He peers inside the bag and then slides it to the side of the table. “Thanks.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

We share silence as we look each other over. I can’t help but ogle at the intricate cross down the left side of his neck, the one I took him to get when he was eighteen, the one Mamma whooped both our arses for—him for being so stupid, and me because I was the eldest and I should’ve known better.

When my eyes wander to his throat, the ink there makes my blood boil. The Guardians flaming skull motif has been permanently etched on his skin with ‘guardians’ tattooed in large letters in a curve across his collarbone. Dark shadows hang beneath his red-rimmed brown eyes, and his skin is dull with dry flakes at his temples. He looks much older than he is. The way he holds himself, he gives off the vibe of a young man whose spirit has been crushed.

“Happy birthday for yesterday,” I say, but there’s nothing happy about my tone. It’s sad that it’s another fucking day that he was in here, and he had to contemplate it alone. I’m sure he would have kept it to himself.

“Worst fuckin’ day of my life,” he mutters, and casts his eyes down to his hands in his lap.

“What happened?”

“They held me down in the shower and fucked me up the arse, is what happened.”

I stand up and drag in a mammoth breath as if I’m about to roar fire.

V grabs my hand. “Don’t,” he pleads.

“Who the fuck did this?” I whisper-growl, clenching my other fist. Is one of them in the room now?

“Sit the fuck down,” he says through clenched teeth. He scans the room, taking his time, looking from table to table. When he’s done looking, he leans in closer. “I saw one of their faces, but I don’t know who actually … did it. They just left me like a sack of shit, bleeding.”

My baby brother. Raped. Here I was thinking he was safer on the inside away from the MC, but it’s no different. Because of his links, he’s fucked no matter where he is. My blood boils when I imagine them forcing themselves on him, taking what innocence he had left.

“Fuck me dead.” With my elbows on the table, I bury my head in my hands.

“I thought there were some rough cunts in the MC, but they’re a pack of fucking animals in here. Savages.”

I look up and am met with the chilling fear in his eyes. Acid stirs up my gut and my heart beats faster. “You’re in this fucked-up position because of Dad. The dead-shit never should’ve brought you into the MC.”

I was ten when Dad had joined the club. He got lured in with the promise of easy money and booze on tap. Over the years, he got in deep. I was always on the road, and I foolishly trusted my father to look out for my baby brother and make sure he was kept clear of that addictive lifestyle. Then the club got their fucking hands on V, and I didn’t know until it was too late.

“Not helping.”

“Why the fuck couldn’t he stick with motocross? The best fuckin’ years of my life were racing beside you, brother.”

“Roc,” he pleads.

“I know my career was fucked once I ruined my knee, but you?” I point my finger at him. “You could’ve gone as far as you wanted. You still can.”

“I made choices, and I have to live with them.”

“I know.” I slide my sweaty hands down my face and take in a sharp breath when I think about the rape. I could rant about Dad all day long, but that won’t fucking help anyone. “What do you want me to do? Surely there’s some fuckwit around here I can talk to and sort this shit out? It’s not fucking on, brother. You need protection.”

“I could talk to the welfare officer, but people watch every fucking thing you do. It’ll only make things worse for me.”

“I can’t ignore it.”

“You have to. They watch me. Things will be harder if I blab. It’s a fucked-up power play. I’ll just keep out of sight. I’ve been spending a bit more time in my cell so there’s not as many opportunities to get fuckin’ harassed.”

“Is that why you’re pale as fuck?”

“As much as I love the taste of freedom that fresh air promises, it’s not worth it.”

Jesus.

“I’ll talk to our lawyer and see if he can do something, because this shit is not on.”

“He hasn’t been helpful from day one, so no point wasting more money. Drop it.”

“I don’t give a shit about the money. I just want you safe, got it?”

V huffs and slides his hands through his hair, clasping them together behind his neck. “How you doin’?” he asks, shifting focus.

What’s the point in telling him that I’m struggling? My problems are nothing compared to his. He just got fucked up the arse. He’s been in here nearly three months, halfway through his sentence, and it looks like he won’t be seeing daylight until he’s out. Even though I’m in a shitty place right now, it’s Bora Bora compared to where he’s at.

“Work’s busy.” Do I tell him about Soph? If I do, will he think that I won’t have room for him? When I look into his dark eyes, and see the ghosts there, I know I can’t tell him yet. It doesn’t sit right in my gut. “You know I cooked this morning. Mamma’s eggs,” I tell him instead.

“You’re shittin’ me. You haven’t cooked like that in years.”

“True.”

“What made you do it?”

That’s the thing. It’s the who—that’s what’s made me wanna cook. A girl. “It was time.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you drinkin’ flat out?”

He knows I hit the booze big time after we lost Mum, and after a while I had a handle on it, but I don’t want him to know that him being in here is what kicked my arse off the wagon. It’s not his fault.

“Mate,” I whisper. Do we really need to get into this? I sigh heavily and shrug. I won’t lie to him, but I’m sure he doesn’t have to hear me say that I’m still drinking like a fish. I don’t need him worrying about me. He has enough to think about.

“The yellow tinge to your eyes gives you away anyhow.”

“It’s under control,” I lie.

“Yeah, that’s what Dad said,” he spits out.

A tall, overweight guard comes to our table. “Two minutes,” he grunts, and then moves on.

I grip V’s inked hand across the table and squeeze. “Hang in there, brother. Only a few months and then you can start a new life.”

“Ha. What new life? I’ve gotta lot of time in here to think about that shit, and I don’t see things changing when I leave.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out. That’s a promise.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna be that simple, bro.”

“Like I said, whatever it takes, V.”

I hug my brother goodbye, and make my way out. With each step, my blood brews. I want some fucking answers. By the time I reach the guard station, my face is burning hot and I’ve broken out in a sweat. I zero in on the nearest man in uniform.

“I need to talk to whoever is in charge. Now,” I demand.

“Settle down, please,” a guard says, holding up his pudgy hand defensively. He looks like the poster child for Big Mac, with his huge gut hanging over the front of his pants. “What’s the problem?”

I take a quick look around me to make sure no civilians are lingering. “I need to report an incident,” I say through gritted teeth.

Big Mac calls over a wiry, bald man. The stick man doesn’t hide his scrutinising gaze, but rather seems to revel in it. Yes, I have tattoos, you fuckhead.

“Come with me,” he says, gathering a pen and notepad. He ushers me into a room to the side of the visitors’ desk. The heavy door slams behind him, causing an echo to bounce around the small room.

I take a seat on the metal chair he offers me, and watch him carefully as he slaps the notepad down on the table and sits opposite me.

“Tell me about this incident. Name of inmate, please.”

I swallow down hard. “My brother, Vinnie De Luca.”

He scrawls his name across the top of the yellow lined notepad in blue ink, and then underlines it.