Does It Hurt? (98)
He studies me closely, that affection still present as he leans closer, brushing his nose against mine while a grin pulls his lips up once more.
“You are a thief, baby. You stole my name, and now you’ve taken my heart, too. Demand anything else from me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I don’t dese—”
He grabs me by the jowls, roughly pinching my cheeks into my teeth. “Being loved by me will hurt like hell. It’s everything you deserve.”
Then, he declares passionately, “I love you, and you will love me.”
I’m convinced I’m dying, yet it’s the happiest I’ve ever been.
“I do. I do love you,” I respond, almost on autopilot. Of course, it comes out jumbled and feels funny, considering my cheeks are still crushed between his fingers, and I have fish lips.
But it’s worth it because it pulls another full-forced smile on his face as he releases me. And again, my chest is caving in, and I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
For whatever reason, he’s ready to forgive me. But I haven’t earned that yet. Not until he knows everything.
The happiness slips from my face, and when he notices my change in demeanor, his does, too.
“What’s wrong, bella?”
“I killed him,” I whisper.
Enzo jerks back in shock. “What?”
I bite my lip, gathering the little courage I possess.
“I killed Kevin,” I say again.
His mouth parts, and it takes him a few beats to catch on to what I’m saying.
“You said he was after you.”
I shake my head, tears once more burning the backs of my eyes. “The police are after me—his friends. Not because I steal identities or because Kev is trying to find me, but because I killed a cop. I murdered my twin brother.”
Chapter 30
Sawyer
Six Years Ago
I jump the moment I hear the front door slam. He likes to joke and call out, 'Honey, I'm home!’ But today, there's only silence.
It's unnerving, and I'm instantly on high alert. There's a gas leak in my muscles, tension slowly filling them with poison. My stomach churns as footsteps start on the steps, traveling closer and closer.
“Sawyer?” Kevin calls. In a span of seconds, I dissect each syllable and inflection in his tone, searching for a hint of what mood he's in.
“In here,” I call, attempting to sound pleasant.
It's summer break from my college classes, and the only thing keeping me away from home—from him—is my job at the library.
But of course, today is my day off, and I’m now considering calling Mrs. Julie and asking to pick up a shift.
I’m sitting on my bed, sifting through a thriller novel. I don't even know what it's about anymore; I lost track fifty pages ago and I’m on page fifty-four.
Kev creaks open the door, walking in without waiting for permission. Not that he’s ever asked.
He’s still in uniform, sans the belt with his gun and Taser. The sight sickens me. He parades as a savior—a protector—but the only thing that uniform represents is my inability to stop him from hurting me.
The energy in the room instantly shifts, plummeting quicker than when a roller coaster crests the top of the hill.
Adrenaline is let off in my bloodstream like a bomb. Sweat forms along my hairline, and my body begins to tremble.
“What are you reading?” he questions, snatching the book from my hands before I can answer. For once, I'm glad for his disrespect because I don't think I could've given him an answer.
He glances at me and tosses the book on the bed, and I watch it fall shut.
Page fifty-four. Don't forget.
“You've been reading all day? Couldn't even clean up the house?” he asks, though it sounds more like an interrogation.
“I did clean,” I defend lightly, latching my fingers together to hide my tremors.
“And dinner? Looks to me like you're just sitting on your ass all day while I support us.”
“I have my own money, Kev,” I grumble. Not much of it, but I do everything I can to pay my own way. Even when I have school, I work part-time to help with bills.
Funny enough, our parents’ life insurance was more than enough to pay off the house and car, yet Kev acts like he’s scraping pennies to get by. Shouldn't be when he stole my half of the money.
I think he just blows it all on strippers when he's not tormenting me.
“That money should be mine as long as you're living in my house.”
“Our house,” I correct, keeping my eyes downcast, my heart rate increasing. “We’re twins. And I'm three minutes older anyway.”
I spare him a glance, noting the fury that flashes across his eyes—a rage so deep, it’s something he could only be born with. I was being crafted in my mother's stomach alongside a monster. It’s in his very DNA. Sometimes, it scares me that it’s in mine, too.
My brother nods more to himself, as if agreeing with his inner demon on something. Can only imagine what about. And that's the saddest part—I can imagine. I've lived every scenario.
“You wear that just for me, pipsqueak?” he questions, pointing to my body. I don't know why I look at what I'm wearing as if I don't already know.