Page 11 of Twins for the Enemy

Chapter eight

~KIERAN~

I rock climb to calm the thoughts that are constantly firing in my brain. Doing it inside isn’t as relaxing as climbing outside, but with my schedule, it’s easier to fit in.

But no matter how many times I climb, no matter how often I clear my mind, I’m fucking haunted.

Farah moves through my thoughts like a ghost through the walls.

She’s set up residence in my brain, turning all the electricity toward her.

No matter how hard I try to shake her, and no matter how hard I tighten my fist around the thoughts without her, she slips through and eclipses everything else .

I have never encountered a problem I couldn’t bend and twist into a solution or, even more commonly, a weapon.

But this one is fortified by two months of seething rage.

I walk out of Farah’s room after turning up the temperature on her thermostat. I should have just let her freeze, but the idea of letting her be cold itched at my brain the whole time I was climbing.

When I saw her curled up on her bed, I would’ve done anything to make her warmer—give her the door to my bedroom, burn down the rest of the house so she could benefit from the warmth, jump under the sheets with her and make enough friction that we turn into scorched kindling.

The only reason I could walk away is because I didn’t want to wake her up, and the blanket I’d given her was made for winter camping .

My phone chirps loudly. I check it. The notification for the surveillance around my house shows a snapshot of the rear courtyard. I tap on the notification.

The snapshot expands. In the corner, a man is looking up at the mansion. Mid or late 20s and in black clothes. There is no way for anybody to accidentally stumble past my gate.

I have enemies. Not in a boastful way, but in a way that being the CEO of a powerful corporation naturally produces. Every disgruntled ex-employee, every envious competing CEO, and every son or daughter of the owner of a company that I bought wants to separate my jaw from my skull.

So, trying to break into my house to commit violence isn’t surprising.

I grab my gun, secured under a hidden compartment in my desk. I tuck it in my waistband before going back to Farah’s bedroom.

I shake her shoulders, harder than I intend to.

“What?” she mumbles .

“Somebody is breaking in. We have to get you in the bathroom.”

When she barely reacts, I pull the blankets off her. She’s wearing a white undershirt I lent her. It fits her loosely except around her breasts, where the material stretches. If I thought I was haunted by her before, seeing her in my undershirt makes me possessed.

As she sits up, rubbing her eyes—dramatically enough to be suspicious—I reach around her, gripping her waist. I pull her toward the edge of the bed. She nudges back against me, exhaustedly annoyed.

I should just leave her. She should be able to get in the bathroom and lock the door before whoever is outside the house gets in. My priority should be protecting the house, which, by extension, will protect her.

I don’t move.

She gets to her feet. Her eyes widen as she looks at me, understanding turning her eyes bright. “An intruder? ”

“I suspect so,” I say, putting my hand on the small of her back and pushing her forward. She lets me guide her until she’s stepped into the bathroom. I grip onto the doorknob. “Lock this as soon as I close it. Don’t turn on the light. Keep quiet.”

“You’re a tyrant,” she mutters.

“If that’s—” I start to say, but I turn away and head to the entrance without finishing my thought.

If having the last word is what keeps you safe, so be it.

I grip the gun tighter, holding it close to my side as I turn around the northeastern corner of my house, scanning for movement. Something has taken over me that hasn’t happened before. I’ve been protective over Ellie and Olivia, but this feels sharply different.

It must be the twins. I never believed much in a biological drive, but my instincts have shifted too drastically to consider it’s caused by anything else.

Self-preservation is gone outside of wanting to survive to protect my family.

I’ve become gritted teeth, ready to snap around any throat that could be a threat.

If I break my jaw during it, it will be worth it if the threat is gone.

I see the shadow of the man as he lingers near the window. He must have realized the front door is locked, and he doesn’t know about the ones that are disguised as windows in the back.

He’ll regret not doing his research.

I raise the gun and circle around him. At the last second, he spins around. He’s face to face with my 9mm.

He doesn’t look like a pro, if it wasn’t evident enough by how clumsy and slow he is, so he wasn’t sent by an enemy company.

He also doesn’t look like one of my ex-employees. Not to stereotype him, but this man has never earned more than 20k a year.

That can only mean he’s the child of a parent who sold their company to me, and he considers it a huge injustice in his life .

Pathetic.

“Do you have any weapons on you?” I ask.

“No,” the man says. His head is too large for his body, but it’s less about being disproportionate and more that he’s unnaturally thin. Sick or drugs. His blonde hair is shaved close to his head, but it’s uneven.

He’s also a terrible liar.

“Throw it over to me.”

“I said I didn’t have any weapons.”

“I heard you. Forgive me if I don’t believe the man trespassing on my land.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe a kidnapper.”

He charges at me. He’s not slow, but the distance between us gives me enough time to sidestep him. I slam the gun between his shoulders. He crumples.

It’s disappointing. I expected more of a fight. I need more of a fight.

He grabs at my ankle. I slip out of his grip, stomping down on his wrist. He grunts, his fingers contracting and loosening.

“Stop!”

Small hands shove me. With her swaying blonde hair, Farah looks like a burst of light in the darkness. It’s disarmingly cute, even as she continues shoving and hitting me. I didn’t know somebody could throw so many punches at somebody’s face and miss every time.

I deke another punch, grabbing her around the waist and lurching her backward.

“Get back in the house!” I point up toward her room, immediately regretting it, thinking about how this man could find her from that small gesture. She takes deep, heaving breaths, several strands of her hair falling in her face. “Fuck, I’m trying to protect you!”

