Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Freedom Mansion
Eden
“Pass.” I throw a handful of toffee popcorn from the large bowl that is balanced on my lap into my mouth and crunch noisily. “Get in there. Light the lamp, bro. Do it. Yes!”
I lurch forward, forgetting not to smile, as I watch Shay scoring a beautiful goal, which impressively strikes the bottom of the crossbar and deflects into the back of the net.
The audience explodes with excitement.
The score against the New York Islanders is now 4 — 3.
It’s an intense game.
The rival team is good. They would easily be winning, if it wasn’t for the god-like duo of D’Angelo and Shay, who have taken their hockey to a different level.
They are focused and serious in a way that has taken the rival defensemen apart.
It seems impossible for Shay to miss every time that he gains the puck.
Since my new family came back from Merchant’s Inn, I could tell that something had shifted.
Something important.
Later, as we were alone together brushing our teeth, I noticed how slumped Shay’s shoulders were.
He smelled of beer but he wasn’t buzzing like he normally was when he came back from the pub, excitedly talking about how he was going to tongue Robyn before bed.
Instead, he was unusually quiet, spitting out toothpaste into the sink and washing it away.
I nudged him with my shoulder. “Okay, bro?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. It’s too late, and this shit is big, Dee.” Shay bit his lip. “You won’t ever hate me, right?”
Shocked, I grabbed his arm and turned him to face me. “Circle of Twins.”
Why would I need to say more than that?
He knew that I would die for him. I already had.
He would always be the most important man in my life.
My twin.
Why was he shaking?
“But our lives are being fucked up because of my past.” Shay’s tormented gaze met mine. “I tried to outrun Blythe and escape. I thought that us coming to America would be a fresh start. That I would be bloody free. But we’re not.”
“We are,” I insisted.
“The worse thing is that I was beginning to think that Robyn and D’Angelo were going to keep us.”
“Hmm.” I wiped a trace of white away from the edge of his lip like I always had when we were kids because he’d rush through getting ready before school.
Shay’s eyes widened with panic. “You don’t think that they will…? I can win these games. I bloody will. And I can be better. Be good. I’m trying, even if I’m a mess. I didn’t mean to break that jar of peanut butter all over the kitchen floor this morning. Should I ask to be disciplined?”
Fury raged through me.
Maybe my brother was still fucked up by his past. He’s not free of it. But I am going to make sure that he escapes.
I started that young and I will never stop.
I will spend my life setting my brother free.
“Never.” I fixed Shay with a stern stare. “Robyn and D’Angelo may keep you or not, but no one is keeping…owning…me ever again. But they do love us. And we love them. Isn’t that enough?”
Now, I blush, running my hand through my hair. Luckily, there was no one here to see me lose my cool or my freakish smile.
Robyn says that she likes it when I smile, but I know that I never quite get it right.
How do other people do it so easily? How does Shay?
I clutch my popcorn closer to my chest.
I have spent my life trying to fit into a world that I simply don’t fit into.
On the summer before I entered college, Shay suggested that I memorize trends and comedy sketches, and that way, I’d know how to act like other people.
Each night in my dorm room, I would watch clips on social media, trying to decode this mysterious and confusing world that I found myself thrown into every time that I walked into the bustling corridors of students who so easily flowed between different groups, chatting and laughing.
Once, I watched Shay standing with one clique casually telling a joke.
I didn’t understand it but I memorized it.
If I repeated it, would other people laugh warmly? See me at last and not only my brother? Finally like me?
I repeated the joke in the mirror when I was alone for an entire month, trying to achieve the same effortless timing that Shay managed.
At last, my chest tight with nerves, I risked walking up to my English classmates.
My mouth was dry. I felt sick.
I screwed up my courage, however, and made myself tell the joke.
I can still hear the deafening silence that followed.
Still feel the way that they turned to look at me with sneering contempt.
Still want to curl up and die with the flaming shame.
“Fuck off, freak.” One of the most popular men in the class, who I admired, shoved me in the chest.
I stumbled.
The rest of the group turned their backs on me, returning to their conversation like I hadn’t said anything.
Where was the laughter? The warmth?
Why didn’t they like me?
Until Robyn, I believed that it was simply too hard to talk to people.
