Chapter 34
Fucking asshole.
I march into my office and slam the door hard enough to shake the walls. Papers flutter off the desk, and one of them lands in the goddamn trash, where this whole fucking day belongs.
Naturally, he follows. I don’t have to check—I know he’s right behind me.
No matter how many times I shut the door in his face, the bastard still thinks he’s welcome.
He saved my life. What was it, two hours ago? Not that I’m counting. I’m not replaying it in my head again and again like some kind of pathetic, trauma-bonded idiot.
He could’ve let me die. Hell, he should have. But no. He had to go all noble and dramatic, hauling me out of that mess like we were still brothers or some shit, and have me owe him my goddamn life.
I haven’t decided if I’m pissed because he saved me or because he made me feel something when he did.
Either way, fuck him.
“Well, look who can’t take a fucking hint,” I say without turning. “Still riding the high from your big hero moment, or are you just addicted to being a pain in my ass?”
He leans against the doorframe, smug as hell.
“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you before you die of ego inflation, brother.”
Brother …
The word drags bile from my throat and leaves a tremor down my spine.
I had two of them.
One I hated with a depth that poisoned every breath he took. I prayed for his silence, his absence, his death. I fantasized about his end like some people dream of freedom.
But the other …
The other used to have my back. He used to be the one person I thought would never fucking lie to me. And now I can’t stand to look at him.
“You don’t trust them?” He interrupts my thoughts.
“I don’t trust anyone.” I sit on my chair, sink in it, and light up a smoke.
“Let me guess.” He takes a seat on the chair across my desk. “You blackmail them?”
I drag my smoke. “Let’s say they’re lucky they have families. The ones that didn’t are dead.”
He takes a sharp intake of breath. “Ouch. That sounds sadistic. Poor Eleanor.”
I chuckle, unable to hold it back.
I ash my smoke. “I want to see them fucking suffer like I did; every goddamn day, they stood there and watched me fall to fucking pieces without saying a word.”
His smile falters.
“Jesus,” he mutters, glancing away. “You ever talk to someone about all that? Like … professionally?”
“Actually, I tried once. The poor bastard quit after two sessions.”
He chuckles.
I stub out the smoke. “Some shit isn’t meant to be talked through. It’s meant to be answered.”
“They really fucked you up, huh?” he asks, rubbing his clean-shaven chin.
I hum, agreeing with him, my gaze drifting elsewhere.
“Then why do you trust me now? Why am I not dead already?”
I drag. “Shouldn’t I?”
He chuckles, revealing his bright smile. He’s grown so much. The last time I saw him, he was still a teenage boy, his eyes filled with innocence. Now he’s different. He’s mature. Corrupted, I’d dare to say.
“Where have you been all this time?” I ask, exhaling the smoke.
“Do you really care?” He crosses his big arms, a judgmental look on his face.
“Don’t make me regret asking.”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, dragging his brown eyes away from mine like they’re carrying the weight of every sin he’s ever committed.
“I didn’t have a good life,” he says, his voice low and brittle. “I was homeless and broke. After I nearly died, someone found me and saved me.”
“In what exchange?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. His hands tremble in his lap, knuckles white.
“How do you know there was an exchange?”
“Because nothing in this world is given. Nothing’s free. If they saved you, they must have taken something.”
He looks at me then, his eyes hollow. The cocky smirk, the smart-ass spark, is gone.
“What did they take?”
He rests his hand on the chair’s arm and fidgets his fingers, as if they have the answer.
“They turned me into an assassin.”
I scoff. “What, with a paycheck and dental?”
“Nope. Gotta actually have a job to afford my shit.”
“And you are … ?”
“Usually a bodyguard.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Wow. From pulling triggers to blocking them.”
He grins, all teeth and dead behind the eyes. “It’s the dream. Cozy up to some mobster, earn their trust, then push them down the stairs when no one’s looking. Sometimes I even cry at the funeral.”
“How sentimental.”
“Sometimes I push the widow, too.”
“Kinky.”
He shrugs. “It’s a living. Well. Not for them.”
“And they don’t pay you enough?”
“I’m not close to them for long enough to get the paycheck twice.”
I raise a brow.
“You probably think an assassin’s life is all sleek suits and dramatic exits,” he continues.
“What you don’t see is the blood-soaked training, the beatings that teach you to forget your name.
” He crosses his legs, his stare vacant.
“The punishments. They made me a super drone, and now I kill men like him …”
He’s slouched across from me, eyes dark, hands restless in his lap like they’re itching for violence.
“I hate them. I hate their kind. Men like Father and Atticus hollowed me out.”
I scoff, exhaling smoke straight in his face. “Oh, cry me a river. They didn’t put you in chains.”
“They killed Mom,” he snaps. “Then erased me like I was a clerical error. Their perfect little ghost. And you left me here to fucking rot with the rest of the trash.”
I take a drag and let the smoke pour out slowly. “I begged you to come with me.”
“Oh, right, how heroic,” he spits, standing. “One half-assed plea, and when I didn’t jump, you vanished like I was already dead. You still left, Cain.”
I leave the smoke in the ashtray and stand, too, resting my hands on the desk. “I left because staying meant dying. But maybe that’s what you wanted. For both of us to decay here together.”
He laughs, bitter and broken. “At least then I wouldn’t have had to decay alone in this hellhole.”
