#Chapter42
As Lucien Murdock basked in the obituary of the god-awful day, he couldn't get his mind to switch off. Dusk acted as a shroud, the inky tendrils of the dark room slinking over his body, dancing along the patches of his exposed flesh, but there wasn't a darkness strong enough to blot out the images that embroidered their way into his memory.
The way his brother had looked at him . . . a shudder rippled down his spine, slam-dunking the air out of his lungs. Probably kicked his spirit right out of his body too.
Lucien had looked up to Joel from the moment he'd been able to lift his own head. Before Joel moved, back when they'd both still lived at home, he'd modelled himself on his brother.
