Chapter 17
Seventeen
Journal Entry
Twenty-two years old
“Aleksei!” I call out when I get to his floor. I know he’s here from the moans coming out of his bedroom.
There’s a loud thud, followed by an angry mumble, so I know he heard me.
Going into his kitchen, I grab a bottle of water from his fridge and make a mental note to do an online grocery order when I see how bare his shelves are.
He never goes to the store because he knows I’ll do it.
Same for his laundry. I hire a service that comes once a week to take care of that and clean his apartment.
I also handle his finances and pay his bills.
Somewhere along the way, I slid into the role of parent—a role I don’t want, but one he needs me to perform. I miss just being his brother.
Aleksei stumbles into the kitchen, looking worse for wear. “What?” he snaps, pulling up his jeans. The bottom ankle hem catches on his right foot, and he keels over sideways into the door jamb. “Fuck.”
“Why in the hell did you buy a Porsche without telling me?”
Not bothering to pull up his zipper, he grabs the half-empty bottle of vodka left out next to the sink. “I didn’t tell you because I don’t need your permission to buy whatever the fuck I want to buy.”
“You just bought the Ferrari a month ago,” I remind him.
“Which I wrecked two days ago. I needed a new car.” He has the nerve to grin at me.
A headache starts pounding at my temples. “You wrecked your brand-new, two-hundred-thousand-dollar car?” He hasn’t said anything, and I haven’t heard anything, so he didn’t file an insurance claim.
“Yep.” He takes a swig and grimaces as the vodka burns its way down his throat.
“Did you hurt anyone?” I have to ask because…well, because it’s Aleksei.
“Just my ride.” He laughs like not killing anyone is the funniest thing in the world. And that’s when I notice his blown pupils. He’s high.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I grab the bottle from his hand and slam it down on the counter.
His drug use has gotten worse this past year.
He tries to hide it from me, but I can see the toll it’s taking, mentally and physically.
The mood swings. The paranoia. The gaunt complexion on his face that doesn’t go away.
The weight loss. I wish he didn’t turn to drugs to fight his demons.
I wish he would let me help him, but anytime I try to talk to him about it, he storms out.
I don’t know what to do, other than be here for him.
You can’t force help on someone who doesn’t want it.
But it’s fucking killing me to see him when he’s like this.
The girl he was apparently with pokes her head around the corner, her dark-brown hair in disarray and her lipstick smeared. “Are you coming back?”
“No. Get the fuck out,” Aleksei tells her.
Her shocked eyes bounce to me, like she expects me to contradict him. “You’re kicking me out?”
“I got what I wanted. Don’t need you anymore.”
“Unbelievable asshole!” Her footsteps stomp down the short hallway.
Aleksei grabs his keys and the vodka from the counter island. “Make sure she leaves. I don’t need drama today.”
“Where are you going? Aleksei—goddammit!”
The girl comes back. She must have washed her face because the red smears around her mouth are gone.
“Fuck you and your dick. The next time you want—”
“I’m not him.”
Her narrowed gaze scans me from head to toe and back again, and a glimmer of female interest flashes in her eyes as she stares at my bare chest. I just got back from my run and haven’t had a chance to shower.
“You’re the twin?”
“Yes.”
“How do I know you’re not a lying sack of shit?”
“Because I’m not an asshole.”
A smile lights her face at my quip. I’m getting better at making them, which is as pathetic as it sounds.
“Aleksander, right?” She steals an overripe banana from the fruit bowl I keep stocked but Aleksei never eats.
“Yes.”
“I like your ink.”
That should’ve been the first clue I’m not Aleksei. Our tats are different, and he doesn’t have as many.
“Thank you. Do you need me to call you an Uber?”
“I live in the dorms.” She wobbles on her heels and rolls her ankle. “Damn torture sticks,” she mutters and slips them off. Dangling her shoes from her fingers, her brown eyes slit at me like it’s somehow my fault. “Whoever invented high heels is a bigger asshole than your brother.”
“Then why wear them?”
She twists around and presents her backside to me. “Because they make my ass look fantastic.”
Illogical logic, but whatever.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say abruptly because she’s not leaving, and I’m not going to babysit her all damn day until Aleksei gets back.
As soon as we step inside the elevator, I open the security feed on my phone to see if Aleksei really left or if he’s hiding out in my apartment—and my heart pounds a fast triple beat when the front camera shows Syn and another girl standing at the entrance door to the bell tower.
Syn is…here?
The woman I’ve been stalking is apparently stalking me as well.
How else could she have found out where I lived?
Tristan wouldn’t have told her, especially after our last encounter when he basically threatened me to stay away from her.
Something I can’t do. Any half-adept psychologist would know my reasons for being so drawn to this particular girl have to do with the blue-eyed girl I can’t forget.
When the elevator doors open on the ground floor, I move to the side, so Syn can’t see me through the glass. “There’s a girl with red hair right outside. Her name is Synthia. Tell her to take the elevator to the third floor. I’ll be waiting.”
The brunette acknowledges me with a sharp jerk of her chin. “Tell Aleksei to call me later.”
I won’t, but I nod yes, then quietly slip out and head for the stairs that are only accessible if you know the code. I wait until the door secures behind me before turning the volume up on the security feed, then take the stairs two at a time in a rush to get up to my apartment.
“If he tries anything, I still have that video and will happily post it on every social media outlet known to man,” the girl with Syn says.
“Wrong twin,” Syn replies.
“They’re twins. In the eyes of an everyday viewer, they’re interchangeable.”
What the fuck has Aleksei done now? Did he talk to Syn after I specifically told him to stay away from her?
