Double Vision

by L. M. Halloran

  Liam’s eyes flutter open. He takes in my expression, and the sleep in them clears fast.

  “Don’t die,” I whisper.

  He drags me into him with an arm around my waist and kisses my head. “I don’t plan to, love. Just going to provide a nice little distraction while you grab Elizabeth.”

  I haven’t asked about specifics for this distraction, though from the recent purchase of zip ties, I’m assuming it will involve disarming and restraining. But he also cleaned two guns and sharpened knives yesterday.

  I’ve seen Liam’s skill, watched him flow through martial arts routines that looked more like intricate dances than violence. I know he can protect himself, but—

  “Promise me. Promise that if things go sideways, you’ll get out. We don’t need the money. It’s not important. I thought it was, but it’s not.”

  “I know,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

  I finally relax in his arms. A hand smooths down my body to my hip. I snuggle forward, pressing a kiss to his warm chest.

  For a moment, I feel peace.

  “Aww,” croons a female voice, “isn’t this cozy?”

  67

  Liam drags me off the bed toward the windows and yanks me behind him. It happens so fast, I only get a glimpse of the woman in the doorway and the two, unfamiliar men with her.

  “Tsk, tsk, Liam,” she says chidingly. “Did you really think we’d wait for you like sitting ducks?” As she speaks, her voice moves closer to the bed. She sounds different—so different than I remember. Empty. Cold. Psychotic.

  My thoughts scatter on the winds of fear. I swallow hard against the urge to vomit. Blocked by Liam’s broad back, I glance at the nightstand. There’s a gun in the top drawer. Close. Not close enough. As if sensing my thought, Liam’s hands tighten on my hips.

  Fabric hisses as nails drag over the sheets, likely still warm from our bodies.

  “You know, I’m honestly surprised you were this stupid. Did you really think you were the only one capable of gaining contacts on the island? It was a simple matter, really, finding and paying your snitch to report exactly what we wanted him to. Oh, and finding someone willing to tell us where you were staying.”

  Liam growls low in his throat. “What do you want, Alexis? The money? Fine. Give us Elizabeth and it’s all yours.”

  She laughs. Light and airy, and utterly void of actual feeling.

  “I think we’re past that point, don’t you? My sister and I have some unfinished business. Ohhh, Eden,” she sings loudly, “where oh where is my Eeeden?”

  Chills run down my arms and back. Deep in my belly, a ball of something white and hot forms. It fills me like a tonic, sizzling down my limbs and washing away my fear.

  Jerking out of Liam’s hands, I move to his side. And there she is, flanked by two hard-faced men. My sister. A woman who played me, betrayed me, tried to have me killed, then changed her mind and opted for torture.

  I see nothing of the woman she pretended to be in Los Angeles. That person never existed, a mere figment of my mind and heart.

  My hatred of Chris pales in comparison to what I feel now, looking at her.

  “Alexis,” I snarl in greeting. “I’d say you’re looking well, but you actually look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet. Didn’t anyone tell you drugs are bad for the complexion?”

  Liam whispers, “Shit.”

  Alexis flushes in fury, lifting the gun at her side. My heart trips in its rhythm as the silencer’s little hole comes in line with my chest. Liam throws an arm before me, but I shove it down, stepping forward until my knees hit the bed. Across from me is a warped mirror—I only spoke the truth. For all that we remain identical twins, we look nothing alike.

  Her face is puffy from long-term drug use, her skin sallow and dry on a skeletal frame. Despite it all, she’s still attractive. Dark hair, nearly black, frames her face in silky strands. Her lips are cherry red and full, currently twisted in a sneer.

  “Bold words for a dead woman,” she seethes.

  “I think if I were a dead woman, there’d already be a bullet in me. Right, sis? But there isn’t, because you’re not in charge, are you?”

  Her face turns an alarming shade of purple; the hand with the gun trembles. “You fucking bitch. I’m going to rip out your heart.”

  My bravado falters. Then Liam’s fingers squeeze hard, reminding me who I am. And who I’m not.

  “Daddy wants to meet me, doesn’t he?” I ask sweetly.

