14. Roman
ROMAN
My body relaxes. Victor is right. It is the only thing that has stopped me from killing Jack multiple times in the last couple of hours.
He must feel the shift because he finally lets me go, standing and brushing the dirt from his jeans.
I follow, dragging in a slow breath as I take in the room.
Riggs has stopped vomiting but still looks green, crouched by the sink. Felix, though… he is barely holding on.
I do something I never thought I would. I walk over, grab his shoulder, and pull him into a bear hug.
Felix stiffens under my touch, but I don’t let go.
If I am this unsettled, I cannot begin to comprehend how her twin feels.
Did he know? Is this reaction because we all know now, or because he is finally hearing the truth of what she went through?
Atlas didn’t say much, but it was enough.
Fae was raised by a monster.
Felix slowly relaxes into me, his arm coming up to hold on as his forehead rests against my shoulder.
In all the years I have known him, I don’t think we have ever touched.
I am extremely touch-sensitive. Even a brush of a shoulder usually ends with me snapping.
But this… this is different. There are no pinpricks, no irritation crawling under my skin.
I hold on a little longer, until the tension leaves his body.
When I step back, we drop our arms. Felix moves to the metal chair and sinks into it heavily.
“You good?” Atlas asks.
I am not sure who he is talking to… maybe all of us, but it is Felix who answers.
“How did you know?” he says, turning to me and pointing at Jack. “How did you know he was connected?”
I groan internally. I don’t talk about my issues. People just assume I am a psychopath because of my love for blood and I never correct them. My mum warned me this day would come, that eventually I would have to explain it, but I never saw the point. I hate labels.
Dad tried to get me diagnosed the moment he noticed something different, but to me, this is normal. I sometimes wonder if he would treat me the same if I didn’t have the intelligence to balance it out.
Biting the bullet, I realise I might as well get it over with.
“I have HSAM, otherwise known as highly superior autobiographical memory, or hyperthymesia. I can recall every conversation we have had in extreme detail. Dates, days, what you wore, what you ate. If I read something once, it stays.”
“Like photographic memory?” Victor asks from beside me.
“Similar, but more extreme. Photographic memory is more of a performance trick.”
“You would think that,” Riggs scoffs. “Are you telling me all this time you were calling yourself a genius, you actually are?”
“Well, why would I lie about that, Riggs? I keep telling you, I do not lie,” I reply, exasperated. “And whilst we are on the subject, I might as well add that I also have autism.”
“Oh, we know that,” Felix says, flicking his hand dismissively.
“Wait… what? How?”
“You are not the only genius in this group,” Riggs winks. “I mean, it could be that… or the fact it was fucking obvious.”
“Remember when he lost his shit because I was three minutes late for that meal he made for the girls?” Atlas says.
“That was because it was rude,” I grumble.
“For me, it was when he complained about the texture of the new towels the housemaids brought in,” Victor adds.
“They felt like grit.”
“No, it was when he threw away a plate of food because his mash touched his sausage,” Felix chuckles.
“Hey!” I snap, pointing at him. “That is fucking disgusting and you know it.” I shudder.
“Anyway!” Felix cuts in. “How the fuck do you know Jack is connected to what happened to my sister?”
“Your sister told me something the other day. It triggered the memory and I finally figured out what Jack was talking to Fisher about.”
As if he knows we are talking about him, Jack groans. All of us look over at his battered body hanging from the chains.
“He knows where they keep the other girls…” I say, turning back to Felix. His skin drains of colour, his hand shaking as he pushes his hair back.
“He was that deep in it?”
“Yes. He called them the kennels. Why haven’t you killed Fisher yet?”
“Because it’s not that simple. Fae wants to do it, and I am not going to take that from her.”
I bristle. Not because I doubt she is capable, but because the thought of her anywhere near Fisher again makes me see red. I still need to get to the bottom of what he said to her at her Father’s house the other day.
“But,” Felix continues, pulling me from my thoughts, “we are not stupid. Killing an initiated without due cause is a one-way ticket to getting yourself taken out by The Company. For some reason, my Father has given up on her. It happened when we were seventeen, I think. I am not sure what changed, but he went from locking her in the house to giving her complete freedom. That also means his protection does not extend to her anymore.”
