shut off the video … That circle. That bastard circle with the weird-as-shit V shape in the middle.
The brand.
I was shaking, shaking from the pure rage consuming me, drowning me in flames, from the fucking crack that Cheska had cleaved in me when she burst through the door of the club. The crack that had let the feelings seep into my blood and poison me with emotions, too many fucking emotions that I shouldn’t be feeling, that I didn’t want to ever fucking feel.
“Babe, please, you’re scaring me.” Cheska’s voice cut through the noise in my head, all the fucking noise of screaming, of my blood rushing around me in crushing rapids, and I could hear her, Cheska … Cheska … Cheska …
I threw my head back and roared, fucking roared, trying to get this cement from my stomach, the fucking tar in my blood that was sucking the life from me. I needed it all out. I needed the emotions and the feeling to fucking stop so I could take these fuckers out. So I could do my bloody job and not be swallowed up by the pain, the guilt, the fucking ripping apart of my soul.
Hands on my face wrenched me back to the present, to the room, trashed around me, and my family looking at me with concerned faces. Then—
“Babe, shh, it’s okay.” Cheska. Cheska was in front of me, her hands on my face. “I’m here, it’s okay. Let me help …”
But it wasn’t okay. She had done this. She had fucking rammed back into my life with the force of a crowbar to the knees and fucked it all up. She had cut through the darkness that had settled inside me and tried to bring me to the light. I didn’t fucking want the light. I didn’t want the light or the fucking smiles, the kisses or the making love.
It made me weak.
She had made me too weak.
I ripped my head back and saw Charlie pick my phone up off the floor and watch the screen. Cheska’s hands stayed in the air, where they’d just been on my face. Like I’d burned her. Like I’d scalded her skin.
“Get the fuck off me,” I snarled, and Cheska’s face blanched. “You,” I said, pointing at her. I pounded my hand on my chest. I needed to close the crack. Needed to stop the pain that was seeping out of it, poisoning my brain, my heart. “You.”
“What? Please—” She tried to step closer but stopped when I shook my head at her. “What have I done? Arthur …”
I slapped at my skull, at the throbbing in my brain. That voice, her broken fucking voice made me feel things I didn’t fucking want to fucking feel—couldn’t feel to do my job right. “You’re fucking with my head,” I snarled and swiped the bottle of vodka that had fallen to the floor but remained intact. I threw the top into the fire and downed half the bottle in one go. Cheska had folded her arms across her chest, in protection, and was moving toward Betsy. “You fucking crawled into my fucking head, cleaved my fucking chest open and broke me!” I yelled. I saw the phone being passed from Eric to Freddie in the background. Charlie’s and Eric’s faces were fuming with anger as they met my eyes.
Freddie passed the phone to Vinnie. “Artie,” he said, and I saw the fucking disbelief on his face, the fucking moment we all found out my mum and sister weren’t lost in an accident after all, that they were in fact murdered. Murdered by the same cunts who had got Ronnie, who had killed all of Cheska’s family and tried to take her too.
The ones who had dumped a container full of trafficked women on my fucking dock! It was them … it was the branded cunts who were trying to come for me, for all we’d built.
They wanted Cheska. They fucking wanted my bird!
I searched the room for Cheska, but she’d gone. A fucking weight pressed down on my lungs like a torture device. My dark heart taunted me, ordering me to get on my fucking hands and knees and find her. That it needed her back. My fucking queen. The one who controlled the fucked-up chessboard that was my life.
My most important piece.
But I fought it. I fought it all, trying to yank myself back to the numbness I used to live with, the blackness, the fucking void that kept me