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Page 178 of The Masks and the Dancer (Their Obsession 2)

Cyrus walked over to Cane amid the chaos and looked down at him.

“Took you fucking long enough,” Cane groaned.

“Interesting accusations,” Cyrus said casually. “What am I gonna find if I dig this place up?”

Cane cradled his ribs and got back to his feet. “Dirt. Maybe a slate or two.”

Cyrus raised a brow. “Oh really. She seems pretty convinced.”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Cane said simply.

Fix walked over then, looking anxious and drawn. “Did you get what we need?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go,” Fix said.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Cyrus said, narrowing his eyes. “I have a cursed tree, two criminals, and a million fucking questions.”

“We don’t have fucking time for this,” Cane growled.

“You go back to the house. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can after I help with this,” Fix said.

“You don’t make the rules here,” Cyrus snapped.

“I do when we’re dealing with a curse case and you have no active warrant to detain him,” Fix said. “Cane has vital information. You can question him later. You have your hands full right now anyway.”

The two of them locked eyes in a battle of wills.

Cane couldn’t be fucked and just walked off.

Let someone try and stop him.

Chapter 23

Hart

His phone was smashed on the floor in the far corner of the worn-down room he’d rented for the evening. The texts wouldn’t stop coming in. The ringing had pierced through his head and made him want to rip his hair out. It had reverberated in his brain and made the aches feel sharper, more prominent.

It wouldn’t stop.

They kept calling him. Texting him. Demanding things he didn’t want to give. It was ripping him apart, the sense of responsibility he was so used to carrying around battling with the need to just not be inside his own body anymore. Not like this.

He was done with it after a couple of hours, and at the next sound he’d grabbed his phone and thrown it against the wall. It had felt like his hand was working without any direction from him, like he was watching someone else manipulate his body into action. He hadn’t exactly meant to do it.

But it had stopped the ringing.

The feeling inside him remained.

He’d lost everything he had in just a few hours. His brothers had all turned against him, looking at him like they’d never seen him before. Like he was a fucked-up thing they needed to fix. They’d told him to his face that he wasn’t doing his job right. That he had messed up and done things wrong. That he had his priorities fucked up and needed to do better. They’d said all of the things that had been eating at the corners of his soul for as long as he could remember.

That he wasn’t enough. He needed to do more. He needed to be more.

And he’d been living under the assumption that he was giving as much as he had to them. The truth had felt like a stab wound. It had hurt, and stung, and bled until something inside of him screamed that there was no other option but to get out of there. It had pushed at his insides and made his limbs carry him away.

He’d moved in a daze.

Something deep inside of him had thought they’d stop him. Ask him to stay. But the silence had been damning and deafening. Ungrateful, something hissed in his head, slithering and dark. Ungrateful children. Ungrateful brats.


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