I slam my hand on the desk, my voice cracking through the smoke. “I had a chance and took it while you stayed here like their little bitch! Grayson helped us! He helped me!” I spit the words, every syllable meant to hurt him.
“Fuck, you don’t understand shit, right?” His eyes narrow as he stays composed.
I lean in, my jaw clenched. “Then make me understand. Go on. Give me one of your tragic little monologues.”
His voice drops. “Atticus threatened me. He said if I left, he’d hunt you down and gut you like a dog.”
The room tilts. I blink, once, twice, and the anger stumbles.
“What?”
He scoffs bitterly, like he’s been choking on it for years. “Yeah. I had to stay behind so you could run. There’s your fucking truth. Wrap it in a bow and call it freedom.”
My mouth goes dry. I want to punch him. Or hug him. Or scream. But instead, I sit there, stunned.
“I never asked for your protection!” I roar.
“But I fucking owed you!” he fumes back, the veins on his neck popping.
“What? You owed me nothing.”
His breathing calms as his brown eyes dart all over the room before they land softly on me.
“Atticus wasn’t a threat to me, and yet you were the one comforting me because I was afraid of him,” he says, his voice calmer now.
My eyes lower. “You said it yourself. You were scared, and you were a little boy.”
“You were a boy, too.”
I take a step closer. “I’ve been scared for too fucking long, Adam. So yeah, I was a boy, but I knew exactly what it felt like.”
We don’t talk again; we only drown in the awkward silence, letting our eyes memorize each other.
How much he’s changed.
He was the brother I cherished and cared for.
He was the light. He was good. Too good for where we came from. He used to sneak into my room at night and curl up next to me when the shouting got bad. I’d hold him close and swear it would all be over someday.
He believed me.
That was the worst part.
But now he’s not the boy who used to crawl into my bed shaking, whispering that he’d heard something in the dark. He’s not the idiot who used to jump out from behind corners like it was the funniest thing in the world.
That version of him is gone.
What’s standing in front of me now is someone harder. Someone who’s learned how to bury things deep enough they start to drown.
He’s changed.
But so have I.
We’re just two mirrors staring at each other.
Same damage. Same guilt. Same silence.
And somewhere along the way, I forgot what it meant to feel anything for anyone.
Suddenly, he talks again.
“You still have her toy.” He nods toward the Rubik’s Cube sitting on my desk. He steps forward and picks it up gently, like it might fall apart in his hand. “I was so jealous that she gave you something. I had nothing. Nothing to remember her.”
I don’t speak. My mother had a soft spot for me; I always knew it. Back then, it seemed normal to me. She was my sanctuary—the only one who protected me.
Now that I’m older, I know it’s because I didn’t remind her of her husband, while Adam did.
“Father was a monster,” he continues, tossing the cube on the desk. “But she wasn’t a saint, either. I was still her fucking child. She was the lesser of the two, so just like you, I figured she was the better one. That’s why I changed my last name, like you did.”
“The Mansons,” I mutter with a smile, pride hidden in my voice.
“The Mansons,” he repeats with the same pride as me.
He remains quiet, letting a soft chuckle escape his lips.
But I can’t leave it alone. The question’s been gnawing at me from the second I saw him in that filthy warehouse.
“How did you know where I’d be?” I ask.
He lifts his eyes, his smile fading. “I didn’t. It was a coincidence. My boss was my next target.” He takes a step closer. “So, thanks for putting him in the ground. Saved me the bullet.”
Good reply.
“Adam the Terminator,” I joke.
He chuckles, but his expression turns solemn again.
“I’d better get going.”
“Struggling to keep your rabid little instincts in check?” I smirk, playing dumb, as if I don’t already know I’m the reason his hands are trembling, like someone waiting for the axe. “Fighting the urge to tear me apart like you do all those low-rent thugs you butcher without any shred of dignity?”
He crosses his bulky arms. “If I wanted your ass dead, you’d be dead. I don’t usually go around saving people I plan to kill.”
“Should I say thank you, or just be flattered I made it onto your ‘don’t kill yet’ list?”
“Don’t get too comfortable. That list gets shorter every day.” He winks before he smiles.
“Perfect.” I clap my hands. “I’d hate to die of boredom before you finally grow the guts to make a move.”
He chuckles, his brown eyes nailed on mine. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you want me to make a move.”
I grin broadly, mirroring his attitude. “Only if it ends with blood on the floor. Yours or mine; I’m not picky.”
He laughs again, cocky as ever, but I’ve had my fill.
I step past him toward the door. “As much as I enjoy our heartfelt bonding time, I’ve reached my limit of crap for the day.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Kicking me out already? Thought family meant something.”
I open the door wide, giving him a mock bow. “It does. Which is why I’m giving you the chance to leave voluntarily instead of drop-kicking you off my porch.”
“You’ve always had such a warm way of showing love.”
I smirk. “And you’ve always had a talent for overstaying your welcome. Don’t trip on the way out.”
He lingers just long enough to be annoying, then finally moves. “It was fun to see you after all this time, brother.” He salutes me lazily as he goes.
I watch him with a faint smile. “It was. In a twisted, migraine-inducing kind of way.”
He steps out.
“Don’t be a stranger,” I add, halting his momentum. He doesn’t look back at me. “Just give me time to forget why you pissed me off.”
He turns his head slightly to the side.
“The Mansons never forget,” he says quietly. “But maybe one day we’ll remember something good, too.”
He walks away and shuts the door behind him.
“Maybe one day,” I mutter to myself.