Page 19 of Twins for the Enemy

Chapter fifteen

~FARAH~

In those time loop films, the hero figures out how to become a better, happier, more caring person. A person would have to be a fool to not learn after repeating the same action and getting the same result.

Instead of repeating the same day, it’s the same pattern.

Kieran hasn’t vanished this time, but he may as well be a phantom.

He must be the one who is sending house staff to make sure I always take my pain medications and that I do my physical therapy, and I’ll catch glimpses of him, but I may as well be a wilting wallflower by the way he looks right through me .

It’s the same thing as when we slept together last time. I’ve been used, and I let myself be used.

Multi-layered, tear-causing, and bitter. I’m a sack of onions.

I stride through his hallways, arms crossed in a way that I’d find embarrassingly juvenile, but I’m already so humiliated that I could throw a tantrum and it’d only be a small scrape to my ego.

I need a distraction. Shame and boredom aren’t a great mix, and they’ve both taken over like weeds among a flowerbed of weeds that I haven’t tended to since Kieran and I were at the botanical garden.

I wish I were an arsonist. I’d burn that garden to the ground in the wild hope it’d erase it from my mind too.

I pause in front of Kieran’s personal gym. The mattresses are still stacked underneath the wall. They’re staggered, so it’s easy enough to climb onto.

I’d thought it was a gesture of kindness, but maybe I didn’t understand the joke was on me .

Weak, fragile little Farah.

Can’t be trusted to walk without her crutches, despite the pain only being a small ache now.

Couldn’t possibly climb up a wall without smashing her empty head on the floor.

My thoughts are so razor-sharp, I know they’re irrational, but the anger pushes out all other thoughts—the weeds choking out every rational, nuanced flower with a vengeance.

I step onto one of the mattresses. It bends under my weight, but only enough that I can see an outline forming around my foot.

Memory foam. I don’t know if I should be impressed by him spending so much money or if it’s a sign that the conspiracy theory about mattress stores being owned by the mafia is true.

I only nearly stumble once as I get to the top of the mattresses.

Unlike other climbing walls, the handholds aren’t bright colors.

They’re different shades of brown and gray.

They also seem less prominent than other ones I’ve seen, lacking any obvious place to grip onto.

It must make it more realistic, which includes the unfortunate side effect of making it more difficult.

I grip onto two of the handholds. I move my left foot onto a lower rock.

I take a deep breath, pushing up on my left foot to reach higher and grab the next handhold.

My right foot presses against one of the footholds.

I’m pulling myself up, but my ankle feels like a metal spindle is inside it, pressing against the muscles and nerves in a way that’s difficult to ignore.

But not impossible.

I keep pulling myself up, putting as much strain as I can on my arms and left leg to give my right ankle some relief, but the pain still nauseates me.

I hate feeling helpless, but it’s a feeling that has permeated every day of my life. With a violent father, a drug-addict brother, and now a man who has the power to wring every last drop of freedom from my life, I’ve always been a fallen leaf, floating wherever the river takes me .

Hands grip around me, yanking me downward. But instead of falling, the hands spin me enough that I end up in the crook of Kieran’s arms. Anger creases his features, his mouth twisted into a scowl that’s deep enough to make my heart skip several beats.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands. “You’re pregnant and you have a sprained ankle.”

I lift my chin up, hoping the shivers inside me can’t be felt in his arms. “I didn’t think you cared. You’ve barely said a word to me.”

“Do I need to use words to tell you to not injure yourself? To not risk killing yourself?”

My heart is still beating wildly in my chest, but as I stare up at him and feel his tight grip around me, I’m overwhelmingly certain he’s not going to hit me or turn me in to the police. I know I’m a big enough fool that I should cling to my doubt, but despite knowing that, I start to relax.

“I told you I wanted to do it—” I start.

“That was before you hurt your ankle. ”

“Can you just set me down?” I ask, a request that I don’t want.

But he slowly kneels down, placing me down like a porcelain doll with my legs out in front of me.

I press my hands down at my sides, preparing to stand back up, but after all of the effort with the rock climbing wall, it feels like the mattress is offering me residency, and I don’t want to deny such a kind offer.

When I let myself fall back, my hair fanning out behind my head, Kieran leans over to lie down beside me.

“Has anyone told you that you’re a handful?” he asks.

“I’m usually not,” I say. “I’m usually annoyingly docile.”

