I reach up to see if my nose is bleeding. I’m surprised when I see no blood. I think it was his elbow that connected with it.
“Give us a minute,” my brother tells Cross.
He exits, and I pick myself up off the floor. I tilt my head back, still waiting for the blood to come oozing out. Bones comes around the desk and leans his ass against it, crossing his arms over his chest. His black button-down strains against his muscular, inked arms. “Why do you do that?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
He sighs. “Why do you take a serious situation and ruin it by opening your mouth?”
I snort. “How did you think that conversation was going to go?”
He bows his head and runs his hand through his dark hair. “You have a drug problem.”
My palms begin to sweat. He’s never said it out loud before. We both ignore it. “Well, I’m sorry but not all of us can turn everything off.”
“Is that what you think I do?” he asks, frowning.
“It doesn’t matter what you do.” I shake my head, not caring. “You deal with you, and I’ll deal with me.” I go to exit, but his next words stop me.
“You’re all I have left, Grave.”
I swallow and close my eyes. He and I were always close. Him and the Kings are only one year older than me, but he’s always been my big brother. When our father wouldn’t teach me to play baseball because he wanted Dillan to be the star, Dillan taught me. When it came time for me to drive, Dillan taught me how to in his car. He gave me my first beer. First cigarette. He was the one who showed me how to be a man.
“I want you to get help,” he adds, filling the silence.
I straighten my shoulders, not bothering to turn to face him. “And I want you to stay out of my business.”
“Kyle?” He sighs, and I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. “Mom’s been gone for eight years.”
My entire body goes rigid. He never mentions her. “Your point?” I snap.
“Now Dad is gone.”
I spin around on him with my face scrunched in anger. “So you didn’t feel shit when Mom passed, but now that that son of a bitch is dead, you’re gonna feel something?”
“That’s not what this is,” he growls, his blue eyes narrowing on me.
“Then what the fuck is it? ’Cause that’s how it sounds.”
He looks away from me, and I see the tic in his jawline right where his neck tattoo comes to a stop. He took me to get my first tattoo when I turned eighteen. It was actually on my birthday. He already had his first one. I remember the next day when I saw Dad, and he was pissed at me. Said I was trying to be like Dillan and he didn’t raise sheep. I shouldn’t do something just because my brother did. I told him to go to hell and immediately went and got another one.
“You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop,” he finally says, avoiding my previous question about our parents.
I snort. “Yeah, because you’re so cautious with your life.”
“It’s different,” he growls.
“How is it any fucking different?”
“I’m not feeding myself full of drugs,” he snaps, pushing off the desk.
“No. Instead, you’re too busy killing people and fucking your best friend’s woman.” I turn toward the door.
“Grave?” he demands.
“Fuck you, Dillan!” I throw over my shoulder as I go to walk out of his office door, but he yanks me back by my shirt and slams my back into the wall. Both of his hands grip the collar of my shirt, and his blue eyes are glaring into mine. He’s pissed. I’ve always known what buttons to push when it comes to my brother. I like the fight, and as much as he hates to admit it, he does too. This is one of his vices. We’re the same—he and I—I just don’t choose to hide it.
“Say that to my face,” he growls as his nostrils flare.
I lick my lips, lift my chin, and smirk. “Fuck you …”
He yanks me from the wall and shoves me away. My feet get caught up in his rug, and I find myself once again on the floor. I roll onto my back and close my eyes. Fuck, I should have stayed in bed with Lucy.
“Get the fuck up!” he shouts. “Go home and get some sleep. We’re leaving first thing tomorrow.”
I sit up and rub the back of my neck. I need something for the pain because my head is pounding. “Where are we going?” I couldn’t care less.
“To Rio,” he growls.
I start shaking my head. “I’m not going.”
He walks over to me, standing at my feet, staring down at me still on the floor. “Yes, you are. We’re going to go identify our father’s body and then we’re going to lay him to rest.” With that, he storms out of his office, slamming his door shut.