Page 13 of Twins for the Enemy

Neal looks above my head for a second before looking down, his eyebrows raised. Neal’s always been an open book, and it’s undeniable that he’s disappointed.

“Oh,” he says. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I say. I indicate into his apartment. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, of course, sorry. I just thought you were going to be Samson.”

Samson is his drug dealer. I assume it’s not his real name and some reference to the Bible, but I can’t be certain if it’s ironic or not.

I sit down on his couch, which is covered in a layer of clothes and wrappers from fast food and snacks. He’s in the throes of some spiral. Part of me feels guilty that his concern for me could’ve caused him to slip deeper into his addiction.

Part of me doubts he feels concern at all.

“Are you… doing okay?” I ask. The emotional numbness starts to return to me. I can’t be upset that he isn’t asking me that question. I’m the reason he’s like this. It’s not like Kieran has been starving me or beating me.

“I’m great. Just waiting on Samson.” He looks over his shoulder like he thought he heard Samson knock.

I lean back on the couch. Something stabs me in the back, but I don’t know if I’m more worried about finding a gun or a meth pipe.

“Did you ever look into that rehab center?” I ask .

“What rehab?”

“The one I sent you the link about,” I say. “Right after I left.”

“Oh, right.” He nods several times. “Yeah, yeah. I remember. Of course. I looked at it. It seems expensive.”

“They have payment plans.”

“Seems expensive,” he mutters again. I run my fingers through my hair. Something sticky is making it cling together.

After watching him repeatedly look back at the door, I take a deep breath.

“We need to talk about the fire,” I say.

“What fire?” he asks. “Oh. Bettiol.”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “Bettiol.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“We need to. A woman was badly hurt from it. It’s the reason I shouldn’t be in Chicago. It’s why this man can blackmail— ”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Neal snaps, looking straight at me for the first time. “You’re talking about rehab like you care about me, but if you keep bringing that up, if you keep pressuring me—it makes me want to do drugs more. If you care, you won’t talk about it.”

I rub my temple. “Neal.”

“You were with that rich guy.” Neal perks up. “With the big house. He must have lots of money.”

“He’s not going to give me any money.”

“He could. You could convince him,” he presses me. “Or you could just steal something. He had lots of expensive things.”

He looks back at the door, holding his breath. No Samson.

I keep hoping he’ll be the brother that he used to be, but the drugs have turned him into a shadow of that man. And worse, I’m the reason for that deterioration .

He could’ve been a leader, a man who changed so many lives, but because of me, he’s living here and his only joy is his next hit.

I should be forced to witness it, but I don’t think I can stand it. Every instinct is telling me to return to Kieran’s mansion, which becomes more absurd the more that I think about it. Still, the feeling is stronger than the need to stay.

“Do you have any cash?” I ask. “I need it for the taxi back.”

He shakes his head, though I can see his wallet near the TV. He’s likely saving it to pay Samson, but I shove the anger down. I stand up. I hug him. He half-heartedly pats my shoulder.

I leave his apartment, exhaustion pulling down my bones. It takes me even longer to open the metal door trying to get out than it took me to open it.

As I prepare to cross the parking lot, I see Samson.

His blonde hair whips behind him in the wind, but it’s less noticeable than the crude smile cutting across his face.

“Neal’s sis,” he calls out, stopping in front of me. I try to step around him, but he blocks me. “Your bro owes me nearly five hundred worth of product. How much cash you got on you?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Maybe Neal has something.”

“That man thinks he can give me a twenty and we’re square,” he says. “I’m hopin’ you’re the smarter half.”

“I don’t have anything,” I say.

He looks me up and down, his eyes lingering at the ends of Kieran’s shirt. I cross my hands in front of me like they could protect me.

“I know some clubs that might take you,” Samson says, licking his lips.

“They might not be legal and I might take a percent. Might take a few privileges too. But I wouldn’t need to take my frustrations out on your bro.

You’d have to prove yourself to me, though.

Why don’t you get on your knees and beg me for a little… extension?”

“I’m sure it is little,” I say before I can stop myself. He seizes my hair, yanking my head back.

“Watch that mouth, girl,” he snarls, his spit hitting my face. “This is why you need someone to keep you from—”

“Let her go.”

The voice is so cold; it sends a shiver through me. For a second, I think it’s Neal, snapped back to his old self. But as Samson releases me, turning around, I see it’s Kieran.

How the hell did he find me?

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t?” Samson sneers.

“I know Delgado.”

Samson’s skin turns stark white. “Bullshit.”

“Ask him.” Kieran shrugs, but underneath his calm, rage turns his features sharper and darker. “He’ll be interested to know you’re on his territory and touching a woman associated with a man he respects. I’m sure you know how his men deal with people they don’t like.”

Samson’s nostrils are flaring, but he takes a few steps back. He glances between us.

“I apologize, Miss Todd. I didn’t realize you were spoken for,” he says, his formality taking me by surprise. He turns around, trying to not look like he’s running, but he’s moving much faster than he was when he was walking toward me.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Do I want to know who Delgado is?”

“Old childhood friend.” Kieran crosses the distance between us. His fingertips barely touch my arm before he drops his hand back to his side. He looks up at the building. “Can I assume that’s your brother’s drug dealer? He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I need a word with him before we go home. ”

“Don’t,” I say, grabbing his wrist as he starts to move past me. He glances down at my hand.

“He’s getting you involved in things that are dangerous,” he says. “Which means he’s also endangering my children. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

“I’m here because of my own choices,” I say.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” I insist. “Look, I know you see Neal as some worthless addict, but Neal saved me all of the time when I was a kid. It’s the least I can do to help him out now.”

His eyes search my face. I try to keep my expression blank, but it still feels like he’s picking out parts of my mind that I didn’t even know were there.

“This is about your father?” he says. “You said your father wasn’t nice.”

I release his wrist. “It doesn’t matter the reason. What matters is that he deserves some grace.”

He keeps looking at me. I want to close my eyes and give him less of a chance to find some part of me he hates, but I keep my eyes on him.

“Fine,” he says. “As long as you come back to the house and stay away from this side of the city.”

I look back at Neal’s apartment. I imagine him slowly losing his mind, wondering why Samson hasn’t shown up yet. It’s a dagger through the heart, but with his refusal to get help and how I remind him of things he’d rather forget, my presence seems more like a burden than a loving hand.

I nod once. He puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me over to his car.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d gone,” he says. “If it isn’t obvious at this point, I’d go to the ends of the earth to find you.”

With the slight harshness in his voice, I know he means it as a threat, but as it sinks in, I realize it’s all I’ve wanted. Someone who will always find me. Someone who always wants to find me.

His hand lingers on mine as he helps me into the passenger seat of his car. I try to not let it matter to me, but it does. As he gets into the driver’s seat, he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other hand on the center console, an inch away from mine.

He doesn’t need to go to the ends of the earth to find me because it’s a gravitational force between us. But I’ve learned that revolving around someone doesn’t make it a good thing.

It’s just another way to say you have no control.