Page 51 of The Twins

“Yes, that’s why he’d begged her not to go out that night. He knew she was meeting Ranson with no armed backup. Whenher car…” Vince paused, squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, then went on, “When her car crashed into the ditch, killing her outright, he got her laptop and phone to protect us, to protect the mission.”

“This is so…” Chelsea swayed. “Oh…”

“Chelsea. I’ve got you.” Andrew quickly put his hands on her waist. “I know this is hard to get your head around and—”

“No, I’ll tell you what’s hard to get my head around.” She shoved violently at him. “You.”

He staggered back a pace, shock washing over his features.

Chelsea went on in a loud, sharp voice, “And that you think you can still touch me, talk to me, and—”

“I’m sorry, it’s a misunderstanding, that’s all, can’t we—?”

“No.” She retreated from him. “We can’t…”

“Don’t do this, Chelsea.” Andrew’s frown deepened, his eyes becoming thin slits. “Don’t walk away from me. I’m warning you. You stay here…with me.”

“I’ll do whatever I want, and you can’t stop me. Warning or no fucking warning.” She gripped her brother’s upper arm and puffed up her chest. “Because I’ve seen the real you now. I’ve seen how dangerous this game is you play. You think it’s commendable. You think it’s justice. Well, I’m telling you, if you hurt one innocent person, kill one innocent person, then it’s all a pile of shit. And you guys are no better than the assholes on your kill wall, the people you believe you’re so superior to.”

Again the atmosphere changed. I could almost sense the hackles rising on the men around me. Her words had cut deep.

But why? What did Chelsea know that I didn’t? And what was a kill wall?

She marched off with Vince, her long, shapely legs keeping up with his ground-eating paces.

“Fuck!” Andrew snapped and raked his hand through his hair. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“Cillian?” I turned to him and then Finn who was scowling deeply. “You’d better explain what that was all about? Kill wall?”

The men, sitting around me, all looked my way.

“This is bad,” Phil muttered, then took a slug of beer.

“Definitely not the best thing to have happened,” Jamie agreed.

“What’s going on?” a deep voice I recognized bellowed down the garden.

Mitch, the cop who’d come to my rescue had arrived.

Mitch jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Was that Chelsea’s biker brother?”

“Yeah,” Andrew said.

“Why is he here?” Mitch grabbed a burger. His jeans were low-slung and his t-shirt red. A Manchester United cap sat on his head.

“He’s saying their mother was a cop, undercover,” Finn said. “You know anything about that?”

“What? No.” Mitch paused, burger mid-way to his mouth. “How could she be…? Her number was in Ranson’s book.”

“Undercover, tech and information or something like that.” Jamie shrugged. “Not your department then?”

“No way.” He tutted. “That shit comes from London. Fuck. This is bad.”

Everyone was quiet, their dark expressions pressing their lips down and eyebrows together.

“Is Ranson who I think he is?” I stood and paced behind my chair to grip the back of it. I was trying to remember where I’d heard about his death. It was a few weeks ago, and it was a shooting. Shot in the head.

“Who doyouthink Ranson is?” Cillian asked me. A tendon flexed in his cheek.