Page 56 of Violent Skies

“She doesn’t know about that,” I defend instantly, because it’s true.

“She doesn’t know a lot,” he bites. “Get in the car, Riggs.”

“No, you aren’t doing this. You’re worked up over some gum wrappers I wrote on before you were even married,” I snap. “No.”

“So it’s true—you're going behind my back? Trying to take her from me? Is that what you want? Her? Cress?” He pushes for an answer as I look over my shoulder at my siblings. I’m met with a harsh reality, protecting them is a life long job.

“I thought we were family.” His tone is uneasy, tight. He’s losing it.

“We are.” I don’t hesitate.

“Prove it.”

The words aren’t a surprise; leverage is Koa’s favorite poker chip. Especially when it comes to getting his way. But it’s a shock to the system that he’s using Cress as bait. My family. Our family.

I stare at him a moment longer before climbing into the passenger seat of the car.

PRESENT DAY

“What?” Cress exhales, her eyes wide taking in the recollection. “There are—”

I nod, desperately needing her to not ask me questions about them. Not right now.

“So you got in the car? Why?”

I swallow tightly, reliving this day over and over again in my head is bad enough. Having to tell Cress about it is a new form of torture. She loved Koa, just like all of us. Fiercely, loudly, unapologetically, and with stars in our eyes. Willing to ignore every fault he had. Even now.

“Because he was my brother, Cress. Whatever he was going to do that night, I wasn’t going to let him do it alone.” I’m honest with her because there’s no hiding it anymore. She deserves the truth after all of this.

“He was erratic when he left the house that day,” she whispers. “He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, just kept telling me that I didn’t need to know.”

“The route was different, the drive was longer than normal,” I remember. “He refused to give any details about the job—who it was for, what we were grabbing…” I clench my jaw as Cress processes everything. “We lost them for a bit; Koa was taking weird roads… I just wanted to keep him calm for as long as possible, but the driver was expecting us,” I say. “He’d been tipped off.”

Cress inhales slowly, her breathing shaky and tight.

“He had them in the wrong positions. Murphy always drove me, Bird on the pick up, and we always had Rafe as a back up. But we were down a car and Koa didn’t care. He wanted whatever was on that truck.” I lick my bottom lip, my mouth dry as shit. “It was wet, dark, and we were moving too fast for him to get into place. The car hit the shoulder, the gravel was loose and—”

“He lost control.” She huffs under her breath.

“Almost took Rafe and Bird with him. I yanked on the wheel and, by the grace of God, Bird managed to hit the brake. We only tapped her.” My whole body tenses remembering the sound of her screaming that night. It’s why I can’t sleep in; the echoes of her wailing are never quiet. “I don’t remember a lot but we hit a field, rolled a few times. I blacked out. I hit my head on the window, and when I came to… the car was in flames.”

“The burns…” Her fingers touch my shoulder and I hate how much I need the interaction, my body leans into it like it’s a safe haven. Stop.

“The driver’s side was engulfed, there wasn’t even a chance for us to get him out…” I trail off. “By the time they circled around they had no idea what happened. I lied to them, ash in my lungs, my heart broken. I lied to their faces and told them it was me driving to keep them from blaming themselves.”

“They saw you get into the car…” Cress sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.

“They’ve never questioned it, and I don’t give them a reason to,” I tell her. “Do you understand?”

“You… you want to keep lying to them?” she chokes out.

“Protect them,” I remind her. “Protect you from whatever the hell he was in the end. Whoever was driving that car was not the man you married, he was not my brother or theirs. He was out of reach and out of control, Cress. Why put that weight on them?”

Her expression softens. “You must be exhausted.”

A weak, wobbling laugh bubbles up from my chest, my eyes watering a little as I nod in quiet confirmation.

“You should have told me,” she whispers, and it’s not accusatory or angry.