Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
His gaze snaps to me like he knows I keep seeing purple skin and bad angles behind my eyelids. I've seen some shit. Bad shit. Done it too. But nothing comes close to what it feels like to see your own brother like that.
I curl my fingers into my thighs under the table until my nails bite through denim. “Yeah,” I say. It comes out steady, which is a miracle, because my gut feels like sandpaper.
Around me, the others grunt their agreement, a low rumble of yeah, got it, sure.
Across from Beast, Toke sits with his arms folded, half-face moko watching all of us, the other half lined with age and something softer. Old man’s got a stillness that makes you wanna talk.
Beast jerks his chin toward him. “He’s Chaplain for a reason. Not just ‘cause he tells old stories to the kids during a Hangi,” Beast says. “He’s been around since before half of you were fuckin’ born. He’s seen this shit. He knows what sitting in your own head can do.”
Toke clears his throat. “There is no shame in struggle, toku tēina,” he says, looking at each of us in turn. “Shame is for hiding. You bring it to the light, it loses teeth.”
I look down at the wood grain, jaw ticking. I dragged Nyx down myself. Cut the rope with a hunting knife, which slipped more than once. His body was heavier than it should’ve been. I almost vomited when his head lolled and his chin hit my shoulder. I can still feel it. Still smell it.
Light, huh?
Didn’t look much like light out there to me.
Beast snuffs his cigarette in the ashtray with more force than needed, the glass scraping against the wood. “I failed him,” he says suddenly. No theatrics. Just a flat line of words that land wrong.
The room goes silent. Even the old fridge in the corner shuts up.
“Prez,” Frost starts.
“No.” Beast lifts one hand. “I did. We chased ghosts. Russians, a fucking useless tip for up north, Baranov, all of it.” His mouth twists. “Chased my old man’s shadow halfway up the island, looking for a bullet that never fuckin’ existed.”
There it is. Candle.
My chest tightens as the air in the room changes. Not heavier, just…familiar. This table’s had more grief soaked into it than beer.
Beast clears his throat. “We’ve got the coroner’s report now. Toke went through it line by line with me. And I’ve been fighting it, you all know that. Because in my head, Henry ‘Candle’ Burns doesn’t drop dead on a lounge floor while the game’s on.” His fingers tap restlessly against the gavel. “In my head, he goes out in a hail of bullets or swallowing a grenade or doing something loud and stupid that makes a good story.”
A couple of the older boys snort, small, because yeah. That’s Candle.
“But that’s not what happened,” Beast says. He’s staring straight ahead now, as if he looks at any of us he’ll lose it. “His heart seized. Years of smokes, stress, all the shit he carried for all of us caught up. He hit the floor. Hit it hard. That’s it.”
The words sit there between us, ugly in their simplicity.
No Russians. No hit. No betrayal. Just a body that gave up.
Bull blows out a breath through his nose. “Old man was a stubborn bastard. Figure even his heart wanted to argue with him on the way out.”
A couple of low laughs, humor edged with hurt. Toke smiles with half his mouth, eyes wet.
“I kept saying it had to be something else,” Beast goes on, voice getting rougher. “Couldn’t stomach the idea that a king falls ‘cause his life throws a tantrum.” His knuckles whiten again. “Turns out, that’s exactly what it was. Just biology and bad habits.”
Ripper mutters, “Same thing’s gonna take half of us, Prez.”
“Maybe.” Beast shrugs one shoulder. “But here’s the problem. I couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t accept that shit. So I sent us running after Baranov, after smoke. Took us away from home, away from our people.”
My throat tightens. I see the cheap motel sign again. VACANCY flickering. Nyx lighting a cig the night before, laughing at some stupid meme he showed me that Melissa tagged him in, his beard hiding half his smirk.
He didn’t look like a man rehearsing knots.
“What Nyx did,” Frost says quietly, meeting Beast’s eyes. “That choice was his, brother, as much as we don't like it, it was his choice to make.”
Nyx was the first one to throw himself at a problem. First to back you in a bar brawl, first to snatch you off a bad idea before it turned lethal.
The table goes quiet again.
Beast looks at me. There’s something broken around the edges of his stare. “You found him,” he says. Not a question.
“Yeah.” My tongue feels thick. “Went out for a smoke. Thought he’d beat me to it. Took me a second to figure out why his boots were under the tree with nobody in ‘em.”