BLURRY | SPRINA

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jasper sat on the edge of the leather couch in the dimly lit study, elbows on his knees, a tumbler of whiskey untouched in his hands. The room smelled of old books, leather, and faint traces of cigar smoke—Damien's usual choice when he spent too much time brooding. Rain tapped against the windowpane, a steady rhythm that filled the silence between them.

Across from him, Damien leaned against the heavy oak desk, arms crossed, his own drink half-empty. He hadn't said much, just poured them both whiskey and waited. That was Damien's way—letting the quiet stretch until Jasper caved under the weight of his own thoughts.

Jasper finally exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the glass. "Puerto Rico was a goddamn setup."

Damien didn't flinch, just took another slow sip, watching him carefully. "Figured as much."

Jasper dragged a hand down his face, leaning back against the couch. "We barely got out of there alive. One wrong move, and we'd be lying in some ditch, feeding the flies." His jaw clenched, frustration lacing every word. "This shit is only going to get worse."

Damien nodded, unfazed. "It always does."

Jasper let out a bitter chuckle. "You're real comforting, you know that?"

Damien pushed off the desk, walking over until he stood in front of his younger brother. "What do you want me to say? That we pack it up and walk away? That ain't how this works, Jas. You know that."

Jasper didn't respond, just stared at the untouched whiskey in his hands.

Damien studied him for a long moment, then scoffed. "Alright, enough bullshit. What's really eating at you? The hit? Or something else?"

Jasper shot him a look, but Damien wasn't backing off. He never did.

"You keep talking about this war, but your head's somewhere else," Damien pressed. "So, tell me, is this about the business? Or is this about her?"

Jasper stiffened. The words hit harder than he expected.

"Does it matter?" he muttered, knowing damn well it did.

Damien smirked. "If you have to ask, then yeah, it does."

Jasper set the whiskey down, running a hand through his hair. "Trina walked away. Just...turned her back like I never meant a damn thing." His voice was rougher now, edged with something raw and unfiltered. "I shouldn't care. I shouldn't even be thinking about her. But I can't turn it off."

Damien exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You need to turn it off. She made her choice, Jasper. And you're out here getting sentimental?" He scoffed. "That's not who we are. You know that."

Jasper let out a humorless laugh. "Who we are?" He met his brother's gaze. "And what's that, Damien? A couple of bastards chasing ghosts and revenge? Always looking over our shoulders? Fighting wars we didn't even start?"

Damien's expression darkened. "That's the life, Jasper. And you knew that before she ever came along."

Jasper didn't respond right away. The weight of everything pressed against him—Puerto Rico, the bodies they left behind, the blood on his hands. And then there was Trina. The one thing that had ever felt like it could be different, better, gone without looking back.

Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. "I know."

Damien clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. "Then act like it."

Jasper nodded, but even as he threw back the whiskey in one gulp, the ache in his chest didn't fade.

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