The only times that I felt I understood language was on the ice.
I spoke fluently there.
I sigh, stretching out on the couch. I toss another handful of popcorn into my mouth, humming in satisfaction on the delicious sweetness of the toffee.
I am watching the game on the giant TV, which hangs over the roaring fireplace in the lounge of Freedom Mansion.
I have been steering Shay away from playing football near that television since we moved in. It looks worth more than I earn in a year. But then, so does everything in here.
I love the books and the fallen angel on the wall. My favorite thing, however, is that my angel wing shell was placed by Robyn in pride of place on the mantelpiece.
The fire warms my cheeks.
I am dressed in warm grey joggers and one of my favorite black cat t-shirts to relax in evenings in. A slogan is emblazoned on the front of the t-shirt, which is surrounded by paw prints: REAL MEN LOVE CATS.
Yet no matter how much I like this book-lined lounge or how many times Robyn plumped the cushions for me behind my back, I am still uncomfortable and frustrated.
Left behind.
D’Angelo has bribed me with popcorn and a whole platter of game night snack foods that are laid out on the oak coffee table: tacos, nachos loaded with salsa and cheese, spicy Buffalo wings, and fries.
Yet none of this makes up for not being rinkside.
D’Angelo has the puck again…
My hand balls into a fist.
I strain to make out Robyn beside the rink, but the camera is zoomed in on the action.
I should be there to support her.
It’s my own fault. I couldn’t handle my shit well enough after lunch.
I didn’t hide my wince fast enough, when my migraine struck, or the way that I was squinting from the light.
Instantly, Robyn narrowed her eyes. “Pain scale?”
I hesitated long enough to tell by the determined tilt to her chin that she knew I was about to lie.
Instead, I admitted, “Four.”
It is unsettling to know that I am surrounded by people who don’t want me to hide my pain. Plus, if I show it, they won’t laugh or take sadistic pleasure from it.
Instead, they only want to know in order to care for me.
Strange.
Immediately, Robyn’s brow furrowed with concern. She grasped my hands.
She rubbed my hands between her own, before leaning over to blow on them; my cock hardened. “Your hands are still too cold. I’m calling Code.”
Unfortunately, I’ve discovered that being friends with someone apparently doesn’t mean they will cover for you.
Plus, it doesn’t offer protection from annoying, fussy medical advice that leads to me being benched here in Freedom Mansion for the night, until I can have a full checkup at the hospital tomorrow.
I don’t have time for that.
D’Angelo swears that they won’t be in danger with the team and staff around them, despite everything that I now know about what both Blythe and Heine have been doing.
Coach has been informed, as well as Fleet.
The security team has been doubled and put on high alert.
A list of every Misfit has been given to the Bay Rebels staff and been given a ban; they’re not getting into the arena.
Blythe won’t touch my twin again.
I don’t need a hospital appointment. I need to hunt down Blythe.
After this game, I will put into action my Burn List.
Blythe is at the top.
I haven’t told Robyn.
My eyes gleam with satisfaction at the thought of the Ice Queen melting in raging flames.
I lick the sticky, sweet toffee off my fingers with satisfaction at the fantasy.
Shay has the puck.
The commentator is wild with excitement. The audience roars.
Shay weaves around a defenseman. I stiffen, leaning forward.
“Come on,” I whisper.
Shay raises his stick, ready to shoot…
Suddenly, the violent sound of shattering glass from somewhere behind me makes jump.
In shock, I knock the popcorn bowl off my knee, and the flakes are scattered like a white pool of blood over the black floor.
I leap up. My heart is in my throat.
Did someone break a window in one of the other rooms?
Fear stabs through me.
Most of the security team are at the rink. The only remaining members are at the gates.
I glance around desperately for my phone.
Where the fuck did I leave it?
I hurl cushions off the couch, feeling beneath them.
Nothing.
Shit, Shay stole it earlier to play Candy Crush against Cody again.
It’s upstairs in our bedroom.
I freeze, hearing footfalls outside.
I glance around, trying to search for a weapon.
There isn’t anything.
I snatch up the empty glass bowl, holding it in front of myself like a shield.
My pulse is roaring.
