Antitype

by M. D. Waters

  Jacob fumbles with his pants. His freckled skin flushes.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Just having a little fun.” He laughs, but he’s incapable of fully smiling. His gaze flicks between my fist and my face. “Come on, Dec. You aren’t that mad, are you?”

  His victim’s expression throbs in my mind, and her cries already haunt this room. A little fun. I inch closer to him, and he takes equal steps away. “You have no idea the damage you’ve done, do you? The damage you’re capable of doing long after you’ve finished yourself off.”

  “What are you—?”

  “I warned you.” The calm in my tone sends an icy layer of warning around the room. “I warned you not to fuck with my family name.”

  My fingers wrap around the nearest thing. The snow globe is one of the few things Jacob didn’t manage to throw off the desk in his pursuit of the waitress. My mother gave it to me when I was very young and used to tell me stories of the family who lived in the glass house on the side of the mountain buried in snow. Then we’d shake it and watch the flakes float like wishes.

  Jacob holds up his hands in defense. “Come on, Dec. Those girls know what to—”

  “I hate that nickname,” I grit out.

  Realization clicks on behind his eyes. “Oh, I get it. This isn’t about the whore. You’re pissed about losing your place next to Daddy’s side.” He belts out a laugh. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to go too far from home. I’ll need a cook in my kitchen.”

  I swing and the globe smacks him in the temple. He falls with a thump and I go after him, swinging again and again and again. I swing for every girl he’s defiled. For every life he’s screwed over on his way to the top. For stealing what is mine. I swing until pooling blood and broken bone turn him into an unrecognizable mass. I swing until my face is dotted red. I swing until . . .

  He’s dead.

  The thought penetrates the haze of rage driving my arm. Mitch’s yells break through my subconscious. Ella sobs in the doorway. I blink at them and the room sways back into a dizzying focus. I look at the bloody remains of Jacob Donnelly and choke on the bile burning the back of my throat.

  “What did you do?” Mitch yells, his eyes wide. He stands over the body, gripping the hair at his temples. “What the hell did you do?”

  I feel both sick and outside myself. The last two minutes reel through my mind like a choppy 2-D movie, begging me to declare it unreal. To pretend it away. But Jacob’s body won’t allow it. His last act of defiance.

  I clear my throat. “He was . . . He was . . .”

  “Does it matter?” Mitch fists my shirt and forces me to my feet. He shakes me once before setting me loose. “You killed him!”

  He spins and points at his wife. “Go home. Now. Don’t say a word to anyone.”

  She flees as if scared for her life. As if I would harm a single hair on her head.

  Of course she’s scared. She’s a witness.

  I jam the heels of my hands into my eyes until white spots appear. Mitch and Ella are witnesses to a murder. A murder I committed. I’ll go to prison.

  What have I done?

  I grab Mitch by his black leather jacket. “You have to help me. I didn’t mean—”

  “Are you insane? You killed Jacob. You can’t ask me to help you cover that up.” He leans away, eyes narrow and glaring. He shoves me off. Takes two steps away. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  I throw the globe at the wall. The glass shatters and water floods the carpet. “You didn’t see what he was doing, Mitch.”

  “Rape isn’t justification for murder.”

  “Is that what you’ll tell your future clients, or will you follow in Abel’s footsteps? You can’t make these judgments about me. You’ll spend every day defending men worse than me.”

  He stumbles back as if my words have punched him. “I’ve yet to be tested. I can still get in, get what I need, and get out unscathed. I can get out with my soul intact and be a man my son can be proud of. Can you say the same?” He shakes his head. “It’s too late for you.”

  Dad appears in the doorway. “What’s going—?”

  Mitch turns. “Call a lawyer. He’s going to need it.”

  He shoulders past my speechless dad, who lifts his gaze from the body on the floor to me.

  Panic tightens my chest. He’ll never help me out of this, will he? I killed the one man he wanted for the job. “Dad, he was raping a waitress. He would have made you look like a fool. You can’t let me go down for this. I was protecting our company. Our reputation. Our name.”

  I’m still stuttering over reasons why he has to help me when he walks in and closes the door. “Declan. Son, calm down. Who else saw this?”

  “Just Mitch and Ella.”

  He nods and stares at the spot where the remains of the snow globe lie in pieces. “We can fix this.”

  “You can’t hurt them,” I say instantly, my heart jumping at the idea. No matter what Mitch said, I still love him like a brother.

  Dad waves a hand. “I’ll just offer him a nice sum of money to keep quiet.” He watches me from the corner of his eye. He’s eerily calm, and now I understand the lengths my father has gone to in the past. The lengths he’ll continue to go to.

  I want to be sick. I drop to the floor in front of the desk.

  “You think he’ll accept?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I respond in a gravelly voice.

  Mitch will definitely accept if it means he won’t have to depend on his father’s generosity after law school. He’ll take the money if it’s the only dishonest thing he has to do in order to provide for his family. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of him will do it to protect me.

  “I’m going to make a couple calls,” Dad says. “Go wash up and return to the party before anyone starts asking questions.” He points to the door. “And lock up tight. No one gets in.”

