Page 112 of The Twins

“I’d say take as much time as you need, but we’re talking about a child here. She needs to go home and get justice,” Alex says. He wears a tracksuit, one with his team’s name on it. His kicks are new, and he smells so pleasant that I’m fucking jealous of the man.

Glimmers of doubt seep through, but most of his pain comes from a love for something. Somebody. His family. He’s full of love, the fluffy kind I want more of in my life. Fuck the depressing stuff.

I could be friends with this guy. He’s easy to be around with my condition.

“Before we let you into our country, Fylox would like to… I don’t know what to call it really,” Alex says, his chin dipping down. “He doesn’t trust easily.”

“I understand,” Charles says, nodding in grace.

There’s a tightness in my chest that I can’t diffuse. If I’m about to be interrogated, I can’t pass the test with flying colors like I usually would.

I’m a certified liar. This should be easy.

I fidget in my seat with an upset stomach.

A man enters the cabin, dressed in black from head to toe. There are no emblems on his clothes, no additional color. He’s tall and rugged, but there’s no overplaying how muscular he is. Indeed, what I focus on is the fact that I can’t extract any information from him.

Outside of the fact that his eyes scream murder, I don’t sense a thing about him.

My lungs clog up, and I forget how to breathe.

I used to kill for money, but I was never as intense. I had fun with it. I rid the world of homicidal assholes. My weapon of choice was a syringe filled with poison. Violence was never my answer to finishing the job early. I took my time, and I smiled.

Oh, I smiled.

Why waste your white boy face on sadness when you can get wrinkles from smiling too much? My smile eased my way into more rooms than I can count.

“That’s Fylox, everybody,” Alex introduces his friend. Fylox steps in front of Alex, signaling for him to leave room between himself and us. Alex’s heart is whole, and it almost fools me. Fylox may protect Alex, but he’s here to interrogate us.

And I’m in no shape for that.

“You once attempted to kill Aris Wraith, the Prince of Katantia?” Fylox asks.

I nod, and my head spins.

“Are you here to kill any members of the Wraith family? Specifically, Kamila Ruby Wraith, Queen of Katantia?” Fylox continues.

“Fylox, you’re supposed to pretend to care about somebody other than the queen,” Alex chimes in, grimacing. Fylox doesn’t react. He glares at Charles and me.

“No, we’re not here to kill anyone. We just want to take the kid back home and then take her to a safe space. Perhaps she can emancipate herself since she’s famous,” Charles says. He doesn’t waver. He remains strong because, let’s face it. Charles doesn’t get fucked with. He has an answer for it all. Even for Remo’s computers.

If it were up to Charles, he’d shoot the fucking hardware and let it be. He’s old-school, and the most modern invention he knows is his fingerprint-opening safe.

His mom was a psychopath who abused my sugar puff for fun. His dad was a mobster. Everyone in his family expected him to continue the bloodline, the family business.

Instead, Charles went on to save human trafficking victims. He was caught in a lie in San Ricardo—pretending to be a person who died years ago, but he worked hard to suck on karma’s dick.

And I truly believe that Mrs. Karma’s satisfied with Charles at the moment.

“I want to hear it from him,” Fylox insists. He doesn’t gesture at me with his hands. It’s a subconscious twitch of his eyes that addresses me.

Whatever Fylox wants me to say, I can’t utter a word.

I take deep breaths, but the burden of abandoning Amira in her moment of need weighs me down.

“Say something,” Charles urges me, but I can’t.

“I’m not letting them out,” Fylox announces, and I shudder.

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