  It was the wrong thing to say—Alexis relaxes and smiles. “He does, but he doesn’t give a shit about a Rourke.” The gun in her hand swings to Liam.

  I jump in front of him, hands up. “No!”

  Still smiling, Alexis clicks her tongue. “Interesting.”

  Her hand twitches. There’s a muffled pop. Then Liam jerks behind me, his fingers spasming as the window behind us shatters.

  I wasn’t tall enough to block all of him.

  With a strangled cry, I turn, grabbing for him. Shoulder. Only the shoulder. But too close to a lung. I staunch the blood with my hand, reaching over his shoulder with my other to find the exit. Small caliber, thank God.

  Alexis titters. “Ah, love. I can’t wait to take it away from you, just like you took everything from me.” Then, to the soldiers, “Bring them both.”

  I meet Liam’s steady gaze. There’s no pain in them. Only quiet, contained calm.

  The calm before the storm.

  Cruel hands grab my arms, yanking me up. A zip tie wraps around my wrists, locking them before me. The other man drags Liam to his feet and likewise binds his hands. He winces but doesn’t fight.

  His eyes stay trained on my face as his lips shape one word. A word that makes no sense.

  Clover.

  As punishing hands pull me across the bedroom, my mind spins in confusion. What the hell does my safe word have to do with anything? No word is going to get us out of this.

  It isn’t until my gaze lands on Alexis’s smug smile that I remember the conversation we had six years ago. She told me she didn’t understand submission because she lived without freedom to choose her own path. She wanted control because she lacked control.

  Clover.

  Alexis has no power.

  But I do.

  68

  I’m not afraid anymore. Sometime between being blindfolded and being thrown in the flatbed of a truck, I let go or reached my fucking threshold and just stopped caring.

  Or maybe I’ve merely regressed into the version of myself that survived six weeks of captivity and torture. Not the abducted, battered version, or even the animal who only cared about living another day… but a clear, cold version—a woman detached from expectation and consequence.

  And that woman gives zero fucks about playing by the rules. In fact, I’m thinking of changing the whole damn game.

  The truck starts, jerking backward and turning onto the road. As we pick up speed, I realize I have a new superpower. This time, it’s my sense of smell. Still utterly useless. My nostrils wrinkle with the coppery tang of Liam’s blood, and the musky body odor of one of Alexis’s henchmen. My sinuses sting with the metal of a gun and diesel gas fumes. But I can also smell the earth, moist from the recent storm, and the salt of the nearby sea.

  Every time the truck hits a pothole, my head cracks against the divots beneath me. On a particularly bad jolt, Liam murmurs, “Are you all right?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Rourke,” snaps our armed companion.

  “I’m fine,” I say, not bothering to whisper. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “Hey! No talking!”

  “Just a flesh wound,” replies Liam, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you—what’s your favorite movie?”

  Our guard mutters angrily, but we both ignore him.

  “Gangs of New York,” replies Liam.

  I snort. “That’s original.”

  “What’s yours?”

 
; “Hmm… probably The Usual Suspects.”

  “Really?” he asks in surprise.

  “Yeah. Nothing is as it seems. No one knows who the Puppet Master is until the end.”

  A foot stamps close to my head. “I said shut up!”

  I tilt my face toward the voice. “Or what?” I ask blandly. “You’ll put a bullet in me? Throw me over the side? I don’t think so. I think you’ll do exactly what you’ve been told to do, which is deliver me unharmed to my father.”

  Silence—and Liam’s quiet laughter.

  A few minutes later, the truck veers off cement onto gravel and stops. As Alexis and the other man exit the cab, our guard—no doubt relieved—throws down the tailgate. Another man’s weight joins us. I hear Liam curse; a third set of scuffling feet tell me he’s now standing. Seconds later, I’m yanked upright. My blindfold is ripped off, pulling a dozen hairs from my scalp.

  My eyes have barely adjusted to sunlight when I’m shoved forward so hard I slide, trip, and fall to the ground at Alexis’s feet.

