Page 10 of Twins for the Enemy

Chapter seven

~FARAH~

I lay on my stomach at the top of the stairway, concentrating on the voices that drift from the first floor.

Kieran told me to stay out of sight when this man showed up, but the longer I’ve been around him, the more I’ve realized that instead of having a wolf inside me, there is a cowardly mouse and a reckless honey badger.

The mouse learned to survive around my father. Quiet. Invisible. Always bracing for impact.

The honey badger came straight from my brother’s imagination. Defiant. Unafraid. Ready to bite anything that smells like control .

Since Kieran told me to stay out of sight when this man showed up, the mouse is obeying by staying camouflaged, but the honey badger can’t help but rebel a little bit, regardless of what consequences might follow.

A rebellion is necessary after everything this morning. I need to feel some level of control. Kieran knows I’m lying about giving in and allowing him to have his way. But I need time. I need to find out how he’d tracked me down the first time, so I can avoid whatever mistake I made.

Unfortunately, it sounds like this man that’s visiting is an event planner, so it’s a waste of a rebellion.

“We were thinking that dinner is going to be served at five,” the other man says. “The caterer says that’s the best time to start with older guests and children.”

“It’s whatever Ellie wants,” Kieran says. “But I’ve also been considering that the Baldwins’ Casino could be a better venue. It has a gorgeous ballroom and staff who trained in the best locations in the world. I know some people. We could secure a night there. ”

“That would be amazing,” the man says. “But Ellie is in love with the idea of having it here. If we don’t have it here, she’ll be coming for both of our necks.”

“If it’s what she wants,” Kieran says, giving in.

Based on how he is with me, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who gives in easily. He must really love this Ellie woman.

It shouldn’t matter to me. But my throat constricts, and it feels like I’m plunging into deep water.

Stockholm Syndrome. Or it’s pregnancy hormones messing with my mind.

I slowly get up onto my knees, grasping the railing.

The other man clears his throat. “Ellie also wants to do something in memory of Olivia.”

I freeze.

“If it’s what she wants,” Kieran repeats, but this time his words have a sharp edge to them.

“She wants you to be included in it.”

“This event is for her. It’s nothing to do with me.”

“She thinks you need closure. She wants what’s best for you.”

In memory. Closure. Olivia is a deceased loved one. It doesn’t excuse it, but it makes more sense about why he’s so cold.

“Robert Young is dead,” Kieran says. “That’s all the closure I need.”

The venom in his voice makes my hand slip off the railing. It makes a small thudding noise as my fingers hit the floor. I hold my breath, waiting to see if either of them heard me.

“Understood,” the other man says. “Let’s talk about the flowers. Ellie wants to fill every inch with lilies, but I suspect that will make it difficult to walk. We could line the hallways and—”

His voice fades as they walk to a different room.

I hold my hand close to my chest. This Robert Young man is dead, and Kieran seems sadistically satisfied about it. It’s the kind of satisfaction you get from a job well done—from knowing that someone got exactly what they deserved.

Did he kill him? He does seem like a man who is obsessed with revenge.

Did this Robert Young commit arson and kill Olivia? Is that why he’s so enraged about what he thinks I did?

Will that rage one day explode and I’ll be another person that he’s sneeringly talking about being dead?

I look over the staircase. Both of them are gone.

But the table in the center of the foyer has a cell phone on it.

Kieran took my burner phone. I’ve had no way to contact Neal. Kieran wouldn’t leave his phone lying around, so it must be the other man’s.

I know it’s the honey badger taking over my thoughts. I just heard that he may have murdered a man, and now I’m doing something that could trigger him into a rage.

But if I don’t do it, both the honey badger and the mouse may be killed.

I creep down the stairs, listening carefully after every couple of steps in case the men come back.

I snatch up the phone and retreat to the bottom of the steps, making myself as small as possible. I pause after I type in Neal’s number.

Safe, but am here if anything happens. Don’t text back, borrowed phone.

I share my location with him and send the text. As soon as I see it went through, I delete the text.