“So you wanted more evidence to justify killing Fisher?” Victor asks.
“Yes.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. The room hums with what we have learned, settling into our lungs as Jack’s wet and broken groan echoes in the room.
Victor stands like stone beside me. His jaw is locked and I can already see him working through consequences and containment.
Felix has gone unnervingly still, the way he does when his mind starts pulling everything apart piece by piece.
Atlas stares at nothing, his knuckles white, a fury held so tightly it feels like it could snap if someone breathes wrong.
Riggs paces, his steps clashing with Jack’s whimpers until he stops at the sink and swallows hard, like he is trying to keep it down, but I can still hear it sitting in the back of his throat.
None of us speak. Whatever innocence existed before this is gone, replaced by a single, shared understanding.
“My sister was murdered,” Riggs murmurs by the sink, and Felix turns so fast his chair legs lift.
“What?” he whispers. “I thought you were an only child.”
“No.” Riggs clears his throat. “She was eleven when she went missing. I was nine. I found her body.” His hands shake as he clenches them again. “She was naked except for a dog collar around her neck with a lead attached. Covered in bruises. The autopsy report said she had been repeatedly raped.”
“How did she die?” I ask before thinking. It might be in poor taste, but if what he is saying is correct, then this just got a lot bigger.
“Death was from asphyxiation by water.” He fixes his eyes on Felix. “You understand what I’m saying?”
“Fuck,” Atlas mutters.
“Yeah.” Riggs nods. “I have wanted to find the bastards who did that to her for so long and kill them. It has been my only goal for so long I don’t know what is left after.
” I have never seen Riggs like this. No laughter, no light, just something broken sitting under his skin.
I wonder if the jokes were always just covering his pain.
“What are you saying, Riggs? Be specific,” Felix demands.
“I’m saying fuck The Company. Fuck whoever sanctions this. Whatever you or Fae need, I’m in.”
“Me too,” Atlas says, cracking his knuckles. “I can hack into Fisher’s emails and see what else I can find, if you want me to.”
“I, erm…” Felix looks at me, then back at Atlas and Riggs. “She won’t want to put any of you in danger.”
“Fuck that,” I bark. “She doesn’t get a say in what we choose to do, Felix, and you know that.”
“I’m in too,” Victor says, crossing his legs as he sits on the cold concrete floor. I internally cringe. With the filth and the cold, it is not the smartest move.
But I am surrounded by idiots.
“Fine. I will talk to her.”
“Talk to me about what…?”
Fae’s voice flows softly between us, smooth and unhurried, like the world is not about to shift beneath our feet.
I look at her and everything else quiets around the edges.
God, it has only been a day and I have missed her.
Her dark hair falls in loose layers around her face, framing eyes that are too sharp.
At first glance they are green, but up close they catch lighter flecks, like they are holding secrets she has not decided to share.
There is a softness to her, but it is deceptive.
It draws you in before you realise there is steel underneath.
A warrior not born but made through choices she never had.
“Erm…” Felix stammers as Fae walks further into the room.
She looks beautiful. Dressed simply, but it makes her harder to ignore.
A white fitted crop top clings to her torso, clean lines and bare shoulders showing just enough skin to distract without trying.
The fabric pulls smooth over her chest and narrows at her waist, the gentle curve of her body impossible to miss.
The olive-green skirt sits high on her hips, skimming her thighs before falling to mid-calf.
Paired with white trainers, it should be nothing… but on her, it is everything.
My cock hardens in my jeans and I clench my fist, trying to redirect the blood flow. It is irritating how much she affects me. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever come close.
My body moves before my mind catches up.
I cross the space and pull her in, the small gasp that leaves her mouth going straight to my head.
I breathe in her honey and vanilla scent and let my cheek brush the top of her hair for a second longer than necessary.
She relaxes instantly in my arms, like she knows exactly where she belongs.
Her spine slots against my chest like she was made to fit there.
Riggs walks over. He glances at me, then at her, gives her that familiar smile and she beams back.
Unacceptable. Her smiles should only be for me… or our children, I guess.