Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“I went down there.” He looked me straight in the eye while he said it. “And I was going to do it. I really thought I was. I kept telling myself over and over it was about honor. Family. Blood. But when I saw the fucking mangled bodies inside, I vomited all over the place.”
“Jesus, Brayden!” My entire body shook. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He didn’t answer me. He just kept talking, in the same flat tone, staring off into the kitchen.
“I put the gun right between Jacob Lockhart’s eyes. He looked at me like he didn’t understand. He had no fucking clue why this was happening. He was bleeding all over the place, and the little girl next to him made some kind of weird gurgling noise. And I couldn’t handle it. So I shot five rounds into the forest and walked away. I figured they were going to die anyway. And if they didn’t, then I knew Frankie would kill me. But I didn’t care.”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God….”
I ran to the kitchen and vomited up the meager contents of my stomach. Everything in my body burned. Everything in my world was falling apart, and it felt like it was my fault somehow. The only thing I could think of was Ryland. Of what he had gone through because of Frankie. And whether I wanted to admit it or not, but because of Brayden too.
I rinsed my mouth out and slid down onto the floor, clutching my arms around my knees as I stared at the dingy tile. Brayden kept talking, as though he needed to purge himself of the details, regardless of whether I listened or not.
“When the news reported that Michael Lockhart had lived, I never heard from Frankie again. The cops found his body a couple days later, in a dumpster in Chicago. And the evidence trail led back to me. They knew I fired the bullets they found there, but they didn’t know why. I wouldn’t tell them. So they pinned me with a drunk driving charge instead, and I never said otherwise. Neither did Michael Lockhart. I was sure Frankie’s boss would come after me. It didn’t matter what happened in court because I would die one way or another.”
“Then one day, Jacob showed up. He told me that Michael had handed himself over to Frankie’s boss, along with the money he owed to spare Jacob’s life. He wanted me dead, and he made it a point to let me know. But he told me he was going to take pleasure in destroying my life first. He said that I’d had the chance to kill him, and he would make certain I regretted that decision every day for the rest of my life. When the coroner’s report came back, and they upgraded the charges, I was fucked. I couldn’t do anything but take the fall if I wanted you and Norma to live, and Jacob knew it too.”
“That isn’t fair, Brayden,” I croaked. “Don’t make it sound like you did this for me and Norma. You did this for you. You chose to go out with Frankie that day. You chose not to call an ambulance… to let that little girl suffer. What you did was wrong, and you knew it too. You went to prison because you wanted to punish yourself.”
Brayden shot me a glare that would have withered me any other day. But I had nothing left to give anymore. Every tear had already been purged from my body, and every ounce of emotion completely dried up. All that remained was the harshness of reality.
“And what would have happened if I wasn’t there that day?” he laughed hollowly. “Your precious fucking Ryland would be dead, Brighton. But you know what, now that you mention it, I wish I wasn’t there. Because then he’d be rotting in hell where he belongs.”
“You don’t even know him,” I snarled. “And you’re full of shit. You can’t possibly think what happened was justified. Frankie murdered that entire family, Brayden! And for what, some money?”
“I didn’t know,” he snapped. “And I didn’t fucking care. I was only thinking of Frankie. Of how I wanted my old man to be proud of me.”
The callousness in his words gutted me. Because when I looked into his eyes, I didn’t see my brother anymore. I saw a stranger. He believed what he said, even though I didn’t.
“You mean you wanted to be like him,” I accused. “A low life fucking criminal?”
“Why not, Brighton?” He threw out his hands and shot me a scathing look. “What the fuck else am I gonna’ do? Live in this shit hole for the rest of my life? Frankie said he lived like a king, and yeah, I’ll admit it, I wanted a piece of that too. I wanted something better than this life.”