Darcy seized Micah's shoulder in an iron grip. "What did you say? You'll make them apologise to me! For what?"
Micah's lips quivered as he murmured, "They hurt you, my little brother… They used me to get to you…"
Darcy's hold on him tightened. Micah's words were half true… half drunken nonsense. What did he mean, get to him? They all abandoned him.
"Micah, answer me. Who are they?"
Micah's head swayed weakly from side to side. "I hate them. I fucking hate them…"
Darcy couldn't get anything coherent from the drunken Micah. Frustration built inside him. He wanted to know more, but there was no way. Then suddenly Micah broke down, clinging to him, sobbing. "I'm sorry… I am really sorry…"
Darcy froze. For a moment, all sound vanished. Then his mind snapped. "To hell with this," he said through gritted teeth, yanking Micah's collar, shaking him slightly. "Sorry? Sorry for what? For ruining my life?"
