Chapter 8
Charlie
The security feed picks up movement in the backyard, and my video game freezes. I mutter a curse. I was seconds from wiping out an enemy.
The split-screen shows Desi and Dante emerging from the pool house—Desi with a towel over his shoulder, Dante with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
I return to the game, closing the split-screen, but I keep glancing at the main security feed, watching them. Desi is in swim trunks, shirtless, while Dante is in faded black jeans, threadbare at the knees, and a black band tee.
My focus flits between Desi’s athletic physique diving into the water and Dante lighting up as he straddles a lounger. I shouldn’t be gawking at them, but they’re fascinating—scientifically, of course—identical twins, mirroring DNA, exact replicas, but possessing uniquely separate personalities.
Dante, despite being the same age, is the protective older brother and leader. He’s serious and conscientious. Desmond has the goofy, happy-go-lucky vibe of a younger sibling.
The night of the attack, Dante ordered Desi to remain upstairs while he took care of the first intruders downstairs. His goal was to keep his brother—and Aurora—safe, although Desi is equally capable.
It makes me wonder why, if they’re the same, Dante is so protective and Desi is so dependent on him.
Has it always been that way? Or did something happen?
Nature versus nurture—my inquisitive brain wants to know, for research purposes.
Perhaps they’re just fiercely loyal and perfectly complement one another.
Desi floats on his back and gazes up at the stars.
Secretly, I check out his wet body glistening in the pool lights.
He’s muscular but not beefy, over six feet tall, with dark hair and onyx eyes.
It’s a struggle every time I see him—or them.
I want to stare until my bizarre infatuation is sated. Instead, I avoid them.
My character is filled with bullets, snatching my attention. I release a stream of expletives and pulverize the controller buttons. Serves me right for ogling.
I engross myself in the game, repositioning my team. When I check the security feed next, the patio is empty. I dismiss it, but a pang of regret hits me. I wish I were bold enough to join them in the pool without requiring an explicit invitation. Even if I got one, though, I wouldn’t go.
First, I’d need shorts that fit. Nobody here is my size. Then, I’d have to take my shirt off, exposing my burns to their curious gazes. Like you stare at them? True but different. They’re physically attractive; I’m mediocre at best and scarred.
Desi’s gamertag appears onscreen, joining my team—something he’s done countless times over the past two weeks.
Today, they moved into the pool house to be close to Aurora while Ethan and Jax are traveling.
Before now, they were staying at Jackson’s downtown penthouse, and I was with Reece at Ethan’s apartment.
“Piccino,” Desi’s deep voice, a purr against the crack of gunfire and the metallic clink of reloading, filters through my headset.
My brows knit together. I’m alone online because I don’t enjoy listening to the yelling, but he can’t be talking to me.
“Piccino,” he drawls once more.
Piccino? What does that even mean? “Are you talking to me?” The controller vibrates in my hand, a sniper trying to take me down.
“Who else would I be talking to?” He chuckles, low and breathy, almost playful.
The sharpshooter drops from the rooftop with a satisfying thunk, thanks to Desi.
“Ah…your scary brother?”
His chuckle becomes a full-blown laugh. “Definitely not.”
Heavy silence falls between us, broken only by artillery fire and the frantic clicking of buttons as we coordinate to eliminate the next unit.
“Question for you.” His words are hesitant and uncertain, unlike his usual bold confidence. “Do you have a thing for Reece?”
Irritation swarms in my gut, and I snap, “Do you have a thing for Ethan?” It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been teased about my relationship with my partner.
“Wow,” he draws out. “Defensive much? We’re blood. Not the same.”
“Both questions are equally stupid.” All the noise and action add to my agitation, and I can’t concentrate. I get killed repeatedly. “You barely know him.”
“Ethan’s father took the fall for the family. We wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for Enzo.”
“Likewise, Reece saved my life.”
My last therapist concluded Reece was an unhealthy security blanket. She said I was attached to the safety he presented, enabling my avoidance and isolation. She suggested I make a clean break and live independently. I hacked her computer, deleted my patient files, and never returned.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have a thing for him.”
I roll my eyes, although he can’t see it. “I don’t. Besides, what’s it matter?”
“I was going to invite you over.”
My heart rate skyrockets, but I haven’t a clue why. My mind is drawing a blank. “For what?”
Neither of us moves onscreen, the game forgotten.
“I’ve seen you staring at me.”
His voice is deeper, flirtatious, and I feel hot all over, my palms sweaty.
“What about Dante?” What am I asking and why am I whispering?
“What about him? You don’t stare at him.”
“Because I’m afraid he’ll murder me. You’re carbon copies. If I find one of you attractive, it’s impossible not to find the other attractive. It’s a scientific fact.”
“You’re the weirdest person I know.” He chuckles. It’s affectionate, not cruel, but still…
Perhaps that therapist was right. I need to live my own life, tonight, underground, far from LA. “Okay, well, goodnight.”
Before I remove my headset and disappear, never to be seen again, he says, “Piccino, come over to the pool house, or we’re coming to get you. Your choice.”