Page 10 of Slaughter
“He’s not a houseguest,” Zeke retorted, jaw clenched. “This isn’t a bed-and-breakfast, Charity.”
Faith interjected, voice low but precise, “Then what is he? You’re being awfully protective of someone you won’t even name.”
Zeke rubbed his face, like he could wipe away the conversation. “He’s a brother who needs help. That’s all you need to know.”
Joan, calm as ever, asked, “Is he in trouble, Shadow? With the club? With the law?” Her voice was a lifeline tossed into the storm.
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then why the secrecy?” Joy demanded, swinging her arms as if conducting an orchestra of frustration. “You’re acting like we’re about to interrogate him. We’re not idiots, Zeke.”
“I never said you were,” Zeke muttered.
Charity leveled him with a sharp look. “You sure act like it. We live here too. If he’s sleeping under our roof, the least we get is a name. Or is that classified?”
“A former brother. That’s it,” Zeke replied, voice flat, final.
Faith’s attention zeroed in. “Former?” she repeated. “So he’s not active anymore?”
Zeke’s jaw clenched. “No.”
“Why not?” I asked quietly—always watching for the cracks, the places Zeke tried to hide his own scars.
“Not your business.”
Charity huffed. “It kind of is, actually. If he brings trouble, we get collateral damage. Club drama, witness protection, alien invasion—whatever. We deserve a heads-up.” She grinned, but her sarcasm was a shield.
“There’s no drama,” Zeke said, almost pleading.
Joy swept her hair back, eyes wide. “So why can’t we know his name? Is he in witness protection? Is he running from the CIA? It’s literally one word, Zeke. One.” She held up a finger for emphasis.
Zeke’s frustration finally broke through. “He doesn’t want to be known right now! He doesn’t want people asking questions ormaking assumptions. He just wants to be left alone. Is that really so hard?”
Silence, thick as honey, pooled in the kitchen.
Faith exchanged a look with Joan, eyebrows raised. Charity dropped her arms, sarcasm cooling into concern. Joy bit her lip, looking suddenly younger, hands fidgeting with her sleeve.
I studied Zeke. His shoulders appeared weighted, eyes pinched with exhaustion. He had always been the one to shield us from storms, along with our oldest brother, Balthazar. Maybe he saw something of his own pain in the visitor’s need for refuge. Maybe that was why he was so fierce.
Faith’s voice cut through the hush. “How long is he staying?”
“Few days. Maybe a week. I don’t know yet.”
Charity sniped, “So we’re supposed to pretend he’s a ghost?” But her tone was softer now.
“You’re supposed to give him space. There’s a difference,” Zeke insisted.
“Shadow—” Joan started, gentle as rain.
“Please.” Zeke met her gaze, then swept over the rest of us. “I’m asking you, begging you. As your brother. As someone who’s never asked for much. Don’t push. Don’t pry. Don’t try to fix what you think is wrong. He needs quiet. He needs space.”
Faith studied him, thoughtful. “He’s hurting.”
It wasn’t a question. Zeke didn’t answer, but the haunted look in his eyes spoke for him.
“Okay,” Faith said softly, her resolve settling like dust.
Charity spun toward Faith. “That’s it? We’re just going to—” She cut herself off, arms flailing.
