The Wild Finale (The Wild Boys #3) - Erin O'Kane Page 0,2

among us, ready to attack again.

Ready to take another I love.

Blake squeezes my hand, drawing my gaze back to the casket they have brought outside. Leo takes my other hand, and I turn to see Liam grasp his. Kingston clutches Blake’s free hand and Damon’s on the other side. Emmett stands at the end, not touching anyone but close to us, with Kathy next to him, crying in her Chanel dress.

I can’t hate her, I can’t.

My hate is for someone else.

I watch as Emmett reaches out and takes her hand, squeezing. They are comforting each other like my men and I are, but a voice brings my gaze forward. I watch in horror as they lower him into the ground and people throw flowers and dirt onto the casket.

It’s our turn. The boys go, but I’m still standing here, alone and scared. I can’t. This is final, this is goodbye.

I thought I knew pain. I’ve faced grief before. I lost my best friend, I survived that…but this death rips through my fragile, healing heart, and I don’t know if I will survive it this time.

How do you go on without a heart?

I stumble over the grass, sobs slipping from my throat. I grab a flower and toss it onto the casket lid. “I’m sorry, Mark. I’m so goddamn sorry. I love you…goodbye,” I whisper, my voice thick and choked, but I can’t move away.

The rest of the crew and visitors disperse, but I stay staring down at the casket with my heart at my feet like the dirt scattered around us. And fury builds.

It fills me, replacing pain with purpose, burning everything away but the need for revenge.

“What now?” Kathy whispers.

I keep my eyes locked on the casket as I answer, “We figure out who the fuck killed our friend, and we make them pay.”

The wake is for family and close friends only, thank fuck. We can finally get away from the cameras and people that turned up just to get a look at the guys. I know Mark mentioned that the show consumed his life, but I didn’t realise just how much until now. He didn’t have many other friends beyond us and the rest of the crew, which suits us just fine.

I hate these things, but the boys insisted, saying we should celebrate Mark’s life, yet looking around the dingy little pub we’re in now, I notice none of us appear like we’re celebrating anything.

Nursing the glass of wine I hold between my frozen fingers, I stare down at the deep red liquid. Funny how I’m freezing, even though it’s an unseasonably hot day.

“Well, this is depressing.” Leo’s voice pulls my gaze from my wine, and I see him frowning down at our table where I’m sitting with Liam, Blake, and Damon. Leo carries a tray of drinks as he returns from the bar, placing it down in front of us. Kingston follows with his own drink.

“It’s a wake, what do you fucking expect?” Blake growls from my side, his anger making his tone sharp.

“Whoa,” Damon exclaims from the other side of the table. “Blake, he didn’t mean—”

Leo turns to face Blake and pushes the tray a little too forcefully in his direction, causing his pint of beer to slosh over the top of the glass and spill over the table and onto his trousers. “What I expect is for you to stop acting like a fucking sullen child,” Leo chides, his harsh rebuke so at odds with the usual happy guy I’m used to.

Cursing, Blake jumps up from the table and brushes off his trousers as we watch in open-mouthed shock. With a snarl, he grabs napkins and starts to dab at the wet patch before giving up.

What the hell is going on?

Blake looks up at Leo with a dark expression that spells trouble. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Damon swears under his breath and stands, stepping in front of Blake so he can’t do anything stupid. We’re all angry and grief stricken, he would feel awful if he took his pain out on Leo.

Leo laughs bitterly as he watches a furious Blake, shaking his head when Kingston places a hand on his shoulder to stop him from going anywhere.

I can feel everyone’s eyes on us, and when I look around, I realise I was right. Every member of the crew is here, which means the murderer is here too. Kathy is standing at the bar, watching with wide, red-rimmed eyes and a glass of whiskey