Jesus.Marcus’s father had used me to torture his son. He may have been the monster, but I was the weapon he reached for most often.
“I’m sorry.” I struggled to get the words out with the gun jammed under my chin. But they weren’t a lie. No kid deserved what had happened to Marcus.
Marcus hauled back and slammed the butt of the gun into my jaw. “You’resorry? You’re just like him.”
My vision swam from the force of the blow as I tried to get my bearings. “Like him?”
“Everyone thought he was so smart, so kind, generous. Threw his money around to get everyone on his side. But they didn’t know how ugly he truly was. How twisted. That’s you. Everyone thinks you’re this golden boy. Volunteering at a kids’ camp, donating to youth hockey, so dedicated to the sport. But you’re just out for yourself. You don’t give a damn about your team or anyone else.”
Marcus sucked in a breath and gripped my shirt tighter. “I tried to show them. Tipped off those reporters to the truth. Leaked the footage of you punching me to show them how you treat yourteam.”
“You goaded me into that.” The realization hit me like a physical blow.
“I showed them who you really are,” Marcus snarled. “But the rest of the world needs to know, too. It was never enough. Not the anonymous report of steroid use. Not even when I frayed the brake lines on Teddy’s car. They should’ve known it was all your fault. All your fault that he drove out to bumfuck because poor Cope was struggling. Just had to go check on him. But no, they justlovedyour eulogy like the pathetic sycophants they are.”
He gripped my shirt harder, pulling it so tight the neckline cut into my airway. “Do you know how much time I wasted following him down here? Paying a hacker to loop your security footage so I could sneak onto your property and mess with his brakes?”
“You killed Teddy.” My ears rang with the words.
“Youkilled Teddy. He wouldn’t have died if it wasn’t for you. Just like your brother and dad wouldn’t have.”
Rage ignited, fast and fierce. Marcus had stolen Teddy from us. Not some freak accident and slick roads. Someone we’d considered a teammate, a brother.
“And now I’m going to kill you,” Marcus snarled.
I didn’t wait, knew there wasn’t time to try to keep him talking and hope Trace or Anson would find a shot. I had to move. Now.
Rearing my head forward, I threw it back as hard as I could and connected with Marcus’s nose with a vicious crack. He howled in pain, the gun dropping away for the briefest moment.
I didn’t waste a second. I tried to pull the few sparring lessons I’d gotten from Kye into my mind and prayed my muscles would remember. I grabbed the arm Marcus held the weapon with and brought up my knee. I was aiming for his goddamned balls like Sutton had with Roman, but missed, catching his inner thigh instead.
“You don’t get to win!” Marcus howled.
He shoved the gun harder in my direction. I fought with all mymight, remembering just what it was I was battling for. Luca. Sutton. The family we were building together.
Marcus let out a cry of fury, and a pop sounded right before fiery pain exploded through my ribs. My eyes went wide, and I struggled for breath. Shouts sounded all around me, but it was like they were coming from far away.
It felt like flames engulfing my entire torso as I dropped to the ground. My vision tunneled, and as everything went black, I swore I heard Sutton yell my name.
56
SUTTON
I’d hearda bullet leave a gun twice now, but it still didn’t sound like I’d thought a gunshot would. It didn’t crack through the air like in the movies. It was more of apop. Something that I wouldn’t have even associated with a bullet if it weren’t for the way the blood drained from Cope’s face as I raced around the corner of the barn.
Everything happened in snapshots that alternated between slow motion and super speed—as if we were in a comic book or superhero movie.
Only, we weren’t.
This was life. Mine and Cope’s. And as he crumpled to the ground, blood blossoming on his white tee, I knew his was in danger of fading. Of seeping into the stone floor, never to be found again.
Shouts sounded as Trace tackled Marcus to the ground. Marcus’s rage-filled ramblings didn’t reach the part of my brain that could register what they meant because every part of me was focused on Cope.
I hadn’t realized I was running until I was almost to him. I dropped to the ground, my knees connecting with the rock floorso hard my jaw clacked together and my spine jarred. But none of that truly computed.
All I saw was blood. Seeping out and blooming over the left side of Cope’s chest, far too close to where I guessed his heart would be.
“Pressure,” Trace ordered as he struggled to get Marcus into cuffs. “Pressure on the wound.”
