CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Somehow, despite the turmoil we’d endured, I slept, and I was surprised to find that I’d slept well.
I supposed it helped that, for the first time in many, many years, I pulled that old, familiar stuffed bunny out from the box beneath my bed and slept with it in my arms, knowing I had finally, finally found its rightful owner.
I just didn’t know how I’d give it back without revealing my identity. But that was a problem for another day.
The next morning, after showering the previous day away and putting on a fresh, clean suit, I walked down the hall to join my brothers in the kitchen for breakfast. The routine of it all felt normal, almost involuntary in its practice, but I was scared to walk through that door, sit at that table, and find that everything between the three of us had changed now that they knew the truth.
But when I walked in to find them already seated, I learned quickly that I’d been worried for nothing.
Shawn was still sad. Ike was still angry. But they treated me no differently than they always had. And I realized then that they were, forever and ever, for better or worse, my brothers, and with that relation came an unconditional love I knew I'd never find anywhere but here, beneath this roof.
But how wonderful it would be to be loved by her—Analise—in the open, I thought, but that was something I would likely never know. And somehow, in some way, I had to learn to be okay with that.
Ike dumped Lucky Charms into a bowl and promptly began to pick through to find the marshmallows. Shawn watched and shook his head with disgust.
"What the hell are you lookin' at me like that for?"
Shawn returned his attention to his bowl of Mini-Wheats. "You're gonna have diabetes before you're forty."
"We're fuckin' dead anyway, so who gives a fuck? Not gonna worry about my shitty diet now."
Shawn considered his point, then shrugged. "Touché."
"Nothing's happening to either of you," I grunted before taking a sip of my coffee.
Ike looked up from his search for freeze-dried marshmallows and smirked sardonically as he said, "Hey, no offense, Bram, but have you looked in the mirror today? ‘Cause, uh … your face says you don't exactly have shit under control."
"This"—I pointed at the jagged cut along the side of my face—"is my punishment for getting mixed up with Gerald's stepdaughter. The two of you though—"
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait." Ike sat back and laid his hands flat on the table. "His stepdaughter? Gerry’s married to a woman with a kid?"
"First of all, she's not a kid. She's a woman. And second of all—"
"Doesn't that make her our stepsister?"
I groaned with disgust and put my mug of coffee down with a thunk. “Gerald says the same shit. Analise isn't our fucking step-anything, as far as I'm concerned."
"Oh, so it's Analise, huh?" Ike chided with a shit-eating grin.
No, it’s Anna, I thought, but I couldn’t tell them that. What was the point?
I lowered my eyes from his teasing smile to stare into the reflective black surface of my coffee. "Yeah," I muttered, wondering what she was doing now. Wondering how she was doing.
Would I ever see her again?
Fingertips touched my knuckles, and I glanced up to find Shawn looking at me, a certain kind of knowing glint in his eye.
"What happened with her?" he asked, genuine sincerity in his voice.
"She got married yesterday," I replied, speaking matter-of-factly. "She was forced to marry this real piece of shit, Benjamin, Gerald's nephew."
"So, he’s our cousin?" Ike asked, all teasing pushed aside.
"Yeah," I said.
He ran a hand through his hair and let a long whistle pass through his lips. “A stepsister and a cousin. Wow, the family just keeps growing. Hey, what’s our stepmom like?”
I suppressed the urge to cringe as I muttered, “Don’t ask.”
Shawn ate a spoonful of cereal, and then, with his mouth full, he asked, "So, why is this guy, Benjamin, a piece of shit?"
"Well, for one, Gerald showed me a picture of him raping her at knifepoint, so …”
My words died in my throat as I imagined that picture now.
Her tears. The look of horror in her eyes, the pain written clearly on her face.
The rage was quick to consume, like a lit match tossed into a barrel of hay, and I picked up that mug of coffee and threw it at a cabinet, the pieces of porcelain scattering and the coffee splashing against wood and granite.
Silence fell over the kitchen as Shawn and Ike looked at me. The only sound was my lungs working to pull air in and out of my chest in heavy, labored puffs.
"Fuck," I muttered, standing up to clean up the mess I'd made. “Sorry.”
Shawn got up to grab the paper towels.
"So … why haven't you killed him too?" Ike asked as I collected the shattered pieces in the palm of my hand. “’Cause, bro … it kinda sounds like he deserves—"
"No. I can't be stupid," I cut him off.
"Or impulsive," Shawn added as if he understood, unrolling sheets of paper towels to mop up the splattered coffee.
