I roll my eyes and gesture to the carrot. “What the hell. Is this a new phase in your Crossfit indoctrination, walking around with raw root vegetables?”
“Beta carotene, motherfucker. Antioxidants. I’m helping my body eliminate free radicals.”
“Take a vitamin. You look like a douche.”
“To answer your question, Dr. Kane, Rowan is going on a little hunting expedition with a like-minded soul,” Lachlan chimes in as he drops into one of the leather armchairs in the corner of the room. “But in true Rowan style, he’s decided to make it into a competition. He roped me into finding some suitable prey that would be enough of a surprise for both of them. So, essentially, he’s going to have his ass handed to him like the little bitch masochist he is.”
I shoot Lachlan a death glare but he just smirks over the lip of his glass, taking a long sip of bourbon as he taps a silver ring against the crystal edge.
“Where?” Fionn asks.
“West Virginia.”
“…Why?”
Lachlan barks a laugh. “I’d say because he’s trying to claw his way out of the friend zone, but I don’t think he’s even in a zone at this rate.”
Fionn takes another crunching bite of his carrot, filling his mouth as he lets out a goofy chuckle like a fucking dumb kid.
So I do what any reasonable, grown-ass man would do to his little brother.
I whip the carrot out of his hand and then pelt it at Lachlan, hitting him on the forehead with a satisfying whack.
My brothers protest in unison and I grin down at my luggage as I stuff another pair of jeans into my carry-on.
“I don’t think you’ve made this much effort for a woman since…ever. You haven’t seen her in what, a year?” Lachlan asks, not missing a beat.
The sound of Fionn’s choked cough fills the room. Lachlan and I watch as he catches flecks of orange in his tight fist. “What? A fucking year? Why am I only learning about this now?”
“You’ve had your head in your ass in buttfuck nowhere playing town doctor, that’s why,” Lachlan snickers. “Come back to Boston, Fionn. Stop wallowing like some Hallmark Movie Sad Man Cinderwhatever and come home to practice some real medicine.”
“Prick,” Fionn and I say in perfect unison.
Lachlan grins and sets his glass down on the side table, pulling a pearl-handled switchblade from his pocket before leaning back to unbuckle the extra strip of worn leather from the custom stropping belt at his waist. He loops the metal ring at the slack end of the belt around his middle finger and stretches the leather out, then starts to sharpen the blade on the rough edge of the hide. It’s something he’s done since we were kids, something that soothes him. Lachlan might enjoy ribbing Fionn and me, but I know he’s stressed about our younger brother no longer living in the same city as us, and now about me going off to play some insane death game with a serial killer I barely know. “I’m not wrong,” he says after a few passes of the blade over the cowhide. “Nebraska is too far, kid. Besides, you’re clearly missing out on all the good details of Rowan’s non-existent, comically sad love life being out there.”
“True,” Fionn admits. His thoughtful gaze drops to the hardwood as he crosses his arms and leans against the dresser. He’s probably assigning numeric values to knowing the gossip versus being out of the loop, and is weighing the statistical probability of his happiness divided by pi.
Fucking nerd.
“Have you seen her?” Fionn asks as he snaps out of his analytical haze, looking straight to Lachlan as though I’m not even here.
“Only in a few photos.” Lachlan takes a sip of his drink as he smirks at my lethal glare. “She’s fucking hot. Definitely has a dark side—she likes to take her victims’ eyeballs while they’re still alive. The feds call her the Orb Weaver. Her actual name is Sloane Sutherland.”
“Keep her fucking name out of your mouth,” I snarl.
Lachlan’s booming laugh fills the room. He raises the hand gripping the switchblade to his mouth as the sound of his amusements floods the space between us. The smartass is undoubtedly reminding me that, out of the two of us, he’s the one with a weapon at the ready.
If the razor-sharp blade wasn’t clutched in his hand, I’d already be punching his fucking smug face.
“Let’s say you manage to claw your way into the friend zone, and then by some fucking miracle you get yourself beyond that and into the spider lady’s good graces without losing an eye, how would you like me to refer to her?”