  My hip and shoulder scream on impact. I clench my teeth against the pain and breathe slowly through my mouth. Alexis smiles down at me, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

  So I smile back at her. “Daylight is a good look on you, sis. Really brings out the circles under your eyes and the scabs from picking your face—”

  She kicks me in the stomach. Hard. White light explodes behind my eyes as the air whooshes from my lungs. I double over, coughing for oxygen.

  “Goddamnit,” hisses Liam. “You bitch.”

  Coughing, my eyes streaming, I stare up at Alexis. “By the way, why send men to kill Elizabeth and me in Seattle? Without us, you had no chance of finding out what happened to the diamonds.” I grin. “Ah, I forgot—only one of us got the brains in the family.”

  “Shut your whore mouth,” she snarls.

  She tries to kick me again, this time aiming for my face. Instinct takes over and I whip my bound wrists up, splaying my fingers to catch her boot a few inches from my nose.

  Surprise flickers in her eyes before it’s masked by rage. She shifts her weight, ready to use my grip against me and stomp on my head.

  “That’s enough, Lexi,” says a deep, musical voice. She hesitates for a moment—the hate in her eyes vivid—then wrenches her boot from my fingers.

  Blinking to clear my eyes of dust, I see a pair of powerful legs in navy slacks walking toward us from the house. My gaze drags up, over a tucked-in white dress shirt, a broad torso and shoulders, and finally to the handsome face of a man in his late-fifties. Light-brown hair peppered with gray. Short beard. Pale eyes somewhere between blue and green.

  Maddoc Donnelly doesn’t look like the lunatic Liam told me he is, but there’s no denying his air of absolute command. The silence around us is so acute I can hear the crash of individual waves on the shore behind the house.

  Maddoc frowns at me. “Are you hurt?” he asks, not sounding concerned so much as annoyed. I shake my head, gingerly maneuvering into a sitting position.

  Here goes nothing.

  I suck in a breath and smile.

  “Hi, Dad. I heard there was a family reunion?”

  The fear’s back. Little, teasing tendrils ever since Liam and I were separated after being brought inside. Maddoc gave me his word that Liam wouldn’t be killed, but as I know well, there’s an entire spectrum of suffering that doesn’t lead to death. The thought of Chris or Alexis hurting him is an itchy bastard—it won’t leave me alone and is slowly undoing my devil-may-care attitude.

  I’m going to need a lot of therapy after this.

  If there is an after.

  There’s a tumbler of single malt scotch in my hand, now freed from the zip tie. It’s not even nine in the morning, but Maddoc offered the drink like it was orange juice instead of booze.

  I haven’t taken one sip, but I don’t think he’s noticed—he’s on his third glass. Or fifth, sixth… however many he needed to get moving this morning. From the slight yellow tint in the whites of his eyes, I’m guessing he’s been drinking heavily for the last twenty or thirty years.

  We’re alone in a small, island-themed office just off the living room. Liam was dragged further down the hallway, presumably to one of the bedrooms. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen, and I haven’t asked Maddoc where she is because she might very well be dead already. I’m not sure my bravado can withstand the news.

  Maddoc sits behind a small desk with palm trees carved into the legs, while I’m in an uncomfortable wicker chair opposite him. If I ever had any doubts that the man facing me is my father only in blood, they’ve been reduced to ash over the course of our conversation.

  “To put it bluntly, Eden, I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”

  I shrug. “You asked. Not my problem if you don’t like the answer.”

  He has the stone-faced-mobster look down, so I might be imagining the amusement in his eyes. In the following silence, I hear muffled voices from the living room, and purposely don’t think about Liam or Elizabeth.

  Maddoc finishes his current drink and sets the tumbler on a coaster. “Do you have any proof?” he asks carefully.

  My brows lift. “You want proof that I was tortured?” He nods. “How about the strips of skin missing from my back? Would you like to see them?”

  The color drains from Maddoc’s face, then floods back in a crimson wave. “What?” he hisses, leaning forward with a fist on the desk. “How many and where?”

  My voice flutters out of me, “Th-three. Between my shoulder blades.”

