Page 159 of Catch Me
I glare over Kyle’s shoulder at the man tied up behind him.
“You have to be at the damn Academy Awards in forty-eight hours,” he replies, calmly. “You can’t exactly show up with bruised knuckles, can you?”
“There are makeup artists.”
“The last thing we need is a fucking makeup artist asking questions,” my dad says behind me.
I glare at him over my shoulder.
He moves to stand next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Son, this is the quickest way to get rid of this piece of shit.” He slowly turns his head to Dennis James, who’s strapped to a wooden chair.
“We’ll let the pigs take care of the rest.”
Dennis starts squealing just like the pigs that’ll eventually feed on his body.
Kyle and my father are right.
But I don’t care about their commonsense explanations. When I look at the son of a bitch strapped to that chair, begging for his life, there’s not an ounce of pity inside of me.
All I see when I look at him is the fact that he tried to take Ivy away from me. Permanently.
It was only thanks to Ivy’s quick instincts, and the stun gun I insisted she carry once she started taking night classes, that she’s alive.
Dennis was supposed to go on trial for assault and a few surprise charges of money laundering. Those were discovered after the initial allegations of him harassing women came out. However, he took a plea deal and was out awaiting his sentencing trial when he attacked Ivy.
Thanks to Spencer being there, my family’s less above-the-law security team not only arranged for us to be alone with Dennis here now, but also set up a scene in the apartment where he was staying to make it look like he took his own life.
That service came complete with positive I.D. through DNA matching and everything. In the eyes of everyone else, Dennis James is already dead.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Told you,” Thiers grumbles, darkly, from behind me.
“He finally speaks,” Kyle says, looking over at my twin.
Thiers doesn’t give a verbal reply, and I suspect he merely shrugs while continuing his leaned back position against the wall, arms folded over his chest.
This moment isn’t about the rest of my family. I move past my brother and father and approach Dennis. He grunts in pain when I rip the tape from over his mouth.
“The fuck is this?” he barks out.
“This is your reckoning,” I tell him, chuckling with a few taps to his face. An evil smirk splits my lips when he flinches.
“My what? What does that mean?”
“Dumb motherfucker,” Thiers scoffs.
“Ay, what did he say?”
“No, twin!” I bark when Thiers tries to barge past me. “This one is mine. Carry your ass back over to that wall.”
My brother’s eyes narrow to slits. The look alone has probably sent many a man to his grave.
But I don’t break eye contact with my brother. He snarls, curling his top lip, but eventually backs off, mumbling something about anyone else would’ve ended up with a cracked skull talking to him like that.
That actually makes me chuckle
“You come with me,” my dad orders, pointing at Thiers. He, like me, probably already senses Thiers’ anxiousness.
