Page 37 of Rage

“Funny thing, that,” I muttered, crossing the room to put some distance between us. “Because that’s usually what happens to a woman when her hormones fluctuate.”

He stopped, his hand stilling as it wrapped around the handle of the spatula. “You on the rag or something?”

“I should be.” My shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “But I’m not.”

Funny, that.

His lips cracked in a sly smile he didn’t think I could see. “Are you pregnant?”

“How could I be? I have an arm implant, and we use condoms.”

“Maybe they both failed.” His smile grew. “I have strong swimmers.”

I wanted to gag. What hehadwas a lying streak a mile long, but I didn’t want to tell him that. Starting a fight right now was a bad idea. It would only end in more verbal abuse and throw bottles.

“Maybe,” I conceded, swiping the pregnancy test off the sidebar. If I proved him right, gave him a reason to think he’d won, he’d become even more insufferable than usual.

“Guess you’d better take a test, huh?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” I glanced at the trash can, wondering if it’d be too obvious to throw this damn thing away and shove some scraps on top of it. Would he suspect? Would he get violent?

Was telling him even safe anymore? And if he knew I was pregnant, if he’d caused it, then what lengths would he go to to force me to keep it?

My heart dropped as I realized I was quite possibly trapped now, with no way out.

Fuck my life. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

Chapter Two

Arkady

Sunlight. Morning dew. Fresh air.

Greeting the brisk fall mornings as a free man never got old.

I’d been out for all of two weeks now, and so far, all I’d managed to do was check in with a parole officer under my brother’s name, sign up for a room in a halfway house, and put in a call that wasn’t returned to my mother.

My grandmother would be sad to know she’d abandoned the wrong brother. Poor woman was probably rolling over in her grave right now.

I stretched my arms as I came to a slow walk at the end of the park path, preparing to turn around and do it all again. Running had become my new personal habit.

Probably lingering PTSD from not having more than eighty square feet to live in for the last five years, give or take.

Around me, the world moved on, with everyone focused on themselves. Things hadn’t changed much while I was locked up. Some guys I’d been in there with didn’t even know what acell phonewas, for fuck’s sake.

I checked the secondhand watch my parole officer had given me, insisting I would have no excuse to be late to anything,including my mandatory drug tests, if I had something to tell time with. A day later, I had a government-issued prepaid phone in my hands, but I still kept the watch. It was like a warning, sort of. A reminder not to fuck up so spectacularly again, to not let anyone get the upper hand.

It was a reminder that the clock was ticking and about to run out for my twin.

Eat shit and die, Antony.Karma was a bitch.

I crouched in the bushes behind my brother’s swanky hideout, surprised he’d even bothered to stay in the country once he got away with murder. This fucker was living it up like he shouldn’t be, in a new town, a new state, with a whole new life. Probably the smart move, to keep the ruse going until?—

Until what? What exactly did he think he’d do when I got out? Did he think I’d just go on being him? That I would forget all about him?

Fucker was probably so conceited he thought I’d never get out.

I might’ve flipped through the mail when dark fell, realizing he was one of those types who never brought it in until it was falling out of the box. Ihatedthat shit.

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