Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(97)

“You’ve done a lot for me over the years.” Danger thickened the air, so potent I could almost taste it. I’d been spoiling for a fight, and he might just give it to me. “But if you don’t watch what you say, this is the end of our friendship.”

He assessed me with sharp eyes. “Well, well.” A hint of surprised amusement colored his tone. “I never thought I’d see the day. Rhys Larsen in love.”

In love.

I’d never been in love. Never wanted to be in love. Hell, I didn’t even know what love was. It was always something I’d heard about, not experienced, until I met a woman who cracked my ironclad defenses like no one had before. Someone who loved the rain and animals and Rocky Road ice cream on quiet nights. Someone who saw all my scars and ugliness and still found me worthy, and somehow, someway, she’d filled the cracks in a soul I never thought would be whole again.

I might not know what love was, but I knew I was in love with Bridget von Ascheberg, to the point where even I—the man who was so good at denying himself anything good in life—couldn’t deny it.

The realization hit me like a bullet in the chest, and I loosened my hold on Christian.

“No denial,” he observed. He shook his head. “I have nothing against love, other than the fact I find it tedious, boring, and utterly unnecessary. People in love are the most insufferable on the planet.” He glanced at a piece of lint on his suit with disdain before brushing it off. “But if that’s what you want, go for it. Just not with the princess.”

“My personal life is none of your business.”

His gaze turned pitying, and I wanted to punch him all over again. It was a decent summary of our fucked-up friendship. One of us wanted to kill the other at any given time. It’d been that way since we met in Tangier, where I’d saved him from a slow, torturous death at the hands of a warlord he’d pissed off.

Sometimes, like now, I wished I’d left him to the warlord’s mercy.

“Leave Eldorra. Now. Before things get even more out of control,” Christian said. “No matter how many detours you take, your story only has one ending. Cut it off before you’re in too deep and you can’t get out.”

Too late. I was already in too deep.

“Get out,” I said.

“You think I’m being heartless, but I’m trying to help you. Consider it my repayment for Tangier.”

“Get. Out.”

“You really want to do this.” It wasn’t a question.

“Let me worry about what I’m going to do.”

Christian sighed. “If you insist on continuing down this road, I have something that might be of interest. I did a little digging after those heartwarming photos of you and the princess surfaced.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small envelope. “You want to look at this. Soon.”

I didn’t take it. “What the hell is it?”

Never trust a Christian Harper bearing gifts. That should be everyone’s motto in life.

But nothing could’ve prepared me for what he said next.

“The identity of your father.” He paused. “And your brother.”





42





Rhys





It was funny how one moment could change your life.

One moment, my mother was alive, then she wasn’t.

One moment, my squad mates were alive, and the next everything got blown to hell. Literally.

One moment, I knew my place in the world, only for it to get turned upside down with the simple unfolding of a paper.

Last night had been a mind fuck in every way, and I was still debating the soundness of my decision to pay my brother a visit as I stared at the townhouse in front of me. There wasn’t as much security as I’d expected, though the townhouse was in one of the safest neighborhoods in northern Athenberg.

Until now, the only brothers I had were the ones in my SEAL unit. The idea of having a real brother? It kind of fucked me up, to be honest.

I walked to the front door and knocked, my skin crawling with anticipation.

Christian had left that morning. His had been the quickest trip in the history of international trips, but he had a mess on his hands in the U.S. so I couldn’t blame him.

It was just like him to drop a bombshell then leave, though.

My brother answered on the second knock. If he was surprised to see me standing on his doorstep unannounced on a Thursday afternoon, he didn’t show it.

“Hello, Mr. Larsen.”

“Hello, brother.” I didn’t bother beating around the bush.

Andreas’s smile disappeared. He regarded me for a long moment before he opened the door wider and stepped aside.

I walked in, my shoes squeaking on the shiny marble floor. Other than a few touches of white, everything in the house was gray. Light gray walls, gray furniture, gray rugs. It was like stepping into an expensive rain cloud.

Andreas led me to the kitchen, where he poured two cups of tea and handed me one.

I didn’t take it. I hadn’t come for tea.

“You knew.” I got straight to the point.

He appeared put out by my refusal and placed the extra mug on the counter with a frown. “Yes.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”