Page 25

Chapter 25

Piers

M y head feels like it's been split open with an axe. The first thing I notice is the throbbing pain at my temple, followed by the rough scratch of rope around my wrists. When I try to move, to assess my situation, the bindings only tighten.

I force my eyes open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. A warehouse. Industrial. Empty except for the dozen or so men scattered around, all wearing the colors of the Crowes.

And standing at the center, directly in front of me-

Is me.

I suck in a sharp breath, my heart slamming against my ribs as I stare at the man in front of me.

Not a reflection. Not a trick. A man identical to me.

Same sharp-cut jaw, same high cheekbones, same deep-set eyes. But there’s something different about him. His hair is shorter, neater. His clothes more refined, like he belongs to something bigger than just himself.

The man holds up his hands in a placating gesture as I start to struggle against my bonds. “Easy there, brother. You're safe.”

I know that voice.

“You,” I rasp, my throat raw. The thick Irish accent. My mind reels, dragging up the memory of a voice calling out from the darkness, only days ago. It's the same one from the cabin porch, trying to convince me to abandon Fantasia.

“Who the fuck are you?” I demand, even though it’s pretty obvious.

He gives me a slow, measured nod. “I’m your twin,” he says, his expression earnest. “And I'm happy to have found you, Piers.”

Blood rushes in my ears, my head pounding. “What the fuck.” My voice comes out hoarse, disbelieving. “How is this possible?”

My chest constricts and my stomach twists violently. A twin. A twin I never knew I had.

He exhales through his nose, his expression unreadable. “I found out about you only a few days ago. The name’s Desmond Crowe.”

A twin. A brother. A family I never knew existed.

Once, that might’ve meant something to me. When I was a kid staring at strangers’ faces, wondering if I belonged to one of them. When I was stuck in the system, convincing myself that somewhere out there, someone was looking for me.

I should care. I should have questions.

But I don’t.

Because none of this matters.

I know better now.

Family isn’t blood. It’s who stands by you when the world turns to ash.

And the only person who ever did that- who ever mattered- was Fantasia.

I grit my teeth, forcing the nausea down as I strain against the restraints. “I don’t give a damn about your fairy tale, Crowe. Where’s Fantasia?”

Desmond's expression softens into something like pity. “Gone,” he says simply.

“Bullshit.”

The chair creaks as I jerk against my bindings, my pulse hammering. “What did you do to her?”

Desmond holds up a hand, his voice calm but firm. “Nothing. She left of her own free will when I gave her the chance.”

I don’t believe him. I won’t. “You expect me to believe that?”

“It's the truth.” He crosses his arms, looking down at me. “I let her go. Told the Ashwoods she must’ve died in the explosion. They've no reason to hunt her anymore.”

I strain against the ropes again, ignoring the way they bite into my skin. “Then let me go after her.”

“Why?” Desmond demands, his voice hardening. “So you can chase after a woman who clearly doesn't want to be found? Who ran at the first opportunity?”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” I snarl.

She wouldn’t-

But the words die in my throat.

Because wouldn’t she?

She’s been pushing me away since the day we landed in this country. Holding me at arm’s length even when she was in my arms. And now, when she finally had the chance.

“Don't I?” He crouches in front of me, his eyes - my eyes - searching my face. “She's gone, Piers. Made her choice. And now it's time for you to make yours.”

I go still, watching him warily.

“Your place is with us now. With your real family.” Desmond's voice drops, becoming almost gentle. “In Ireland. Where you should’ve been all along, if our mother hadn't given you up.”

Real family. The words taste bitter.

What kind of mother gives up her baby?

I spent my whole life wondering about her- if she ever thought about me, if she regretted it, if she even remembered I existed. And now, after all these years, I finally have a name, a connection, a so-called real family - and I feel nothing but anger.

Because the only family I ever had was the one I chose. The one I bled for. The one that turned on me.

And yet, I can’t let her go.

Because Fantasia is out there somewhere. Alone. Probably scared, definitely hurting. And no matter what Desmond says, no matter what choice she made in that burning forest, I know one thing with absolute certainty:

I will find her again.

I always do.

I wrench against the ropes again, my teeth bared. “Let me go,” I snap. “I’m going after her.”

Desmond sighs, shaking his head. “You have to let her go, Piers. She made her choice. There’s no point pining after a woman who doesn’t want to be found.”

My jaw clenches so tight it aches. He’s wrong. He has to be.

Desmond lifts a hand in a calm-down gesture, his gaze steady. “Now calm down… no one's going to hurt you.”

I glare at him, chest heaving. “Then why the fuck am I tied up?”

Desmond sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Because I don’t know you yet.” His eyes meet mine, assessing. “And I figured waking up restrained was better than waking up surrounded by men you'd probably try to fight the second you opened your eyes. You’ve been trouble every time.”

I grind my teeth but don’t argue. He’s not wrong.

Desmond takes a step closer, nodding at one of the men standing nearby. The guy hesitates, then moves to untie the rope at my wrists.

“I'll let you go,” Desmond says, watching me carefully. “But I need you to promise me something first.”

I flex my fingers as the bindings loosen. “What?”

“That you won’t start swinging the second you’re free.”

I stare at him. My blood is still thrumming with adrenaline, my hands itching to grab the nearest weapon and start demanding answers.

But I’m not an idiot.

With a slow breath, I force my shoulders to relax. “Fine. I won’t hit anyone.”

Desmond studies me for another second before giving his goon a small nod. “Good.”

The last of the ropes fall away. I roll my wrists, flexing my fingers as I stand. My legs are shaky, my head still pounding. But I ignore all of it, my focus locked on Desmond.

“Now start talking.”

Desmond’s expression darkens, a flicker of something like pity crossing his face. “I’ll talk. But first,” he says quietly. “You’re coming home. To Ireland. Where you belong.”