Ford’s eyes flash with pain, and I feel sympathy for him. He wasn’t always like this, after all. Yes, he’s always been Wrath—it’s who he is. But the anger he feels now comes from a deep pain, one that I’ve tried to talk to him about. He won’t open up to me, or to any of us. It’s one thing to be full of rage just because that’s how you were made, it’s another to have that rage be fueled by a wound you can’t seem to close.
“There ain’t nothin’ she can help me with,” Ford growls. Then he pauses. “Wait, you said ‘each of us’. You gettin’ the whole gang together, Beck?”
“Beckett.” Our brother’s voice is hard. Nicknames are kind of my thing, so I’m allowed to call him Beck, but he doesn’t like to let any of the others get away with it. “And no. I don’t think this will require all of us. The four of us should be able to handle this on our own.”
“They picked me third because they’re stupid and overly optimistic,” Phoenix points out with a grin on his face.
“Believe me, I’ll regret that choice until the day I die.”
“Huh.” Ford narrows his eyes at Beckett. “You don’t want to give Ryland a call? See if he wants to team up for this little mission you’ve got goin’ on?”
There’s a harsh edge to his voice, and just like he probably expected, Beckett’s jaw tightens.
Ah. Yes. Of course Wrath is itching to see the showdown between Beckett and Ryland. I’ll have my hands full trying to keep them from actually murdering each other. At least Ford and Beckett sort their shit out quickly, with no lasting damage. Beckett and Ryland… that’s a whole different story.
“We don’t need him,” Beckett says coldly. “And we don’t need y—”
“I’ll be there.” Ford cuts him off with a quick nod of his head. “I could use a good fuckin’ fight. But you.” He jabs his finger at Trinity. “I don’t want shit from you. Hear me?”
Trinity nods. She looks terrified and almost hurt by his obvious fury at her offer.
Ford stalks away to go clean himself up, and Beckett sighs. “He won’t hurt you, angel. We’ll make sure of it.”
She jerks slightly in surprise, wrenching her gaze away from Ford’s retreating form to stare wide-eyed up at Beckett, seeming shocked by his promise of protection.
I bite back an amused smile. Yup, Beckett definitely has a soft spot for her.
This will be interesting.
Chapter Fifteen
Trinity
Holy frick. Honestly, I’ve never come so close to peeing my pants in my entire existence.
It was terrifying to be on the receiving end of Wrath’s rage like that. Ford is a force of pure fury, and I’m still not sure how I’m standing upright.
And all he did was speak to me. He went after Beckett like he was trying to kill him.
Beckett, however, seems totally unaffected now. Maybe it’s his pride that won’t let him show it, but I honestly think he doesn’t see their fight as a big deal.
I seriously don’t understand the dynamic between these men—not at all.
We all go back to Beckett’s place, since he’s the one with room for everyone and his place is actually in the city, although Phoenix does complain about wanting to go back to his fortified mansion in the middle of nowhere.
“I know a guy who’s got his ear to the ground on this kind of shit,” Ford grunts as we step off the elevator into the penthouse. “A demon bookie. Runs all kinds of shit. I’ll find out where he’ll be tomorrow. We can pin him down then, see what he knows. Rattle him a little.”
“If we could manage this without scaring him to death or breaking any bones, that would be great,” Remington puts in dryly.
“Bedtime, then?” Phoenix actually perks up as he speaks, like he’s been waiting for this all day.
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ford sneers. “Lazy motherfucker.”
Phoenix just rolls his eyes and starts raiding Beckett’s fridge.
“Take whatever rooms you want,” Beckett says. It’s a clear dismissal, an order from the CEO, and we all scatter.
I go back to the room that I took as my own after Beckett officially let me into the house. But even after I change into a comfy—and unfortunately, skimpy—pair of pajamas and crawl into the luxurious bed, I can’t possibly sleep. My head is buzzing with all the events of the day, and my body is so worn out from stress that I feel like I just rode a dozen roller coasters back to back.
Is everyone else sleeping? What are they up to?
Curiosity overtakes me. I’ve learned a lot about the sins by witnessing their interactions today, but I think I’ll get an even better idea of who they are, of what makes them tick, if I can observe them without them knowing it.
That’s only a little bit creepy, right?
Ugh. Shut up, brain.
Turning invisible, I slip out of bed and pad over to the door. It doesn’t make a noise as it shuts behind me, and I tiptoe back out into the main living room.
The men are settled on the elegant couches. Well, Remington and Phoenix are on the couches. Ford is pacing back and forth, obviously too full of angry energy to sit still, while Beckett is sitting on the lounge chair like it’s a throne. The dynamic between them does seem very sibling-esque right now, the kind of dynamic I’ve seen between characters on TV shows all the time: the commanding oldest sibling who expects to be obeyed, the angry middle child, the peacekeeping middle child, and the spoiled, lazy baby of the family.
For a moment, they don’t look like powerful supernatural beings. They just look like ordinary people with ordinary family problems.
But they’re not discussing ordinary problems at all.
Ford’s got a drink in his hand—actually, all of them do—and he’s waving it around for emphasis. “I don’t fucking trust her. She’s got something going on. And you know what a goddamn shit show it’ll be if we keep her around. It’s fucking dangerous.”
“Yeah, I’m with Ford here,” Phoenix says, spreading out on the couch as if he’s melting into it. He takes a sip of his drink and grimaces. “Really, bro? All this fancy Glenfiddich stuff, and you couldn’t just keep some regular beer in the place too? Anyway, I’m with Ford. I mean, come on. She can’t be good for us. How do we know this isn’t some kind of trap?”
“She’s not nearly devious enough to trap us.” Beckett’s voice is blunt. “Did any of you observe her at all today? Every emotion she has is written on her face.”
I bristle, an embarrassed blush heating my cheeks. I know I’d never make the world’s best poker player, but still. Rude.
My only consolation is the thought that if he’s really able to read every emotion on my face, then he knows what a domineering asshole I think he is sometimes.
I bite my lip, surprised at the word that just popped into my head. Swearing is another one of those things angels aren’t strictly forbidden from doing, but that the higher-ups would never do in polite company.
My gaze strays back to the men in the living room. But then, I’m not really in polite company anymore, am I?