Prologue
Lawton
I glanced down at my left wrist. The pain was nothing. I wound the rope tighter and gave it another sharp, seesaw tug. The coarse fibers chewed at my skin.
Not enough.
I gave the rope another tug, and then another. I didn't stop until it came away slick and dark.
With a clinical detachment, Bishop looked down at my wrist. "Sothat'swhat the rope was for?" He shook his head. "You poor fucked-up bastard."
"Like you're one to talk," I said.
I'd grabbed the rope on my way out here. What I should've grabbed was barbed wire. Except I didn't exactly have any lying around.
Bishop looked unimpressed. "It's not gonna win her back, you know."
"This?" I shrugged. "It's not about winning her back. It's about penance."
He glanced toward the house, dark and quiet. "If it's not about her, then why are we here?"
We stood side-by-side on the darkened sidewalk, hidden in the shadows of a tall oak tree. I stared past the long driveway to zoom in on the big two-story brick house. Something in my gut twisted.
That was whereshelived. The girl I loved. The girl I lost.
Chloe.
There it was again, that gnawing ache where my heart used to be. I glanced again at the driveway. Her car was gone. Wherewasshe?
A friend's house? A hotel? I swallowed. The hospital? I gave the rope a vicious yank, and then another.
Bishop's voice cut through the mist. "That's enough."
He might've been my brother, but he wasn't my boss. I twisted the rope three times over and yanked twice as hard.
"For fuck's sake," he muttered. "At least switch wrists, will ya?"
Silently, I unwound the rope from my left wrist and wrapped it around my right. I gave it the same seesaw tug. And then another.
Bishop shook his head. "My brother, the psycho."
"Half brother," I said.
"Yeah. And all psycho."
"No," I said. "Not psycho. Fair." I glanced over at him. "It's what we do, right?"
"No. I'm pretty sure this is a first."
"Get real," I said. "If I were some other guy, this is exactly what we'd be doing to him. I know it. You know it." I tugged again, savoring the burn as it tore into my flesh. "Why should I be different? Like I’m so fucking special."
His voice was quiet. "You didn't know."
"That the cuffs were tearing up her wrists?" I heard myself swallow. "Yeah? Well, I should've known." I looked down. "And what kind of monster does that shit? You know how long I left her there, in those fucking handcuffs?" My voice broke. "Hours." I gave the rope a vicious tug. A strand of rope splintered from the rest, drooping slick and loose at my side.
With a sound of disgust, Bishop snatched the rope and moved it out of my reach. "That's it. You're done." He coiled the rope loosely around his wrist, but he didn't tug.
He didn't need to. He wasn't a monster.