  He pauses just outside the door and smiles in at me. “I’m proud of you, boy. Damn proud.”

  He walks out, leaving me alone with what I’ve done. A sob chokes my throat. I wanted his approval, but not at this expense.

  What have I done?

  • • •

  Dad hands me a glass. “Bourbon. For the nerves.”

  I look up from the patio chair and accept the glass. It’s full dark now. The guests have gone, and the “cleaner” Dad hired . . . Well, he cleaned. Jacob will disappear and no one will ever know how or why.

  Dad sits beside me and nods at the cell phone I tap against my thigh. “Planning to call someone?”

  He wonders if I plan to turn myself in, but I’m not that stupid. I’ve gotten away with murdering the man worming his way into my life. I just don’t know if the price was worth it. “Mitch won’t accept my calls.”

  “The money transferred hands hours ago. He and his wife have signed an agreement saying they won’t talk.”

  I swallow the bourbon in one gulp, then lean forward, bracing against my knees. “He was my best friend. He’ll never talk to me again.”

  “A small sacrifice.”

  I scowl at him. “Not a small one. Not by any means.”

  He stares back with that calm expression from before, and I realize he’s calculating. He’s good at it. “What will you do now?”

  I sit back with a sigh, dragging my hand through my hair. “Accept the consequences.” I throw my phone beside my empty glass on the table. The alcohol is already burning through my stomach. “Thank you for what you did.”

  “You’re my son.”

  I tap my fingers on the arm of the chair. “Am I? Or did you go through with the disinheritance while speaking with your lawyer today?”

  “Why?”

  I look at him. “I want in. If you’ll have me. I think I even wanted it
before this afternoon happened. I killed Jacob because he threatened to taint the legacy you’ve been trying to hand down to me. I was selfish to think I could want anything less.”

  Dad smiles and reaches a hand out for me to shake. “I knew you’d pass the test.”

  I shake his hand on automatic, but cold dread seeps into my bones. A few hours ago, I thought I understood the lengths he’d go to.

  I was wrong.

  • • •

  I pace the patio and dial Mitch for the hundredth time. The day is too hot, and I could go inside, but Dad’s in there somewhere. I want to speak to Mitch in private. Tell him how my dad played me. How he planned for me to go after Jacob. How Dad probably picked the girl out for him, using very precise words to make Jacob think raping the girl was what men like us do. It’s what these girls expect. What they’re paid for. The timing was just too perfect.

  “Goddammit,” I yell at the phone, and I’m about to throw it, but Dad steps outside.

  “Come on. We have an appointment.”

  “What appointment?”

  He frowns. “Don’t ask questions. Just come on. I don’t want to be late.”

  I walk toward the house. “Should I change?”

  “No.”

  We take the teleporter together and appear in the WTC. “What are we doing here?”

  “Didn’t I tell you not to ask questions?”

  He gives me his back and strides off. The hallways we take are quiet, and given his pace, we have a bit of time. I try Mitch again.

  “Come on,” I mutter. “Pick up.”

  Every passing ring kills me. Every second that goes by unanswered puts distance between me and the one person on this planet who understands me.

  “In here, boy,” Dad calls back. “Let’s get this over with. I have back-to-back meetings all day.”

  I pick up my pace but leave the phone against my ear. I need Mitch to answer. I need him to.

  Dad turns into a room up ahead. I hear him a second later say, “Skinny, but you’ll do.”

  What the hell? Who’s he talking to like that?

  I turn into the room, and there she is. As brave and beautiful in her defiant stare now as she was last month.

  “Hang up,” Dad snaps.

  I do without hesitation, because I want to devote all my attention to this girl. Whoever she is. Her hair is curled, she wears a simple layer of makeup, and her teal dress benefits her in ways she can’t possibly understand.

  But then I realize this is Dad’s appointment. I attempt a laugh but manage only a smirk. “She’s a little young for you, Dad.”

  Say she isn’t for him. Say she’s for me. Say there’s a ray of hope in the form of this beautiful girl. Say my future isn’t as dark as I think it is.

  Dad grunts. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s for you. Declan, meet your birthday present.”

  He says her name, and it’s as if I’ve known it my entire life.

  I’m going to be worthy of her, I swear to myself.

  Noah

  I pace the white hall outside the hospital teleporter room. A thick indigo stripe acts as a runner down the center of the light-reflecting linoleum. The air has an antiseptic smell, and the occasional distant yell breaks up the quiet tapping of my footsteps.

  Sonya leans against the wall opposite me, arms folded, ankles crossed. Her long hair lies twisted over one shoulder. “Hannah’s fine.”

  “They’re late,” I say, dragging a hand through my hair. “Can you call someone?”

  She pushes off the wall. “They’re only ten minutes late.”

  My cell rings. Dad. I can’t talk to him. Not today. Not when I’m about to make his eldest daughter disappear. I don’t know why I feel so guilty. He did this to himself. But a part of me wonders if he’ll grieve her absence. If, behind closed doors, he’ll suffer even an ounce of heartache.

  I decline the call and shove the device back in my jeans pocket. “I’d lose an account in less time than that,” I mutter. Ten minutes is a lifetime to some people. Dad taught me that.

