𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘

𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 Aeris by the next morning—enough that I'm stomping through the halls of the Russian tower, dressed in all black, from head-to-toe, and my knuckles are cracked and bleeding on the carpet from my earlier, alone, training session.

I stalk down the hallways, glaring at the room my older brother resides in, and feeling a burning hate toward him boil in my veins. Ivan made him interim leader in Boston while the mob transitions to be under the holding power of the Russian mafia because we killed their leader and defeated their army, and because of it, I'm not given the chance to confront Aemon.

He knew about Aeris.

And he never told me.

Instead, he fought with him month after month, year after year, and allowed me to be a petty, little idiot between them that just wanted her brothers to get along. He allowed this falsity to reside in my head for ten years—and I can't even ask him why because my monster of a father wants to ship him away from killing Liam in the first place.

Like the blood on his hands is those of a saint.

My fists squelch in my palm as I squeeze them tight enough that I split open the plasma-formed scabs over my knuckles—tight enough that the crescent-moons I press into the thick flesh are enough to scratch the surface and breakthrough. My mouth hardens into a firm line while my teeth clink together in a fused anger that won't seem to quit.

Mostly because of the lies.

But also because I can seem to quit my feelings.

My sneakers slap the carpet as I head to my father's office—as I head to meet him and Beau Torres as they're scheduled to return this morning. My mind warbles over to Aeris, my former little brother, and I want to tear the flesh off my face if only to get to my brain—if only to physically remove the parts of it that love him so wholly despite this treachery.

I round the corner.

I'm not surprised that the person I want to see least in this world is sat outside his bedroom door—sat there with his hands tucked behind his back, his hopeful eyes itching at the walls until they fall upon me—because he knew I'd have to pass his room to see Ivan.

"Aeron," Aeris says, pushing from the wall.

"Fuck off," I flip him off, not sparing him a look.            

"Please talk to me—" he reaches out and touches my elbow.

The second I feel his fingers on me, I snap. I pivot on the ball of my foot and spin into him. I lift my arm and jam the flatness of my forearm horizontally into the bottom of his neck. Aeris gasps as I slam him into his room door—as my body weight momentarily cuts off his oxygen supply.

He scratches at my arms as I press deeper.

I don't move, somewhat loving the red that fills his cheeks at the pressure I apply.