41. Forty-one
Forty-one
Liam
As I walk through the kitchen, leaving Joe in the office, I check that there are enough coffee pods to make Sara’s cup in the morning.
Suddenly, my attention snaps to the refrigerator's hum cutting off, and every light in the kitchen dying simultaneously.
My heart kicks against my ribs as darkness swallows the house, leaving only silver moonlight slicing through the windows and dead silence.
I whip around toward my bedroom, eyes straining to make out Sara's silhouette under the blankets.
Still there. Still breathing and sleeping peacefully.
Thunder cracks overhead like a gunshot, rain hitting the roof, but this isn't just weather. My skin prickles, and Joe materializes from the hallway, gun already drawn with the same instinct we share, his eyes scanning every shadow.
“Generator?” he whispers, voice tight.
“Three seconds,” I breathe, muscles coiled. “One... two...” And the house jolts alive with electricity.
Just to die again with a sickening finality that leaves us standing in the dark. Could someone have cut the backup?
“Fuck,” I hiss, the shot of adrenaline making me forget my chest wound until movement reminds me with a sharp stab of pain.
I don't have time for this.
I quietly jog back to my bedroom, each step sending fire through my torso. Sara's still asleep, curled on her side of the bed, oblivious to the danger that's crawled up to our doorstep.
A danger all too quiet… way too silent.
I slip on a shirt, wincing as the fabric catches on my bandage, then reach under the mattress for my gun. The weight of it centers me, focuses my mind away from the pain.
I move methodically through the house, checking windows, sliding the patio door locks into place. I draw my gun back to the living room, catching Joe's eyes and signaling with a sharp nod. We communicate without words, a twin thing and training that even death can’t erase.
He slips through the kitchen toward the back door while I head for the front entrance. The rain pounds against me as I move outside, keeping low, my body protesting each careful step.
The front yard lies empty. I scan the driveway, gate, perimeter but I see nothing except trees blowing in the wind and streetlights dancing under the storm, yet my instincts still scream danger.
When we rendezvous at the side of the house, Joe's face is tight with concern, rain plastering his blond hair against his forehead.
“I think someone messed with the generator.” He wipes his forehead with his elbows.
“Damn it,” I mutter clenching my jaw. “You saw anyone?” I scan the darkness beyond him.
“Nothing. Property is clear as far as I can tell.”
I run a hand through my soaked hair, mind racing through possibilities. “Call Mateo and Damien. Tell them to be ready, but not to come yet. For now, we'll lock this place down tight.”
We make our way around, weapons drawn, the rain pelting us relentlessly.
When we reach the front, I freeze mid-step.
There, in the middle of our driveway, stands a silhouette barely visible through the downpour. My heart stops.
“Joe,” I whisper-yell and point to the person standing there and he swings around with his gun raised.
I step forward, squinting through the rain, and the figure comes into focus.
“Sara?” My blood turns to ice.
She's standing there in her silk nightgown, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her pale face. The front door hangs wide open behind her.
What the fuck?
I break into a run, and I reach her in seconds, grabbing her arm and hauling her toward the house. “What are you doing out here?”
She's trembling violently, her skin is cold under my fingers and I pull her against me.
“Did you see anyone out there? Anyone at all?” I ask, my voice sharp with panic.
“I—I got scared,” she whispers finally, teeth chattering. “The lights went out, and you weren't there.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. I scan the driveway one last time before slamming the front door shut behind us. Joe locks it immediately, then moves through the house, securing every entrance one more time.
Joe disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with his arms full of candles.
“I'll light these up.” I watch him move through the house, lighting them one by one, casting the rooms in a warm, flickering glow. He heads toward my bedroom, placing several candles on the dresser and nightstand.
“I'm calling the boys,” he informs me, voice tight with tension. “Get her warm.”
Sara’s soaked nightgown clings to her body as I guide her into the bedroom.
I leave the door open, the soft glow of Joe's candles creating long shadows on the wall. I usher her toward the bathroom, but my mind won't stop racing. Was someone out there? The storm must’ve shut the generator down. We checked, there wasn’t anyone.
I need to breathe. I’m spiraling out of control.