"Exactly," I muttered, resisting the urge to close my hand around the jagged pieces of sharp porcelain. To feel something other than the harrowing despair eating away at the hole in my heart where Analise should've been, safe and protected.
But instead, she was with him.
And I had failed her … again.
***
We arrived at Seint Manor together for the first time.
Per my request, Shawn and Ike wore masks as well.
"Gerald knows who you are, and likely, his wife does too," I'd told them before we left the funeral home. "But if we intend to keep this place alive, nobody else can know a fucking thing."
Now, as I got out of the hearse, it frustrated me that I couldn't read the expressions on either of their faces.
Shawn's hair and face were concealed by the hood and blank black face of the Grim Reaper.
Ike, though also hooded, wore a skull.
All of us, symbols of death.
We had thought it was fitting after we dug through the bin of Halloween decorations and pieces of costumes collected over the years. They matched in ways, but each one different enough that we could tell each other apart.
"We're actually doing this," Shawn muttered beneath his breath, his voice muffled by the fabric laying over his mouth.
"We don't have a choice," I replied, walking past him to lead the way to the door.
And it's my fault.
“We could run away,” he suggested, clearly shaken by the reality of our situation.
I glanced at him. “If we run, they will find us, and we will die. No. We do what we have to do.”
And let me worry about the rest, I wanted to add, but couldn’t. Not here.
They followed me, flanking my sides, and when Dean opened the door, as per usual, he didn’t seem at all surprised that, this time, I hadn’t come alone.
He offered a hesitant smile, and I didn't smile back.
"Good to see you, sir," he said with a hint of reluctance.
"Wish the feeling were mutual," I muttered. "Are you the asshole who blew my cover?"
He narrowed his eyes and tipped his head to the side. "Did you not read your texts?"
I gave my head a subtle shake. Dean's eyes flitted from one side of me to the other, taking in the sight of Shawn, then Ike. He didn’t react at all to their presence, and I knew Gerald must’ve filled him in at some point.
"I didn’t get the chance," I explained. "Both of my phones went missing."
"Of course they did," Dean grumbled with a sigh. Then he leaned in closer, and beneath his breath, he added, "It was B."
B. Benjamin.
Of course it was.
I offered a curt nod, but said nothing more.
“What did he do to you?” I asked, implying whatever punishment he was going to endure.
“Our partnership,” he said, meeting my eyes. Then he shook his head. “Terminated.”
Gerald wasn’t allowing Dean and me to work together anymore, and as I hung my head, I was surprised by the sadness that touched my heart at the news, understanding that our partnership had never started as one.
Once upon a time, he had only been sent on missions with me to ensure I was actually getting the job done.
But somewhere along the way, we had become friends, and I was going to miss him.
Dean pulled away and turned around.
"Gentlemen," he said in a clearer tone, gesturing into the house.
We filed in, and Dean offered a curt smile and nod before closing the door and saying, "If you'll just follow me."
He led the way up the stairs and toward Gerald's office.
All the while, Ike uttered gasps of awe and surprise, marveling at the lavish surroundings.
But instead of scolding him for behaving like a fool, I was too busy noticing Gerald's men carrying boxes from farther down the hall and down the stairs.
"What's going on?" I dared to ask Dean in this part of the house, so close to where Gerald could hear loud and clear.
He glanced over his shoulder and looked up with apologetic eyes. "Analise is moving out today," he announced matter-of-factly, his tone a contrast to the sorrowful look on his face. "Her new husband has secured a place for them to live. She’ll be gone tonight."
Tonight. It felt so abrupt, so sudden.
Is this a part of her punishment?
"Where?" I hissed beneath my breath.
He gave his head a quick shake as we reached Gerald's closed office door, but I leaned down, pressing my hand to the wood to keep him from opening it.
"Where is he taking her, Dean?" I muttered through a tightly clenched jaw, towering over the man I’d begun to see as one of the few people I could possibly trust in this house.
How was I supposed to keep a watchful eye on Analise if I didn’t know where she was going?
He released a breath and reluctantly admitted in a quiet tone, "I don't know."
"Find out," I demanded, my tone clipped.
He looked as concerned as I felt about her well-being. His eyes glanced in the direction of Ike and Shawn, who had remained silent since leaving the protection of the hearse. He looked beyond them, into the hallway behind us, then toward the office door before looking up at me.
"I’ll do what I can, sir," he replied quietly, and I removed my hand from the door's surface.
"Thank you,” I muttered.