Page 1 of The Twins

Prologue

REMO

“I’m a murderer.”

I say the words out loud, but the person in bed with me doesn’t hear me. They’re asleep while I can’t close my eyes without being dragged into the darkest pit I can think of.

It’s fine.

I’ve lived with my truth for years now, and I don’t intend to break out of my shell of comfort.

There are words in this world that can make or break you. Words you’re not supposed to utter. Words that empower you.

Three words haunted me like no other. I’m a murderer.

In the past, I lived with them. Numbed out, I carried out my duty. I’m a murderer. Now, these words come to me in my dreams when I’m most vulnerable. They slither their way into my being when I can’t wake up. That’s why I choose to stay awake.

These three words don’t define me anymore.

I almost died for these three words.

Death would have been easy. I learned a long time ago that when I pick the easy route, it never goes as expected.

With the windows wide open, I’m in bed. A foreign bed. It doesn’t smell like her at all. The three words that used to torment me don’t hurt as much as her absence. When she’s not here, I don’t feel a thing.

The early in the morning should please me. The sunrise is my favorite part of the day. I may not be as cheerful as my brother. Maybe I should revel in the dark of night with the scars on my back and my ragged insides. I don’t, though. I’m a creature of the day. Soaking up the sun in any shape or form brightens my mood.

And I need that boost.

If I’m left in the dark, the monsters come alive.

It’s the break of day, but she isn’t here.

As gloomy of a family as we are, when she’s not around, there isn’t much to live for.

I don’t know why I do this to myself.

She needs me. Us. We’re a team.

A family.

She doesn’t need another cruel murderer to love her.

I hear the waves crash against the shore. I’ve never lived by the sea. I don’t live by the sea right now. Our house is twenty, thirty minutes away from the beach—down the Santa Monica Boulevard we go, maybe a trip to Malibu or Topanga?

I’m not home.

I can’t run up to whichever room she sleeps in and help her dress while we ponder on where to go for the day while the grown-ups make money. That’s an unfair thought. She’s built her own empire, and she works at her convenience now. That doesn’t mean she isn’t a grown-up that makes money.

She earns more than I do.

Of course, she does.

I was fired.

Dishonorable Discharge. Benefits? Out of the window. Honor? Non-existent. I haven’t held a job in years. She thinks I work with Charles, but I don’t. I help him from time to time, but my background prevents any official connection between the LAPD and an officer with a DD.

Back when she charged into our lives, I was supposed to start assisting Charles at the station in San Ricardo. The Chief did what he wanted to back then. My work plans never materialized because our lives changed the moment that we realized that she was it for us.

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