Chapter 36
She’s nestled into my side, her soft breath warming my chest as her leg rests possessively over mine. We’re tangled together in her small twin bed, her body fitting against me as if we were made from the same puzzle, always meant to be this close. Always meant to be together.
My fingers trace lazy patterns up and down her arm, memorising her skin beneath my touch.
How can something so wrong seem so unbelievably right?
She twitches in her sleep, and a smile tugs at my lips. But it fades just as quickly when I hear the faint creak of movement outside her door.
“Owen. Get your arse out here.” James’ voice slithers through the crack under the door, low and sharp.
Fuck.
I gently unwrap myself from her, her body turning away from me as if on instinct, her face serene in her slumber.
I wish I could stay in this stolen moment forever, but reality is clawing at me, pulling me back.
I grab my jeans, pulling them on as I tiptoe silently across the room.
My hand lingers on the doorknob, my pulse thudding in my ears as I brace myself for what’s on the other side.
James.
He leans against the doorframe of my bedroom, one brow raised in a way that makes me want to punch it off his smug face.
“So, your night of bad decisions kept going when you got home then?”
“It’s not what you think,” I mutter defensively, though we both know it’s exactly what he thinks. The look on his face says it all—he’s not buying a damn word.
“What I think doesn’t matter right now,” James says, inspecting his fingernails with a bored expression. “It’s what the police think that you should be more worried about.”
Fuck. Shit. Bollocks.
“There it is.” He lets out a humourless laugh. “The realisation.” He pushes off the doorframe with a smirk that makes my fist itch. “Get your shit.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter?” James steps closer, and suddenly we’re chest to chest. He’s still taller, broader, and smells like he’s bathed in stale whiskey and bad decisions.
“I said, get your shit. As of,” he glances at his watch, “three hours ago, you’re an adult.
And judging by the fact the police are knocking at my door at 3:00 a.m., you’ve well and truly fucked up, son. ”
“I’m not your son,” I say through gritted teeth, lifting my chin defiantly.
“And being that you’re no longer a child, you can pack your shit, have a nice chat with the police, and get the fuck out of my house.” His eyes narrow. “Unless you’d like to add ‘fucking a minor’ to the list of bad decisions you’ve made tonight.”
“She’s sixteen. Last time I checked, in the UK, that’s legal.”
“She’s also as far as anyone else is concerned your sister. Sooo…”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. All the warmth I’d felt moments ago drain from my body, leaving behind nothing but cold, hard dread. He’s right. Regardless of the fact we aren’t blood related, to the eyes of everyone else, she’s my sister.
The sound of the doorbell rings again, echoing through the silent house, and I pray that she doesn’t wake up. She doesn’t need to see this. She’s been through enough already.
“You’ve got five minutes,” James says, his shoulder colliding with mine as he heads downstairs. I glance towards the landing and see the flickering blue and red lights casting shadows on the walls. It feels like the ground is falling out from under me.
Back in my room, I grab the framed photo of her from the nightstand. It’s the only thing that matters. Clothes get stuffed into a bag haphazardly. I creep back to her room take one last look at her, peaceful and oblivious, and head downstairs.
“Here he is, Officer,” James announces as if he’s done them some successful favour. “Owen King. He’ll come quietly.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing enough to make my skin crawl. “Won’t you, son?”
The humid night air clings to me as I step outside. I turn to the officer, but I already know why they’re here.
“Mr. King, we’re arresting you for the suspected grievous bodily harm of Carl Walker, Steven Gantly and Harry Leverton.” The officer’s voice is monotone, routine.
James stands off to the side, shaking his head like this is all some sort of tragic disappointment. I stare straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes. I won’t give that smug bastard the satisfaction.
“You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court…”
The officer’s voice fades into background noise, drowned out by the roaring in my head. My thoughts spiral, panic sinking its claws into me.
If I’m not here, who’s going to protect her from him?