Even if this event planner gets a text back from Neal, hopefully, it will sound like somebody texting the wrong number. Hopefully, Neal isn’t so high that he loses all common sense.

I set the phone back on the table, placing it like it was angled before. I used to do the same thing when using or taking things my father might disapprove of, which was nearly everything. I learned to be a shadow, and that lesson might keep me alive .

I hustle back to my prison, which is now missing its door. Kieran may be a tyrant and a psychopath, but he does keep his word.

I slip into the attached bathroom, locking the door behind me.

Every time I step in here, it feels like I’ve stepped into a Regency-era bathroom with its marble floor, porcelain tub, chandelier, massive mirror with ornate framing, and freshly cut bouquets displayed around the room.

Even the ceiling is carved with intricate designs that remind me of ceilings in cathedrals.

The most modern part about it is that the floor is heated, which I take advantage of as I sit down against the door.

I close my eyes, trying to plot my next steps. I need to let my spineless side take over. I need to be a wallflower that lets Kieran think he’s in control.

And if something happens to me, Neal will know what happened. He won’t think I abandoned him.

Did Kieran kill Robert Young ?

I try to imagine Kieran with his hands around my throat, taking my life, but it only reminds me of the night we were together.

There were moments when I was well aware of his strength, and I knew it took restraint for him to not use me like a doll, but he used that strength to be gentle with me.

It was about domination, but not control.

Every time I try to picture him killing me, I can feel him inside me, with his hands trailing down from my throat to my breasts, my waist, and my ass. My breath shortens, but not from fear.

Still, I heard the malice in his voice when he said Robert Young was dead. And I also didn’t think those hands would be keeping me captive here. I didn’t think he’d lock me in a room or deprive me of my privacy.

I fooled myself into thinking I knew a man I slept with once.

It must be true what they say about women losing their virginity.

We lose our minds. It makes us develop emotions and attachments that should never be brought to the light, because if we look too closely at them, we’ll see they started decaying as soon as they were felt .

But I’m like that with all men in my life. Every time I try to push myself in a new direction, the compass leads me back north.

It just turns out that north is the direction to Hell.

I bundle the blankets tighter around me. I thought freezing-my-ass-off was a phrase people used to exaggerate, but I’m starting to think it may be possible. Or, at the very least, my toes may snap off like icicles on a roof.

A thermostat is near the door, but I’ve touched all the buttons without the temperature going up. Knowing how bad my luck is, I likely plunged the room to sub-zero temperatures.

I should’ve left it alone.

I should’ve left a lot of things alone.

The door being taken off probably doesn’t help my situation. This mansion is so large that I can’ t imagine how long it would take to heat up a single room, much less most of the structure.

I need to find more blankets.

I swing the sheets off, the cold air nipping at me.

It’s nearly 2 a.m., so I move down the hallway quietly. I’d rather he stay fast asleep than find me, the weakling that can’t deal with the cold. From what I’ve seen, it’s completely possible that he’s a reptile, basking during the day and going into stasis at night.

I peek inside a bedroom. I tiptoe in, finding a dresser. I open the drawers. They’re all empty. A chest sits under the window. It’s also empty.

In another room, I find a closet. Nothing inside it.

My family wasn’t poor. We were upper-middle class, which only made it easier for my father’s violence to be hidden by new school clothes and distract people with how grateful Neal and I should be.

Still, having all these empty rooms seems absurdly excessive, and I can’t imagine a less deserving person owning it .

I continue my search with no success. I’m going to end up needing to use the towels from the bathroom and layer them over me. But if he finds me like that, I’ll never live it down. I’ll be the woman who was too dumb to figure out the thermostat or find another blanket.

Near the end of the hallway, a bright light shines out of one of the rooms.

He works during the day. What would he be doing up this late?

Vampirism. The only possible answer.

I sneak closer, peering inside.

It’s unmistakably Kieran, though his back is turned toward me as he scales a rock climbing wall. The grips on the wall rise all the way up to the ceiling, which seems much higher here than in the other rooms.

