“He isn’t,” he says firmly, eyes flashing.
I squint at him, trying to figure out if his sincerity is imagined or not. I hate the fact that I want to believe him, especially because it means that my brother might be mistaken. That all of this might be for nothing.
“Of course you’d say that.”
“Don’t mistake me for a saint,” he says. “I’ve murdered and stolen. I’ve tortured and lied. I’ve destroyed businesses and men, I’ve brought my enemies to their knees, and I’ve never apologized for any of it. I still don’t regret a single thing I’ve done. I doubt I ever will. Because whatever I’ve done, I’ve done for a reason. Taking these women, though… what reason could I possibly have had for that?”
I blink in confusion. “Maybe you like to be in control. Maybe you get off on it.”
“Oh, I do,” he a
