Rook Point (The Blackwell Brothers Book 3) by K.L. Taylor-Lane

Author:K.L. Taylor-Lane [Taylor-Lane, K.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Thorne

With the entire Blackwell clan gathered around Heron Mill’s kitchen table, it should feel comfortable, safe, my brothers, my stepsister, Dad. This is where we can each be our true selves, where we can indulge in the darkness, not worrying about what anyone on the outside of the family might think.

Tonight, though, I feel edgy.

I have Ivy St. Clair, one of the most discrete chop shop mechanics around, collecting and crushing Shane’s car. His body is in the boot of my own, and I cannot stop thinking about it rotting too much before I am finished with it. It is going to stink the whole car out.

I can feel my brother Wolf’s eyes on me, singeing my skin with his wonder. I want to escape, the uncomfortable feeling prickling the back of my neck, but I stay planted in my seat, avoid any unnecessary questions, looks, glares. So I avoid Wolf’s stare altogether, focus my gaze on my father, listen to the discussion at the table happening around me. When the conversation is over, the decision on my stepsister Grace meeting her supposed biological father, after a DNA test, settled, everyone clears out of the room.

“Brother,” I say as coolly as I can, a little hint at the ever-growing tension inside me slipping through.

Wolf tenses as I speak, his warm amber eyes locked on my own, I see my mother every time I look at him and it makes my skin itch. Everything else about him is thankfully different though. He has got a good few inches on me, six-six, broad and muscular, skin tight over bulging muscle, hours’ worth of intense workouts earning them. His chin-length black hair is pulled up on top of his head, a looped bun sitting on his crown, some strands in the front tucked behind his pierced ears.

The table stands between us, hands tucked inside my slack pockets, he eyed them at the table, they are not too red or swollen today thanks to the icing I gave them. Nothing obvious about what I did, just last night, showing over the white crisscross of scars already present. What it is I have done, though, is still a blurred war inside my head.

“What’s going on, Thorne?” Wolf asks, voice rumbling like a cave echo straight into my ears, making my nose twitch just barely, but I know he catches it.

He leans back against the copper sink, stares at me across the space, and lifts a hand towards his face, traces a line down the side of his neck with his finger. The same spot on my own neck burns, the reminder of Haisley’s clawing as I thrust my tongue inside her mouth.

Stupid.

My injured shoulder jumps, pain rattling down the bone, I did not make a big deal out of the injury, but it aches like a motherfucker today. The skin tight with glue, too much, but she did it for me, and I find myself not minding so much.

I step further into the room, removing myself from my static place in the arched entrance to the kitchen.

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