Page 39 of Rage

The sound of her nails tapping on the counter as she emptied good alcohol down the drain revealed her nervousness. Meant she was aware enough to know what he’d done to her was wrong.

I snuck closer when she dipped out of the kitchen with a full bag of trash, heading for a side door. Flying by the seat of my pants wasn’t in the original plan, but that was the thing about the best-laid plans.

Sometimes they just went AWOL, and you had to make a new one on the fly.

I ducked into the front foyer, thanking my lucky stars this house was built just like all the old houses we’d lived in as kids. Up the stairs I went, managing to get to the second floor before she even came back inside.

I leaned down and removed my shoes, hoping to mask my footsteps, praying that these wood floors didn’t give me away.

The sound of running water downstairs emboldened me as I slipped into a nearby room, finding what looked like an office. It was littered with piles of boxes and storage containers, the desk coated in a layer of dust. Clearly, whatever the original intention, this was now a storage space. I moved on and opened the next door, cringing when it creaked a little. The sound of running water continued downstairs, so I pushed on, swallowing my crippling fear of being caught before I could do what I’d come here to do.

Steal my life back.

I needed something on him—anything, really, that would prove he wasn’t who he claimed to be. I needed something he’d hidden away, thinking it was safe as long as he kept it close. Tony was a cocky bastard, and he was too smug not to keep proof of his conquests and crimes somewhere. Like a fucking trophy.

If he’d had any more balls when he was born, he might’ve come out of the womb a murderer. He wrapped the umbilical cord around my neck before screaming his way into the world,effectively trying to eliminate the competition before it even had a chance to grow.

Shame I hadn’t had the same forethought. Bastard shoulda killed me when he had the chance.

The third door was clearly to a bedroom, and I grinned wickedly as I rifled through the stupidly large closet, flipping through his tie collection and perfectly hung suits, wondering why a man with so much money bothered with a dinky house like this. He didn’t have kids that I could see. No pets. A pretty girlfriend, a nice job, clearly well-off. Why not just spring for a nice high-rise apartment in the city? Live it up if you can afford it.

I moved out of the closet and headed for a nearby dresser, hoping to find a false bottom for a drawer or something. Instead, I was greeted with a handful of brightly colored bra and panty sets, all looking barely worn, some with the tags still attached. I fingered the soft silk of the top one, jealousy filling me at the thought my brother got to see something so pretty wrapped up in a package this nice.

My eyes drifted over the top of the bureau, skimming over photos of a couple clearly in love—or doing a good job of faking it. There stood Tony, on the edge of some tall ass mountain, ski goggles shoved up on his head, holding those fucking poles like he was some sort of seasoned pro or something. Next to him was a less-enthused woman with her ski goggles still over her face, her body leaning slightly away from him even with his arm around her shoulders.

Okay, so maybe not so happy, after all.

The next one was the two of them with my mother, all three of them in heavy knit sweaters—my mother’s specialty. A fir tree with decorations in the background hinted at a Christmas gathering, and they were all smiling, though this time, my brother’s grin looked too wide, too forced. The look in his eyeswas nothing but predatory, and as he gazed down at the girl in the photo, I had to resist the urge to gag.

It looked like someone considering a new car. Not someone admiring a lover, a lifemate.

This one wasn’t in a frame but taped to the adjoining photo’s frame. I pulled it down and flipped it over, wondering how long ago it was taken.

My mother’s familiar handwriting was scrawled across the blank side, like she did with all the photos she took and then printed for her family to admire.

Winter 2023, family Christmas dinner. Arkadios, Tara, and Mama. See you again next year!

I flipped the photo back over again, staring hard at the girl I knew I’d seen somewhere. Was she an old coworker or something? Maybe a neighbor who just happened to chance across my brother and catch his eye?

“Tara, Taraaaaa, who are you?”

I heard the click of a pistol’s hammer cocking behind me, and slowly raised my hands, the picture still gripped tightly in my left one.

“I think the better question is, who are you, and why are you in my house?”

Realization slammed into me in a flash, memories of half-drunken nights at the local college pub flashing before my eyes with startling vividness. Our graduation celebration, the pub crawls, even a few nights when we’d gotten so wasted we got handsy and made out in the back booth, never quite going all the way, embarrassed for the following week as we staunchly avoided each other and went on with our lives like it’d never happened.

Tara Hallowell. A girl I’d had several college classes with who shared the same major as me. A girl I’d have hooked upwith if she didn’t seem utterly uninterested in anything but her schooling.

He was dating someone from my college days.

The bastard really had no shame. And some mighty big balls.

“Well, hello to you, too, Tara,” I muttered, turning slowly, giving her ample time to shoot me if that was how it was really supposed to end here.

Her eyes were exactly how I remembered them—deep, swirling, expressive pools of the most adorable shade of blue-grey. They pinned me with a glare that turned to shock, then suspicion as she lowered the gun, then hesitated, leaving it pointed somewhere around my groin area, still dangerous, but not life-threatening.Well, only slightly less life-threatening.

“Arkady?” Her eyes narrowed as she took me in, her lizard brain telling her something wasnot right,but her eyes telling her I was someone she knew, someone she cared for, someone who?—

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