  “Maybe there was a fuckup with the transfer paperwork,” I say. “Do you think anyone will notice the orders are false?”

  She slants me a wry grin. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. She’ll be here.”

  Dad calls again. I silence the ring, asking, “Who did you send to get her?”

  “People I trust.” She crosses the hall and grips my arms. The deep brown of her eyes sinks into the depths of mine and holds them steady. There’s always been something so inexplicably trustworthy in them. “You have to stop tormenting yourself. You’re tormenting me.”

  She smiles, and I return it before I can help it. The act feels strange. I haven’t had much to smile about lately. “Okay. I’ll stop.”

  “Good.” Her lips purse in an attempt to quell her smile, and she rests against the wall, arms behind her back. “Nathan said you’re leaning toward crossing over to work with us full-time.”

  “Yeah, I think so.” I recline beside her, our shoulders touching. Her smell is sweet today. Almost too sweet, but not unpleasant. “Once I get everything settled. Gabe seems to be ready to take over in my place, which was a concern before. No matter what, I want to make sure my family’s company is in good hands. And the girls are taken care of.” I look at the closed teleporter room door. “Almost, anyway.”

  “Did you get an adoptive home for the other girls worked out?”

  My throat thickens. “Yes. My mother found them a nice home in Oregon.”

  “You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “The couple isn’t a fan of the resistance. They’re happy to help, but as long as I’m enlisted, they ask I keep my distance.” Mom, against her better judgment, had to tell them why this had to happen so fast, and she was out of options.

  Sonya’s hand wraps around mine. “That’s terrible.”

  I attempt a smile. “If only there were a way to have both lives. The CEO and the resistance fighter.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll figure it out.”

  My cell vibrates with yet another call. I groan and drag it back out of my pocket. “It’s my dad. I should take this.” I step away and put the phone to my ear. “What’s up, Dad?”

  “Son, I need you to come to the house.” He sounds eerily calm, but not the easygoing sort. This is the bad news about to roll in and wreck my ship of calm.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I got an emergency alert fifteen minutes ago from the hospital. It’s Hannah.”

  I spin toward Sonya, who straightens. I wasn’t expecting this call for hours. But if Hannah’s already gone, why isn’t she here?

  Sonya’s phone buzzes. She stares at the screen and a crease deepens between her brows. She turns to answer and whispers into the receiver.

  “Did something happen?” I ask. If I could stare through Sonya’s back to see her face, I would. Based on the fact that my heart is galloping its way into my throat, I know something’s happened.

  “What’s happened is I’m going to bury that hospital in litigation,” Dad says firmly.

  Sonya turns and tears shine in her eyes.

  I hang up the phone, too frustrated to wait for Dad to tell me. “Tell me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

  The weight of gravity doubles on my shoulders. “What? They found out, didn’t they?”

  She shakes her head. “No.” She takes a moment to steel herself. To blink and suck in air. She’s donning her doctor composure like a suit. “Hannah’s gone. She committed suicide.”

  My stomach sinks, and I fight the urge to be sick. Sonya reaches for and sinks with me to the floor that will hold what remains. Tissue, blood, and bone swathed in pain so acute I can’t breathe.

  • • •r />
  The vodka bottle clicks sharply against my glass in the dark dining room. Somewhere in the house, Gabe has gathered our brothers to tell them about Hannah. Aaron yells at Dad. I can’t blame him.

  This goes on for another half hour before Dad appears in the doorway, a towering silhouette of righteousness. “I could have used your help in there,” he says. “Lights.”

  The chandeliers turn on and I squint, blinded. With the new brightness in the room, I realize how raw my eyes are now that I’m forced to see my surroundings.

  Dad stands across the table, arms folded. His dark gray suit jacket looks as pristine as the open-collared black shirt he wears underneath. Like he just put them on for a day of work.

  “You mourn well, Dad,” I say, tipping my glass at him.

  He glances between the half-empty bottle and me. “Just how drunk are you?”

  “Drunk enough that if you don’t move a little slower, I’ll be sick all over this fine mahogany table.” I laugh, realizing I just might, and wouldn’t that be perfect? Dad loves this table.

  He frowns. “I’ll have a room made up for you. Carter and Aaron are staying too. You may as well.”

  “Don’t tell me. You’re concerned I might get ahold of a med injector and type in a lethally high dosage.” I grin. “Losing two kids the same way in one day? Would you at least mourn one of us then?”

  His lips purse. “I refuse to have this conversation again. Of course I’m heartbroken over what happened. It’s a horrible tragedy no one could have foreseen.”

  My blood pressure rises to dangerous levels too fast to contain. How dare he act as if he lost a pet? A good servant. A wife.

  I stand and throw my empty glass at the wall. “Nobody? Explain to me how a girl who couldn’t fight, who was too doped up to even plan a trip to the bathroom, knocks out a man twice her size. How she happens to know his security codes on the injector. Don’t for a second assume you’ll have the same conversation with me you had with them, Dad.”

  His face pales, and his knuckles whiten on the back of the chair in front of him. “That’s quite an accusation.”