Breathing hard, I am relieved that the others are safely at the arena.
All of a sudden, I feel a sharp sting in my chest.
Confused, I glance down to find a red tipped tranquilizer dart sticking out of my chest. The hit is hard enough to make me stagger, as if something has fractured.
A rib…?
I rip out the dart, but my mind becomes foggy.
What’s happening…?
What…?
A wave of calmness washes over me.
Why am I…? I can’t let this happen to me.
Not again. Not again. Not…
Kidnapped.
Captured.
Why…?
The words slip away. Thoughts meld. My breathing slows.
My chest aches.
I try to clench my fists but I can’t.
I take a step back, but my knees buckle.
Weakened, I stagger and then fall to the floor, catching my chin and then eye against the corner of the coffee table.
I grunt at the bright burst of pain.
I lie, unable to move, on the floor. I struggle to regain control over my body but I can’t.
I should be more panicked, but my mind is being lulled into a false calm.
The control of my emotions is more terrifying, feeling a fake tranquility.
I haven’t been this powerless since I was a kid. I swore that I never would be again, when I was reborn as a phoenix.
Whoever this is…?
I am going to kill them for making me break that oath to myself.
A pair of pink designer high heels click click confidently into my eyeline around the couch, stopping just in front of my nose.
My mind is racing, even though my breathing is kept artificially even and slow.
I am a felled animal, still and unmoving.
What if they have a knife? A gun?
A second set of shoes, sneakers covered with Gothic skulls, follow the first set.
It must be Heine.
They’re moving slower and more hesitant. They stop further back.
“I know that you’re not my bad sub,” a frosty English woman’s voice says.
Blythe, the Ice Queen. “But you look like him. You’re just as pretty, and I’m certain that you’re better behaved.
He’s pretending on that television right now that he can win the bet and prove that he’s worth something. He always was stupid.”
I try to open my mouth and tell her just how worthy and smart Shay is, but I can’t make the muscles in my face cooperate.
“Using the tranquilizer dart was dangerous, Mistress.” Heine sounds timid and startlingly different to how he used to. “He could die—”
Crack.
The sound of a slap reverberates around the lounge.
“Are you backtalking me, Charlie?” Blythe’s educated voice is cold enough to give frostbite. “Do I need to teach you what happens when you tell me what to do again? Do you want me to take away your right to talk for another week?”
“Please, Mistress, I’m sorry—”
“Put these on him.”
Heine truly does appear to be a pawn in this. He’s definitely being used.
Heine kneels over me, and I feel gentle hands turning me on my stomach.
I try to struggle but I can’t.
Slowly, I’m being dragged toward unconsciousness.
I dread what will happen to me when I am lost to the dark. I fight to stay awake.
What if I never return to my lovers?
What if this is the last time that I see my home?
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes.
“Mistress, I don’t mean to talk back, but may I use my belt rather than these zip ties to bind him? I don’t want to damage him for you.” Heine is massaging my shoulder like he’s trying to soothe me.
I am going to snap his fucking tiny wrists in two.
“Aren’t you thoughtful all of a sudden?” Blythe laughs.
“From what you told me when we first met about how this one slammed you into a wall and choked you, I thought that you would enjoy taking some revenge. Go on, I won’t stop you.
Didn’t you tell me that this was the psycho twin?
It’s why I am taking precautions, but it makes him much more interesting. ”
Asshole.
I can’t even brace myself for the kicks.
Silence.
I swallow.
Instead, I feel the soft, supple feel of leather sliding around my wrists and pulling them together. Yet it’s not too tight.
“He was protecting a friend,” Heine says, softly. It shocks me. “I deserved what I got. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“How mature of you. It appears that being broken and humbled suits you.” Blythe kicks out, catching Heine in the side.
He yelps. “Maybe I should institute this training program for all billionaires.” Then she deliberately places the weight of one of her sharp heels on the back of my splayed hand.
I grit my teeth in pain. “With Shay, I learned to go for the pain point. And that has always been you, his brother. Taking you will hurt him more than anything because being separated from you is his nightmare. He’ll offer anything to get you back, safe and unharmed. Even himself.”
A single moment of panic spikes through me, before my eyes slide shut, and I am dragged down into the black.