  As fast as it came, his rage fades. He sags back into his chair like the information aged him a few decades. With unfocused eyes, he stares at the office door.

  “Oh, Christopher,” he whispers, “what have you done?”

  69

  When Maddoc blinks and looks at me again, I realize the shit is about to hit the proverbial fan. I finally cracked the mobster mask, and now I can clearly see the man Liam described. Mercurial. A lunatic. Slippery as an eel and smart as a fox. And from the look in his eyes, I add another: cold-blooded killer.

  I really hope this is what Liam intended—it’s not like we got a chance to hash out a plan. I’m banking on knowing him well enough to understand what he meant by Clover, along with the faith that he knows what it means to me.

  Power in surrender. The power to stop, control, and alter my circumstances. We’re probably fucked either way, but I trust Liam. So I surrendered. When Maddoc asked, I told him everything. Every detail. He didn’t believe me, not until now. Apparently Chris has a longstanding calling card for torture. If I’d known, I would have opened with that little gem.

  Since I’m still surrendering, I take it one step further. I beg.

  “Please, let us go. Please. We won’t ever bother you again. The money is yours. We’ll disappear. Please.”

  Maddoc regards me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Eden. It doesn’t work that way. Elizabeth stole from me, and Rourke is a loose cannon.”

  My stomach freefalls. I look wildly around the room, as if I can squeeze an idea from dust motes dancing in shafts of sunlight. Maybe I can, because an idea comes. It makes me want to scream, but it’s all I’ve got. Everything. My final play to get Liam and Elizabeth to safety.

  “If you let them go, I’ll stay with you. I’m a doctor. I can work for you. For free. I’ll swear fealty, or whatever you want. The jaundice in your eyes and the spider angiomas on your nose are indicative of liver problems. You might have cirrhosis. It can’t be cured, but it can be halted. I’ll help you get healthy again…”

  I trail off, panting from my tirade, when I realize Maddoc isn’t remotely swayed. Pain signals break through my hysteria, and I look down to see blood welling on my thighs where my fingernails broke the skin.

  “I admire your loyalty, I do,” says Maddoc flatly, “but you’ll be staying regardless of what happens to the others.” He stands up, opening the desk drawer and removing
a huge revolver. “Stay here.”

  Liam.

  I lurch to my feet as he stalks toward the door. “Wait, no!”

  I grab his arm as he’s reaching for the doorknob. He shakes me off, slanting me a venomous glare. “Calm down. Rourke is safe for the time being. It’s Christopher I have business with.”

  I stumble gracelessly backward until my hip connects with the corner of the desk. The pain is a distant buzz. I’m frozen to the spot, my mind blank of everything but the knowledge that I just signed Chris’s death warrant.

  Maddoc tears open the door and disappears. I hear his muffled voice, tight with anger and Alexis’s name. Her response is indistinct, but her vicious tone matches his.

  Then Maddoc roars, “Fucking tell me! Is it true? My own flesh and blood betrayed me? Went behind my back with my men? Shot up a goddamn hospital and killed twelve people on orders from my fucking daughter?”

  Ah, I think dimly, so that’s what he’s pissed about. Liam was right, after all. Maddoc’s only weakness is his daughter.

  Chris pleads, “Maddoc, listen, please—”

  Alexis screams, “Yes! It’s true! You’re nothing—a worthless, impotent has-been. It needed to be done, so I did it!”

  More voices. Some raised in agreement, some in disbelief.

  Chris yells, “No, Alexis! What are you thinking? Put down the fecking gun.”

  Ohfuckohfuckohfuck

  A set of footsteps pound down the hallway. A man flies past the open office door toward the living room.

  “Alexis!” yells Chris. “Please, this isn’t the way!”

  Maddoc hollers, “Drop that gun, you stupid cun—”

  A gunshot splits the world. Momentarily shatters the voices in the living room. Two more shots follow. So unbelievably loud. Copper fills my mouth as I bite through my lip.

  Then, as the buzz in my ears fades, I hear screaming. Everyone is yelling and screaming.

  My brain restarts, adrenaline flooding my limbs with purpose.