“And I’m trying to protect him!”

She points past me, to the man.

I glance back. The man is slowly standing up .

“He’s my brother,” she continues.

“Neal,” I say slowly. I recall the surveillance photos of Neal Todd. He’s had long, badly formed dreadlocks and a beard.

At least I was right about the addiction.

“Neal,” she echoes. She runs over to his side, her shoulder hitting against my arm as she passes by. She embraces him so tightly that he winces.

“How does your brother know where you are?” I ask.

“I texted him in case anything happened to me.”

“Texted how?” I ask. “You don’t have a phone.”

She glares at me, still holding tight to her brother.

“I didn’t know he was going to show up,” she says, dodging my question better than I could dodge her punches. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out whose phone she stole. She turns back to Neal. “We need to ice your arm.”

“He’s not coming inside the house.”

“You hurt my brother,” she snaps. “You lost the right to set rules about this.”

“It’s my property. If I say—”

“If he’s not going in, I’m not going in.”

She folds her arms over her chest. Her cheeks are pink from the cold.

With only the undershirt on, I can see the goosebumps on her skin and hard nipples pressed against the thin fabric.

A shiver passes through her, despite her attempts to hide it.

It has to be below 40s. She’s already been out here too long.

She stares at me. I stare back.

After several seconds, I bow my head, gesturing inside.

“Come in, Mr. Todd,” I say. “Welcome to my home.”

Farah’s eyes burn holes into me as we sit in the den and she wraps her brother’s wrist .

“You don’t need to be here,” she says. “I promise to only let Neal steal one or two of your books.”

“I can’t imagine a world where Neal would need a book,” I say. “Besides, I know you’re the thief in the family.”

She looks like she’s ready to respond, but when nothing comes out, I’m left with her only baring her teeth.

“Just ignore him, Rah,” Neal says, nudging his knee against her knee. She forces a smile, returning her focus to his arm.

It reminds me of when I bandaged her burned hand.

It’s a twist of emotions, hitting all at once and tightening in my chest.

With the gentleness of her touch and the way her face seems to glow like the ember in a dying fire—I can’t imagine any man not wanting a piece of her. Men must surround her, hoping she’ll give them something to hold on to.

So, why do I insist on believing the twins are mine ?

It could have been a taxi driver as she left the city. It could be a man she sat next to on the bus. It could be a stranger she bumped into at a diner. It could have been a fling, a short romance, or something more permanent that I took her away from.

It doesn’t matter.

If there were another man, he would have tracked her down by now. He would have broken into every home from here to L.A. to find her. He would have been the one she texted instead of her spineless brother.

My shoulders tense. If another man comes, I’ll make him sorry he did. Nobody can take care of her like I can.

The twins, I mean.

Farah doesn’t seem to know what to do with the last of the bandage wrap, and I’m not exactly in the mood to help Neal.

My phone vibrates. I glance down at the notification.

“Neal’s taxi is here,” I say, standing up. “I assume his wrist is healthy enough to sit in the back of a car? ”

Farah glares at me. “It’d be better if I could keep an eye on it.”

“He can send you a photo.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Steal another one.” I indicate toward the foyer. “We don’t want to keep the driver waiting.”

Neal stands up. “It’s fine, Farah. I should be getting back to my apartment anyway.”

He eyes me as he steps around my frame. Farah’s glare is far more lethal.

“What the hell is your problem?” she hisses as she passes me, but she doesn’t wait for my answer as she walks with her brother to the foyer.

I could give her an answer, but it wouldn’t matter to her. Neal is someone who Farah would sacrifice everything for, and he would gladly accept that sacrifice. He’s a vampire, pretending to be a victim of his own bloodlust.

I watch the two of them at the door. Neal puts his hands on her shoulders—insisting that she stay inside while he walks to the taxi. A polite vampire, but civility is a low bar.

She opens the door for him. They hug. He steps out. She watches him for a few seconds before closing the door.

When she looks back at me, she looks like she’s imagining tearing the skin off of my face.

“What is your issue?” she demands, stalking up to me. “Do you get off on being heartless? Do you think it makes you look powerful? It makes you look like someone with deep, ugly insecurities. You think that being cold-hearted makes people respect you, but it’s just pitiful.”

“Before you keep listing all of my best qualities, you may want to remember you’re under my roof,” I say. “You’re eating my food and wearing my clothes. I didn’t consider it shocking that I can decide who can and can’t be on my property. ”

“You’re the one forcing me to be under your roof and eating your food!” she snaps. “As for the clothes? Fuck it, I don’t need them either.”

She yanks off the undershirt, throwing it at my face. The warmth of the material is distracting, but not as much as her nearly naked frame storming away from me.

I should respect her enough to leave her alone. I may not be a gentleman, but I’m not a soulless monster either, despite all of her beliefs to the contrary.

But her forceful steps and her threadbare underwear make her ass sway in a way that makes me much worse than a monster.

It makes me a hot-blooded man.

I catch up to her in four long strides, grabbing her arm and twisting her around. My hands on her waist. I kiss her hard. My mouth collides against hers, rough and possessive.

Her hands are raised away from me, hesitating in the air like she’s about to be arrested. I crush my mouth against hers, and my fingers press deep into her hips, keeping her close enough that the idea of space between us is excruciating.

When she kisses me back, her hands grabbing onto my hair, I know we’re so far off the cliff that only divine intervention could save us.

But there is no holiness here.