“Liam,” she whispers, standing at the bathroom door, but I'm moving, scanning the room, dropping to my knees to check under the bed, then behind the door, my movements frantic, obsessive.
Every shadow seems to hide a threat and making my mind fall into pinpricks of hysteria. I'm back at the window, pulling the curtains tight. I move to the closet, but as I’m about to yank it open, Sara's hands reach my shoulder, her pleading eyes holding mine.
“Liam, stop. There's no one here.”
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, my clothes soaking wet and suddenly exhausted from the adrenaline crash. I hold my face in my hands, forcing myself to breathe the way my mother taught us when emotions ran too high from my dad’s drinking and screaming, and she’d take us to lie under the stars.
It’s as if everything comes rushing down, my brother alive and unable to process that, getting shot. Even though the pain has been manageable, and I’ve survived worse, that was a close call, and when I look up — the anguish in Sara’s eyes startles me.
I feel too much, I always feel too fucking much.
What enrages me the most is the time it’s taken me to heal and not be able to put an end to who’s after Sara. I want her to go in the village again, see her friends, or even take her on a proper date.
“I just got nervous,” I whisper, the words scraping the corners of my ribs. “There’s so much I want to give you. I’ll make all of this stop, baby. I will.”
“It will all be over soon, Liam.”
“I can’t lose you, Sara.” From the way her eyes shift, we both know I’m also talking about my brother’s return.
She moves toward me carefully, like approaching a wounded animal, and perhaps that’s what I’ve become for her.
I’ve become wounded, weak with a love I’ve never felt for anyone.
Entirely rewriting who I am as she’s converted herself into my other half.
This half of me that bleeds, breathes for her and burns for nothing but her.
Her fingers brush through my damp hair, so gently it makes my chest ache, a pain that has nothing to do with that bullet splitting my skin open.
I reach out, my hands finding the backs of her legs, gently pulling her toward me and I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against her stomach, breathing her in, letting her presence calm the storm raging inside me.
The wet fabric of her nightgown clings to her every curve, translucent where it meets her skin.
She's shivering, fragile and remains the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The candlelight plays across her face, highlighting her cheekbone, the fullness of her lips and my heart pounds with a different urgency now.
My hands slide up her thighs, bunching the wet nightgown while my desire and possessiveness tangle together until I can't separate one from the other. I peel the clinging silk upward, revealing inch by inch of her perfect skin.
“Arms up,” I utter softly, and she complies without hesitation, leaving her bare and breathtaking before me as her eyes meet mine with the same hunger we hold for each other.
For a moment, she glances at the closet and then behind her, suddenly self-conscious, perhaps remembering Joe's presence somewhere in the house. I gently take her chin between my fingers, turning her back to me,
“Look at me,” I command. “Just me.” And I pull her lips to mine.
Tenderly at first, tasting the rain on her skin, feeling her body respond to my touch.
My hands cradle her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks as I deepen the kiss.
Her breath catches while I trace my tongue along her lower lip, and when she whimpers against my mouth, something primal ignites in me.
That sound—that desperate, needy sound—shatters what little control I have left.
I rise to my feet and guide her across the room as I position her in front of the full-length mirror.
I stand behind her, the contrast of her bare skin against my soaked clothed body making my heart hammer harder.
“Look at you,” I mutter, my palm spreading across her stomach, pulling her against me.
Her head falls back onto my chest, eyes half-closed as my other hand slides down the curve of her waist, over her hip, then lower. She melts against me as my fingers trace the inside of her thigh, teasing her with featherlight touches over her small scars, making her softly moan.
Her head remains tilted back sideways, her eyes locked on our reflection. The candlelight dances across her naked form, creating shadows in the hollow of her throat, across the rise of her breasts, and every perfect inch of her.
“I need to see you,” I murmur against her ear, my lips brushing the sensitive skin. “And I need you to see what I see.”
“What do you see?” she asks breathlessly.
“I see the most beautiful woman, a beauty in strength and a defiance that drew me to you from the very beginning.” She whimpers, pressing back against me. I’m already hard, and her body responds to my touch made for her.
“Your shadows are a part of you, but there’s light too, a softness, that I love the most about you. One that I get to have for myself.”