Page 89 of Surrender (Angels Halo MC Next Gen)

“Who’s there?” I whispered.

“You don’t know your own brother’s voice?”

Relief had me relaxing into the pillow, but only momentarily. I would know Ryan’s voice anywhere. It was as distinct to me as Elias’s or Mom’s or Papa’s. And the one I’d just heard did not belong to my brother.

Carefully, I lowered my blanket and tried to open my eyes again. But all I saw was a silhouette a few feet away. Blinking, I attempted to get my vision to focus. With my distorted eyesight, it did look like Ryan was standing there. But…no. Even when we argued, I didn’t feel the kind of malice that was saturating this room.

No, it wasn’t so much hostility as…rage.

“Ryan?” I breathed hesitantly, wondering if maybe I was having a bad dream.

The shadowed figure stepped forward, and still, it looked like Ryan to me. But every instinct inside me screamed danger. I might dislike my brother the majority of the time, but I’d never been uneasy around him.

“What’s going on?” I asked, needing to hear his voice again.

“There isn’t much time. We need to go.”

There! I heard it, the slightest hint of an accent. Ryan spoke perfect Russian and Italian, just as I did, but neither one of us had an accent when we spoke English. Whoever was pretending to be my brother definitely was not Ryan.

I rubbed at my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, willing them to focus. “Who are you?”

“Your brother,” he repeated. “We have to go. Now.”

He moved closer, and I reached out for a weapon, knowing I couldn’t take him without one. Not in my current condition. But I found nothing. Not even a water pitcher. I shrank back into the mattress. “Stay away from me. I don’t know you!”

I heard his exasperated sigh. “I guess we’re going with Option B.”

Fake Ryan leaned over me, and I struck out, my fists flying, my nails raking over his cheeks. He was close enough that I could see his face. He looked so much like Ryan it was scary, but I could make out differences too. Ryan looked like a clone of Papa, and this man was almost a replica as well. But even with my vision impaired, I noticed the subtle variations in the shape of his eyes. His nose wasn’t quite as perfect.

Ryan could have been his twin, but not an identical one. This man was slightly older, harder, his eyes so haunting, I wanted to ask what had happened to him.

“Who are you?” I repeated.

“Your brother.”

A sting in my neck was my only warning that he’d stabbed me with a needle. I slapped at it, but my reflexes were too slow to stop the burn of whatever he’d injected me with. Within seconds, the world faded into nothing but darkness.

Pressure and a pounding in my skull roused me. Groaning, I clutched at my head. “Turn the lights off,” I commanded. “And stop breathing so loud.”

“Easy,” a deep voice instructed. “You will pull the IV out of your hand if you aren’t careful.”

Every muscle in my body tightened in reaction as memories pelted my foggy mind. Gingerly, I opened my eyes, trying to adjust to the lighting a little at a time. Slowly, my surroundings came into view. The roar of a jet engine. The bright lights filling the cabin. The way my chair was reclined. The IV that was still in the back of my hand with warmed fluids slowly flowing through it. The metal cuff around my other wrist that was attached to my chair. The scent of food in the air. The loud breathing of the man across from me.

The…

Fucking metal cuff on my wrist?

I tugged on it once, twice. “Sonofabitch!”

“Now, is that any way to speak about our mother?”

Jerking my head in the direction of the voice, I blinked him into focus. First his silhouette and then his profile. Short, dark hair. Beautiful, masculine bone structure, with a slightly imperfect nose that made his handsome face that much more alluring. His smooth skin that looked like he’d never smiled or frowned a day in his life. Brown eyes that had a soft honey glow to them but lacked any emotion. Just a cold, empty shell.

He looked so much like Ryan, I almost reached out to touch him, to see if he was real. But he wasn’t Ryan. He was a little older, maybe, but not by much, the subtle differences in his face reminding me of…me.

Of Mom.

“Who the fuck are you?” I whispered.

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