Hold (Gentry Boys, #5)(66)

Chase tried first. “Cord,” he said firmly, edging closer with caution. He extended his open palm. “Give it to me.”

Cord didn’t waver. “No.”

I shot Benton a fierce glare that warned he’d better not move or even breathe if he didn’t want a head full of holes.

“Cordero,” I said, not daring to come any closer lest something set him off. “Think of Saylor. Think of your daughters.”

“Boys,” whined Benton as he held up two shaking hands, “I just-“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Chase screamed.

In two strides he was looming over Benton, who looked wretched and pathetic cowering there on the dirty floor. “Just shut up.”

I felt around behind me until my fingers found the rusted door handle. I opened it slowly and backed up until my heels were on the threshold. Whatever words I uttered right now would be some of the most important ones I would ever say.

“Cord.”

He didn’t look at me. I was going to make him look at me, goddammit.

“Cordero!”

He looked. The pain in his eyes seared me.

“You’ve pulled us back from the edge,” I told him. “You’ve pulled us both back.” I shook my head slowly from side to side. “Don’t go there now. Please. But know that if you do we’re climbing in after you.”

“Every time,” said Chase and our eyes met. He remembered. This was not the first time we’d played this scene. “Every time,” he whispered again.

Cord lowered the gun. His hand went limp at his side and he let the piece of deadly metal fall to the floor where it thudded once and then was still. Chase instantly swooped in to pick it up. He removed the clip, tossed it down the hall and pushed the gun into his back pocket.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. Cord accepted the help when Chase wrapped an arm around him and started leading him gently toward the door. He must have bruised himself badly when he unleashed that powerful kick to the table because he limped noticeably. I moved aside and helped them out of the room.

Only when they were safely beyond reach did I turn back to face Benton Gentry. He hadn’t moved an inch and was fixed in such a wide-eyed slack stare I thought for a second he might have had a stroke or some shit. But then he lowered his hands and blinked, because apparently the universe doesn’t give out such dumb luck easily.

“You’re not dead,” I told him, “Not yet.” It occurred to me that I could easily stomp a boot on that soft gut or press my knee into his windpipe. He wouldn’t be able to stop me from squeezing the life out of him. Back in my hard drinking era this was my darkest wish, to have Benton cornered and helpless as he’d kept us cornered and helpless for so long. And if I’d been standing in this very spot on any one of a thousand other moments I wouldn’t have hesitated to f*cking crush him.

But this was now.

And I wasn’t sunk in some alcohol haze fighting imaginary wars.

I knew who I was. And I knew what I was going to do.

“You’re not dead,” I repeated, “but you’re dead to us. And you know, someday your eyes will close one last time and no one alive will be sorry to hear it. I hope you’ll think of this moment when that day comes.”

His lip curled and his face reddened and he struggled to rise but I was done. I stepped out into the night, letting the door bang shut. I heard his shouts, furious and incoherent, but they were easily swallowed by the wind.

Chase had already helped Cord into the tow truck and started the engine. Cord tossed me the keys to my own truck and I didn’t waste any time following them out of there, except I chose to back out all the way to the road. I kept a wary eye on the empty doorway because somewhere in there Benton still breathed and it’s never wise to turn your back on any beast with claws and teeth, no matter how disarmed they seemed.

Finally I was able to breathe easy when I shifted the car into drive and started driving straight, following the taillights of the tow truck. The thunderstorm had veered off to the east without touching down after all and the winds were dying. Quick bursts of lightning still flashed in the sky but they were further away.

Once we were out of the neighborhood Chase signaled that he was pulling over and I stopped right behind him on the shoulder of the road.

When I reached the tow truck Cord was positioned in the passenger seat kind of awkwardly. He was right in the middle of picking up his leg and trying to roll his ankle around. He winced.

“Broken?” I asked, leaning into the open window.

He reached down and pressed. “Don’t think so.” He breathed heavily and settled back down. “How did you know?”

Chase scoffed. “You’re asking how we knew where you went? My brother, we bounced around in amniotic fluid together for a little while and spent our formative years curled up together like cats. We know every damn thing worth knowing about each other, including a few things we probably wish we didn’t.” Chase gave Cord a shrewd look. “We know you, Cord. We know when you’re hurting and when you’re happy and if something bad is boiling inside of you it doesn’t take us long to figure out who lit the fire. And you know the same about us. Because that’s what it means to be us.”

Cord seemed to chew on that quietly. He laced his fingers together and massaged his left ring finger.