Trey - Shandi Boyes Page 0,79
my room.
When my attempt to gulp down the anger festering in my gut makes me angrier, I storm out of my room and march down the hall. I’m not surprised to find Eight and Mikhail at blows in the living area. Pretty much anytime I left the bathroom attached to my hospital room, I stumbled onto them brawling each other. Usually, Mikhail has Eight pinned to the wall. This time, it’s the other way around.
If any of the thoughts in my head are true, Mikhail should be grateful it’s Eight clutching his neck. If it were me, he’d be dead by now.
“Give it back.”
“Give what back?” Mikhail asks, aware my question was for him. “As I said to Eight, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
While I close the distance between us, Eight snarls, “This wasn’t our agreement. We were told if he naturally progressed toward his memories, we weren’t to keep them from him.”
“I’m not repressing his memories, August. I’m trying to stop him from being hurt.” Mikhail lowers his tone a notch, meaning I have to strain my ears to hear him when he whispers, “You weren’t there when we found him. You don’t know what he’s been through, so you have no fucking right to judge us on how we handle this situation.”
“But I sure as fuck can,” I growl out in a gravelly tone.
With Mikhail having no plausible comeback, he keeps quiet.
“Let him go.”
Eight glares at me as if I’m insane for a second before doing as instructed. Mikhail won’t run. Cowards run. He isn’t one of those.
He is close to his death, though. So very, very close.
As thunder cracks above my head, I step closer to Mikhail until I’m confident he’s aware fourteen weeks in a hospital bed, three skull fractures, and a busted-up leg won’t weaken the severity of his punishment if he lies to me again. “Give. It. Back.”
“Trey—”
“Give it to me!” My roar silences the room. It doesn’t give me the comfort it did in the hospital. It makes me unhinged.
Like Nikolai did to Rory months ago, I pin Mikhail to the wall by his throat before attempting to throw my fist into his face. I say attempt as I’m frozen mid-strike, shocked about the video playing through my head.
I killed Rory, and I did it for K.
I’m certain of it.
“The specialist said forcing memories onto you could do you more harm than good.” This comment isn’t from neither Mikhail nor Eight. It’s from Nikolai. “Should have known better. Those fuckers might have degrees, but they don’t know how our brains tick.” After locking his eyes with Mikhail to reveal his absolute fury, he returns them to me. The deadliness in them reveals Mikhail will pay heftily for his bend of the rules. “Leave us.” When Mikhail’s lips twitch, prepared to issue a defense, Nikolai shouts, “Ignore me again, and I’ll strip you of more than your ranking!” His words are nothing but menacing when he growls, “And I’ll start with your snitching tongue.”
With his hands held out in front of himself, and his eyes wide with fear, Mikhail tosses a dirty nightgown into Eight’s chest before he makes his way to one of the quads parked around Clarks. He’ll go blow off steam for a few minutes before coming back to apologize. He’d rather grovel like a punk-ass than lose his place on Nikolai’s team. Most of my brothers would choose death over exclusion.
After waiting for Eight to hand over a frail material I clutch like it was my mother’s, Nikolai nudges his head to one of the many couches in the living area, requesting for me to join him there.
As we pace toward the living area, low-ranked members of his crew and whores disappear in all directions. Nikolai didn’t specifically ask for privacy, but his facial expression is telling enough. Once we’re alone, he asks, “What do you remember?”
“Nothing about a car accident,” I mutter under my breath, unable to take my eyes off the nightgown I’m wringing around my fingers like it’s capable of healing the stupid-ass lisp and limp I got from my injuries.
It dawns on me just how far Mikhail’s deceit went when Nikolai’s brows stitch at my mumbled comment. “That’s the script they’re running?” When I jerk up my chin, his tightens. “We were advised to let you formulate your own response to your memory loss, not make up gimmicks.” He plops into the first single sofa before lifting his eyes to mine. They’re