“He did.”
“What?” Embry jerked up.
Cam eased him back down. “When he was in foster care. He was seven fucking years old.”
His voice cracked. I wanted to go to him, but I was frozen in place, rage, horror, and grief overtaking my ability to move my limbs.
Embry forced himself upright again. Cam let him this time and met his gaze. “Why?” Embry whispered. “Why would he do something like that? Was he in a shitty home?”
“Nope. He was with a family so nice they wanted to keep him forever. Then some cunt at his school said he wasn’t worth the effort, and Saint believed them. He slit his own throat to prove them right.”
“He did not want to die?”
Cam looked at me and shrugged. “I asked him that. He didn’t know.”
Silence cloaked the room. Embry lay back down without Cam’s persuasion, eyes heavy. He drowsed while Cam stared at the ceiling.
I got up but did not go to them. I stood at the window. The view was not as vast as that from Cam’s bedroom, but I could see Saint. Ivy had gone. Orla was now with him, peering at the guitar he’d been fiddling with. She smiled and kissed his cheek, and she was so vibrant and wonderful I could not help pondering if his life would be easier if he’d fallen for her instead. “What is he doing with that guitar and your sister?”
Cam shifted on the bed, giving Embry some space but staying close enough to share body heat. “He’s probably fixing it for Nash. He does stuff like that when he thinks he’s fucked up.”
“Fucked up how? He has not been here since yesterday.”
“You saw how he left.”
I did. I had. From Cam’s bedroom window. I remembered now, him shoving Nash in his hurry to get to his bike and flee. “An apology without words?”
“Yeah. Not sure what Orla has to do with it, though. Unless he asked her what would make Nash happy.”
“Youknow what would make Nash happy.”
“Shh. Embry’s asleep.”
“I’m not. Keep gossiping, dude. This shit is life.”
Footsteps on the stairs distracted me from however Cam replied. I returned to my post on the floor in time for Saint to open the door and slip inside. He glanced around the room, tasting the atmosphere with his keen gaze, but with Embry playing possum and Cam as open and warm as he ever was, he didn’t notice that Cam had shattered us.
He folded himself onto the floor beside me and kicked his boots off, tucking them carefully behind the door. He smiled at me and I took his hand, squeezing the bones hard enough to break, my voice barely a whisper.
“Wingman, you are so very special.”
11
Saint
Somehow every council member found their way to Embry’s bedroom. With us all finally in one place, Cam called church. It was time to revisit the horrors that had brought us to this point. Gang wars weren’t new territory for us, but the crazy twists and turns of the last few months were a headfuck we hadn’t dealt with yet. The Romanian cartel. The Italian mafia. Even the Crows—our old enemies that were right on our doorstep—had outstepped us in some capacity.
Did Cam want revenge? He wasn’t a petty soul or an egotistical leader, but Embry had nearly died. Nash had been gassed. So had Mateo and me. Even Rubi was still a mess from the whack to the head way back when. Only Alexei was unscathed at this point, but I was beginning to realise that he had scars none of us would ever see. Maybe Cam wanted to kill for him too.
I did.
Cam was harder to read.
He got up and stood by the window, Nash lounging in a chair beside him.
Rubi sat with Embry, making himself into a human pillow that was so ridiculous even Alexei laughed before he attempted to excuse himself.
“No,” Cam growled. “I need you here.”