Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“Tell me about yourself,” I say. Fury’s been my shadow for weeks on and off, and all I know is that he’s a twin, a tower of a man, with fists like boulders and a beard Santa Claus would be envious of.
“What do you want to know?”
I blow out my cheeks, exasperated. Let’s start with something easy. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Who’s eldest, you or Tank?”
“Tank. By two minutes.”
“And your real names?”
“Tank and Fury.”
My shoulders drop. “Come on.”
“It’s Tank and Fury.”
“Fine. Parents?”
“Our father is dead and our mother is in a residential home.” He says it with no emotion whatsoever.
“I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask if your mom is okay?”
“She has dementia. Late stages. Some days she recognizes us, others she doesn’t.”
I wince. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s life.”
“And your father?” I ask, more curious than I should be.
“Murdered.”
I balk at the shiny paintwork of the hood. Again, there was no emotion in there. None at all. “I’m so—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he grunts. “Justice was served.”
I press my lips together, knowing that justice did not come from a judge. “By you?” I ask.
“By Tank.”
“How?”
He laughs a little, and I roll my eyes. He thinks I’m thirsty for blood. Worryingly, he might be right. “He took off his head with a sword.”
“Oh. Prison?”
“Yes. But not for that.”
“And you?”
He sighs. “If Tank sleeps, I sleep. If he eats, I eat. If he laughs, I laugh. If he goes to prison, I go to prison.”
I smile. “It’s cute how close you are.”
“We’re twins, Beau. We have no choice.”
“Stop playing it down. You couldn’t live without each other.” I poke him in the back. “You don’t have to be all macho with me.”
“Could say the same for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, stop trying to prove to the world, and more importantly to James, that you’re always a-fucking-okay.”
I pout. “I am okay.”
“You’re full of shit, Beau,” he grunts. “Full of fucking shit.”
Recoiling, I wonder if he is right. Of course he’s right. Peace is a seesaw. Up and down. Glimmers here and there, threatening to complete me and give me that elusive eternal serenity. I’m a fraud, more to myself than anyone else. Even when I thought the root of my darkness was gone, there was something else to bring me back down to earth. Something else to channel my misery into. A miscarriage. “I’m just trying to—”
“Make James feel better? It ain’t working, Beau. You’re fooling no one but yourself.”
“When did this turn into a therapy session?”
“When you tried to make it about me.”
I frown. “What do you think Rose is having?” I blurt, the question coming from leftfield. “Could you imagine twins?”
He laughs, jolting me, and then stops abruptly. “No. I think one baby will cause enough stress, don’t you?”
“Boy or girl?” I can’t explain my curiosity. Part of me wonders is it’s something innate that’s guiding me. A maternal instinct that’s been unearthed and needs sating. Rose is my only outlet. Until, perhaps, she’s not. We’re nearly twelve hours into today and my period hasn’t come. Will it? A weird flutter happens in my stomach, and I smile to myself.
“Boy,” Fury says, disturbing my thoughts.
“Do you? Why?”
“I don’t know, Beau,” he says, exasperated. “I just do.” He rises to his full, towering height and turns toward the sound of a car coming down the track. “They’re here.”
“They?” I ask, pushing my palms into his back and craning my neck, blowing the hair out of my face. “James and who?”
“Brad.” He finally bends and lowers me to my feet, and my stomach flips as a result. “Do not move.”
“Where will I go?” I ask, helping myself to my gun from his hold and slipping it into the back of my sweatpants. It’s disconcerting that he knows me so well. “It was nice getting to know you.” I smile sweetly at Fury, and he bumps me lightly in the bicep with one of his boulder fists.
“I’d say the same, but I already knew you.”
“Smart-ass,” I mutter, going toward the Mercedes that’s driving with a bit too much urgency for my liking. What the hell is going on? We’ve been back in Miami mere hours. What could have happened already?
The car skids to a stop and both Brad and James dive out, both looking at my composed form with a mixture of concern and hesitance. “What?” I ask. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on? I just want to visit my mother’s gra—” I suck back air, homing in on James’s face. I hate his grieved expression. Hate it. Fury stopped me going to my mother’s grave. Why?
Panic crawls into my throat and clogs it. I can see James’s intention to get to me. To stop me. Can feel Fury behind me moving in, ready to grab me.
No.
I kick my flip-flops off and bolt to my right, the nastiest feeling rooting itself deep in my gut, speaking to me, telling me to get to Mom.