next of them to take a run at Dear Old Dad.

Reese had met Devin before, in London, and clearly recognized him now, if the half-narrowed eyes and compressed lips were anything to go by.

Tenny had his hips and his head cocked, feigning lazy, but his gaze was sharp on their father. Fox wondered, absently, what his assessment was. Was he finding fault? Was he, like Fox, fighting a wave of revulsion?

Albie sucked in a breath, made a noise like an angry bull through his nose, and charged. It was that, more than anything, that finally screwed Fox's head back on straight.

"Nope." He caught Albie around the waist when he tried to rush past, and tilted forward to stop his momentum. Albie was so composed most of the time – with his furniture making and his sense of responsibility – that Fox tended to forget how strong he was.

"One swing," Albie growled, struggling. "Just one."

"No," Fox said, firmly, and caught Reese's gaze.