I’d puzzle over whether this room cuts into the third floor, but as Kieran tugs on the climbing rope, the muscles in his back flex.

My breath catches in my throat. I remember my fingertips pressing against that back, feeling the muscles move underneath my touch.

I’ve imagined having sex with him in the last two months and how his back muscles would slide under my palms, but my imagination didn’t do it justice.

I may as well have been a virgin again, only imagining what sex feels like.

Here, it’s real—terrifyingly and admirably so.

I flinch as he abruptly jumps down from the wall, the rope sending out a high-pitched squeal at the abrupt shift. I quickly back up before pivoting and hurrying down the hall.

By the time I jump back into my bed, I’m sweating. More heat radiates off of me than I thought possible.

The stress of this situation is making my mind concoct insane scenarios.

I’m not one of those women who dream of the bad boy or desire a man simply because he showed no interest in her.

I’d always wanted a sensible man—one that wouldn’t be cruel and not suffocate me too much with his needs and wants.

I never fantasized about anything other than subdued comfort. Safety .

But I can’t help but wonder if it’d be just as good the second time with Kieran. Would I risk comfort and safety for that? Would it be equally sacred and reckless the second time?

In the last couple of months, while I’d craved his touch, I’d considered sleeping with other men.

I’d wanted to reenact our night together.

But every time a man had shown interest in me, all I could think was that it wasn’t Kieran.

It could never be as good. Another man couldn’t be as compassionate or as empathetic as Kieran had been.

It turns out that this current Kieran can’t be either. And still, I find myself wanting him.

It’s a fool’s dream. Some part of me must believe I’ll find that man in him again, buried underneath hard muscles and a careless attitude.

Heavy footsteps approach the door. I close my eyes and relax my body, hoping I resemble some level of a woman who is asleep.

The footsteps enter the room .

My heart is beating so fast it almost hurts. I’d like to say it was fear, but it feels a lot more like anticipation.

Something large and heavy drapes over me. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a blanket. After another second, I hear a faint beeping noise. I slowly open my eyes.

The thermostat screen is lit up as Kieran taps on it. Oh. It’s a touchscreen.

The heating system rumbles to life.

I close my eyes again as he starts to turn around. I try to not hold my breath, but I still end up gasping after several seconds.

I open my eyes. He’s gone.

I let out a slow breath, sinking deeper under the sheets. The blanket he’d pulled over me has the faint scent of pine, and the weight of it makes a cocoon of warmth. I shouldn’t have this ache in my chest that’s enamored by this small act of kindness.

I try to not think of anything. I don’t think about the small act of kindness.

I don’t think about how warm his body would be underneath these blankets with me.

I don’t imagine him telling me that he noticed me spying on him with his hot breath curling around my ear.

I don’t imagine his legs brushing up against mine.

I don’t imagine how I’d shiver and he’d mistake it for me being cold, so he’d pull me close.

He’d be as gentle with me as he was when we first met.

I don’t imagine his kiss, the faint taste of sweat on his lips. I don’t imagine us twisting together or him pulling me underneath his weight.

I don’t imagine my hands on his back, feeling those muscles flex like wings. I don’t imagine his mouth on my throat and on my breasts. I don’t imagine his hand moving where my hand is moving now, rubbing until my thighs collapse open for him.

I don’t imagine him thrusting into me, abandoning all gentleness because we’re both so desperate, it’d be foolish to pretend.

I don’t imagine the bed turning into a sauna of heat and sweat as he drives into me with reckless thrusts and me clinging to him, somewhere between being afraid of getting thrown off a bull and encouraging that danger closer and closer.

I remove my hand from between my thighs and roll over onto my side. It doesn’t help. If dissatisfaction came like a chill, not even Death Valley could make me warm. It’s these ridiculous pregnancy hormones. Once I have these twins, I’ll be disgusted with myself for even thinking about Kieran.

Not that I’m thinking about him. I swear.