“I can’t imagine that. Who are you if you’re not constantly trying to throw yourself out windows or use an impaired ankle to climb up a wall without a safety harness?”

I frown. It’s a legitimate question. Maybe I’m not a fallen leaf with him .

Maybe I’m a fallen seed, burrowed deep in the soil, and something new could force its way out.

But I can’t allow it to.

He reaches forward, his fingertips touching my cheek. His arm leaves a faint imprint on the mattress.

We could leave a million imprints on these mattresses. I want people to know we were here. That for a moment—before he decides to reject me like he always does—that I had him. That I held enough control to keep ahold of something I wanted.

“The twins are yours,” I admit. “There was nobody else.”

“I know,” he says, a faint smirk playing on his lips. I roll my eyes.

“Well, don’t be too cocky about it.”

He shrugs. “It wouldn’t have mattered if they were biologically mine or not. I took responsibility for them the moment I took you in.”

“The moment you kidnapped me. ”

“However you want to define it, the result is the same,” he says. “Blood is blood, but one of my sisters is my foster sister. I don’t see her as any less my sister than Olivia was.”

“You have another sister?” I ask, propping my head up on my hand. “I thought men who were surrounded by sisters were usually kind, gentle souls.”

“Olivia had a wild streak. Ellie’s the same. If anything, they’re the reason I never stood a chance at turning out normal.”

I smile, but my breath stops short. “Ellie? I thought Ellie was your girlfriend?”

“You’ve been sleeping with me when you thought I had a girlfriend?” he asks, a grin unfurling across his face.

“Okay, that’s not fair,” I protest, my cheeks turning bright red. “I wouldn’t even know if I hadn’t been eavesdropping.”

“You’re not helping yourself. ”

I press my palm against my cheek, feeling how warm it is. “I heard you talking with that event planner. It just sounded like you loved her a lot.”

“I do love Ellie. As my sister,” he says. “And that wasn’t an event planner. That was her fiancé, Henry. That event is an engagement party for the two of them.”

I let out a slow breath, smiling back at him, though mine is tied much more closely to relief.

“So, you thought you were my mistress?” he prompts. “Should I hide you in a closet?”

“Your closets are big enough to be rooms,” I say. “At least they would have a door.”

“We’ve had sex on the stairs and in a car in a public place. Privacy doesn’t seem like a huge concern of yours.”

He reaches over, tugging on my sweatpants until they’re an inch lower. He caresses my hip, his hand drifting down my thigh. He stops midway, frowning.

“What?” I ask .

He moves too quickly for me to react, his hand slipping into my pocket. He pulls the compass out, raising an eyebrow at me.

“You told me you sold this,” he says. “Fifty dollars, if I recall correctly.”

I sheepishly shrug. “I lied. I took it to a pawn shop, but I liked that it reminded me of that night. When I rear-ended a kind soul who made me feel alive. You know, the guy I met right after you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and stick my tongue out, trying to not laugh at my own joke. As I start to open my eyes, my tongue slipping back into my mouth, he kisses me. I start to kiss him back, he pulls me closer to him, our legs twisting together in an imperfect knot.

Not bad for two fools.

Sex isn’t what I thought it would be.

I didn’t have many school friends—Neal’s reputation was a deterrent toward the types of people I’d be friends with—but the few women I’d gotten to know made sex sound transactional.

It wasn’t that different from ancient times. A virgin was sacrificed on the altar to get a god—or what the woman considered to be her god—to give her what she wanted. And what she wanted was that glowing, golden, consecrated love.

Of course, it never lasted. No matter how many times you gave yourself up, gods were easily bored by mortals.

But with Kieran, it isn’t like that.

It’s open mouths and teasing tongues. I’m not sacrificing anything to him.

I’m anything but holy and clean—I’m greedy, taking everything I want, while he is depraved, corrupting my sense of self by pressing his tongue against my slit and claiming my clit with the slow, sinful drag of his tongue.

His hands keep my thighs spread wide, his mouth slow and thorough, driving me wild with the patience of a man who plans to ruin me completely.

His tongue flicks and circles, dipping lower and then rising again to that aching spot until my hips buck and I moan shamelessly.

I reach down, fisting his hair, pulling when the pressure becomes too much.

He doesn’t stop. Not until I’m breathless and trembling.

With my clothes and the compass discarded around us, he rises over me.