Shiver(91)

“What about hitting me over the head?” Aidan swung right then left. Roland exchanged him swing for swing. Both were bleeding, their punches sliding on open skin more than connecting.

“If I’d had knocked you on your noggin, I’d’ve happily slit your throat.” He lunged, blocking Aidan’s right chop, and slicing left with the knife over Aidan’s throat. Aidan caught his wrist just before the sharp blade would have connected with his jugular, and twisted his arm trying to get him to release the knife.

Aidan struggled to keep Roland in his grasp. “You didn’t hit me over the head a few days ago?”

“Like I said, if I’d done that you wouldn’t be here now. You got more than one man after ya?” Roland head-butted him, breaking the hold Aidan had on his arm.

Stars flickered in front of his eyes, and bells rang in his ears. Then he was flat on his back, Roland on top of him, the knife once again at his throat.

“Oh, this was too easy.” Roland shook his head as though disappointed. “I haven’t even broken a sweat.”

Aidan swallowed, feeling the sharp blade cut into the skin of his neck.

“You know, I’ve watched you,” Roland said. “I take it you finally figured out that you have a bastard son of your own.” He scoffed. “I’m doing the kid a favor by killing you. All you’ve brought to people is pain and death. First your mother, your father. Sonya and her family, and look what ya did to that poor Maiski girl. Murdered her father too.”

“I didn’t murder Raven’s father.” His vision turned red.

“That’s not how Earl told it. You bought the explosives.”

“I didn’t know what they were going to be used for.”

“Ri-i-i-ght.” He snorted. “Just like you had no idea when you set the charges who they were meant for.”

Aidan growled and bucked Roland off, slamming the old man’s hand down on the hard floor again and again until the knife went skidding under the couch. Then he punched him. Left. Right. “I did not kill him!”

Rage overtook him and he kept beating Roland even though the old man was no longer blocking his punches or fighting back. His hands were slick with blood as he battered his uncle.

A gunshot rang out.

He glanced up from Roland’s bloody mug to find Raven lowering the forty-five she’d just shot into the ceiling. Her face was white with shock as she took in the sight before her.

Raven.

Bloodlust demanded that he end it. Finish Roland with his hands. Raven’s pale, frightened face as she stared at him in sickening horror, had him reining in the beast.

He rose slowly to his feet, dread shaking the very ground he stood on. He stepped over Roland’s prone body and moved toward Raven, coming up short when she slowly shook her head, her eyes wide and haunted in her colorless face.

Her gaze narrowed as though she was trying to see the real him. “Who are you?”

“Raven—”

“You bought the explosives? You set the charges?”

Oh God, how long had she been standing there? He vaguely remembered hearing bells when Roland head-butted him. Raven must have tripped the wire of Roland’s poor man’s door bell.

She pointed with the gun—he knew she wasn’t aware she still held in her hand—to Roland on the floor. “Is he dead? Did you kill him too?” she whispered the last part.

His heart stopped at the look of condemnation in her eyes. ‘Did you kill him too?’ echoed through the cavity of his chest, stopping his heart. Aidan looked down at Roland. Oh God, had he killed him? He knelt and felt for a pulse. It was there, steady and strong, like the crafty and resilient wolverine that he was. A groan escaped Roland, but he didn’t open his eyes, just lay there a bloody and bruised mess.

“He’s alive,” Aidan said.

“You would have killed him if I hadn’t stopped you. You would have beaten him to death with your own hands.” Horror reflected in her face over the reality of her statement.

Aidan had to look away from the fear and revulsion in her eyes. He’d been caught up in a rage so destructive that he knew she was right. “He was trying to kill me, Raven. I had to defend myself.”

“He’s an old man, twice your age.” She gestured to Roland again, in support of her argument. “You had him on the floor. He wasn’t fighting you.”

Where had she been a few minutes earlier? “This isn’t just his blood I’m wearing. Don’t feel sorry for Roland.”

“This is why I never told you about Fox. This Harte rage.” She shook her head and tears filled her voice. “Why did I think we could ever work it out? My dad was right.”