I hear the brunette’s voice say, “Asshole just kicked me out right after I went down on him. Didn’t even get me off first. Hold on. Which one of you is Synthia?”
I mess up the code when I get to my floor, and it takes three attempts before the light on the panel turns green and the lock disengages.
Going into the living room, I make sure the sofa cushions are stacked just right on each end, then do the same to the magazines on the coffee table.
Shit. Clothes. Before I can go grab a clean shirt from my closet, a single ding chimes, the elevator doors pry wide, and I’m suddenly face-to-face with a wide-eyed Syn.
She looks beautiful…and terrified…and I swear to God, I think she’s checking me out.
Not in an afraid way but in an interested one.
Say something, dumbass.
“I have to say, I was very surprised to see you standing outside.”
“Not as surprised as I am,” Syn replies.
Coming farther into the living room, she takes in my space for the first time, and I want to know how things look from her perspective. Does she like the furniture I chose, or the neutral colors?
I follow along the path her cursory inspection takes.
A large leather couch and matching armchairs take up a good amount of the open space.
The cream-colored walls help make the room feel bigger than it is, and there are a few framed paintings hanging on the walls to add a pop of color.
Dark wood beams cross the ceiling and add a touch of rustic to the simple aesthetic.
Sunlight streams in through the large floor-to-ceiling window and allows for a gorgeous view of the campus and its immaculately landscaped grounds.
“Does Amato know you’re here?” I highly doubt it, but I’m curious to see if she’ll lie to me.
Syn keeps close to the elevator, as if she’ll bolt at any second. “I’m not here to talk about Tristan.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” I gesture toward the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? Sparkling water? I was just about to make breakfast. You can join me.”
I can literally feel her anxiety. It pours off her in waves. “No, thank you. I don’t plan to stay long.” She removes a folded piece of paper from the tiny zipper pocket of her leggings. “Why did you put this in my bag? If you’re trying to scare me, you’re doing a shit job of it.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. I haven’t written her anything. Taking the crumpled paper that her shaking hand offers, I gently extricate it from the death grip she has on it.
He knows. Trust no one.
What the fuck? “I didn’t write this.” The warning sets off all sorts of alarm bells, and every protective instinct flares to life, wanting to keep her safe from the unknown.
“You took my bag on the elevator,” she angrily counters.
That’s why she came here? To confront me about something I didn’t do?
“Doesn’t mean I wrote it or put it in there.”
She snatches the note and tucks the mangled paper back into her pocket. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
Her unsubstantiated belief that I would write it pisses me off and further proves just how deep Tristan has her under his control. She’s willingly living with three cold-blooded killers, and yet she thinks I’m the monster.
Suddenly advancing on her, she retreats until her back hits the wall. Bracketing both hands on either side of her head, her feminine stature gets dwarfed when I lean in. “I don’t lie, little pevchaya ptitsa, unlike the men you’re keeping company with.”
Pevchaya ptitsa means songbird. That’s what she is. A beautiful bird trapped in an invisible cage she doesn’t see surrounding her.
Syn isn’t intimidated by my big size. On the contrary, she stands her ground. “I don’t care about whatever grievance you and Tristan have with one another. I’m not a part of that.”
Still as na?ve and clueless as ever. “You are very much a part of everything now, Synthia.”
“Why? I’m new here. I don’t know anybody. Am I not allowed to make friends?”
“Not with us.”
Misunderstanding, she bites out, “I am not your friend.”
“Not what I meant.” I search her face for any deception and find nothing but innocence. She doesn’t understand the danger she’s in. The danger Tristan put her in. “You really don’t know, do you?”
She rolls her eyes for good measure. “Since I clearly don’t, would you like to fill me in?”
Tempting, but no. I want to see how all this plays out.
“I don’t think I will. It’ll be more fun to watch you find out on your own.
” Because I can’t help myself with her being this close, I lightly graze a fingertip down the apple of her cheek.
It’s like touching silk and fire at the same time.
A bad analogy considering what she’s been through, but accurate.
“You have very unusual eyes. You’re also very pretty. I can see why they’re intrigued.”
Is that why the guys are so taken with her, just like I am? Do they also see Aoife when they look at her?
“If you think you can use me as a way to hurt Tristan, Constantine, or Hendrix, then you’re way off the mark. I’m nothing to them.”
My mouth curls into an amused grin. “Who’s lying now?”
Syn shoves at my chest, and I oblige her by backing up.
“Why do you and Tristan hate each other so much?”
My smile disappears and is replaced with cold fury, and I do the thing that I just accused Tristan of. I lie. “His family stole my birthright.”
It’s a mound of bullshit but necessary to keep up the pretense. After next weekend, it won’t matter anymore.
Syn’s reply is drenched in incredulity when she says, “Tristan is not responsible for what his father or his family does.”
The scoff that erupts from my chest cracks the air like thunder. “You couldn’t be more wrong, pevchaya ptitsa.”
So, he has told her some things, but I bet he hasn’t told her the most important truths—the ones about our father. She’ll find out about those ugly veracities soon enough.
Slinking along the wall, she fumbles for the button and mashes it in rapid succession to summon the elevator. “Thank you for your time. It would be nice if you and your brother stopped following me around. If it happens again, I’ll file a restraining order.”
When she tries to leave, I get in her way, some internal instinct screaming at me not to let her go.
“Please move.”
“You seem like a nice girl, so I’m going to give you a word of advice.”
Her breaths pick up, and her hands fist at her sides as if she’s preparing to fight her way out of my apartment if it comes to it. “And what would that be?”
Syn doesn’t deserve what’s about to happen. I just have to make sure she doesn’t get caught in the crossfire.
“Run.”