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Ryker caught and held Marshal’s gaze across the distance. He wasn’t giving an inch and scowled.
“What do you want?” Ryker kept his voice devoid of emotion and calm, tired of being hurt.
“Tell me what you know,” Marshal said while gazing at him.
Ryker decided right then and there to put aside personal feelings for just a moment and deal with the issue of an abused boy.
“I don’t know much, yet. Cohen?” Ryker shot his friend a look.
Cohen told Marshal as much as he could about Aspen’s story, which was very thin.
“Aspen?” Ryker called out, and when he got the boy’s attention, he gestured him over.
Slowly, as if unsure about being close to any of them, Aspen came across the room clutching a book in his hands. Ryker made out the title of Stardust, a young adult modern-day fairytale.
“Have a seat next to Cohen, please,” Ryker said.
Aspen settled on the couch cross-legged, the book clutched tightly to his chest. The bruises on his pale face stood out starkly.
Sitting next to Cohen, the pair looked almost identical. Both had curly black hair, blue eyes, and slender frames.
His eyes snapped to Cohen, then Aspen, and back to Cohen.
Ryker saw fear in Cohen’s eyes.
Understanding suddenly dawned on Ryker.
What the actual fuck?
Cohen had lied to him.
Ryker saw the exact moment Cohen realized he’d figured shit out.
Not the whole story, but enough to know that the bullshit Cohen had spouted earlier had not been true.
When his friend took a deep breath and opened his mouth, Ryker held up one finger. Cohen deflated and snapped his mouth closed.
“Cousin? Brother?”
Marshal shot him a frowning look and then snapped his eyes to Cohen and Aspen.
“Cousin.” Cohen released a heavy sigh.
“First?”
“Yes, first cousins,” Cohen murmured.
“Why the big lie?” Ryker asked around a lump in his throat.
“It was me. I didn’t want anyone to know my last name,” Aspen said, reaching out to link his fingers with Cohen’s.
“And the bruises are from my uncle,” Cohen said, wrapping an arm around his younger cousin’s shoulders.
“Oh, fuck me.” Ryker tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling.
“Your uncle is Winchester Armani,” Marshal flatly bit the words out, it was not a question.
“Yes,” Cohen said.
