43. Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Two

I want to tell Justin what I did, but I can't. I'm too selfish; too scared of losing him. Especially now. Something is different with him. The anger is different. The way he's looking at me. Something's changed. I think I've finally gotten somewhere with him. There's no way in hell I'm going to risk losing him now. Not over something like this. Not over a stupid mistake.

Maybe I shouldn't have done what I did, but I wasn't in my right mind. I'd spiraled. I should have gone home and got my thoughts together before acting, but that's the problem with me. I tend to react before thinking. Impulse problems; they're annoying as fuck. Especially when I know how meticulous I can be. How careful I am 99% of the time.

"Can you please start from the beginning?" Justin says after taking a deep breath.

His gaze is on the floor, one hand holding himself up on the desk. I think if he let it go he'd fall. He looks absolutely devastated right now. Broken, almost. I hate that I'm the cause of it.

I sit on the bed, clasping my hands together and taking a moment to collect my thoughts. I try to figure out how the hell I'm going to explain this in a way that makes sense. In a way he isn't going to catch on to my lies.

Which is exactly why I never fucking lie in the first place.

It's way too much work.

Knowing that simple is best, that's what I shoot for.

"I was browsing the boards the other day, after our date. I saw you and Jackson's name, which caught my attention so I checked it out. I tried taking care of it. That's why I was missing for so long."

Lies. Lies. Lies. More lies. It's all fucking lies.

But once I kill Federico and my father, I won't have to worry about the lie. It'll disappear. Blow away in the wind. I can keep this secret to myself forever. Justin and I will never have to talk about it again. We can move on from this. Move on with our lives. Together.

"And about Jackson being dead?"

I answer so easily it's almost scary. "Whoever took the job went back and commented that the job was half finished." I shrug, amazed at how easily the lie spills from my lips.

Images of Jackson's lifeless body are burned into my brain. The perfect blood splatter patterns along the walls of the house he was squatting in. The way he tried to fight me and was stunned at how easily I overpowered him. How in those last moments, he looked almost sad before the light left his eyes. Eyes that look so much like Justin's.

But they weren't Justin's, and that's what I need to remember. Regardless of the job, Jackson was a piece of shit. He raped a girl and killed her. A mafia princess, no less. If I hadn't gotten to him, someone else would have and they wouldn't have made it easy for him. At least I did him that kindness and made it relatively quick. The fact of the matter is that girl wasn't the first Jackson did that to, and she wouldn't have been the last. The man was sick, and no amount of help in this world could change him.

"Are you okay?" I ask when Justin doesn't say anything.

He scoffs. "No, I'm not okay, Sevastian! I just found out my twin brother is dead." He starts pacing, tugging at his hair. "Yeah, he was an asshole. A royal asshole who probably deserved what he got. We didn't get along. He did really fucked up shit and pissed off the wrong people. My friend at the FBI warned me about this already, but—"

"You mean FBI ex-boyfriend?" I cut in.

Maybe not the best time for jealousy to rear its ugly green head, but hey? I'm Sev. That's what I do.

Justin stops abruptly and glowers at me. But his expression isn't filled with nearly as much ire as it usually is. He continues on like I didn't interrupt him with something uncalled for.

"Jackson was a dickhead. He did disgusting and unspeakable things to people who didn't deserve them. He was not a good person. But he was still my brother. My twin."

"He pissed off the wrong person," I say softly.

"Ya think?" he barks, throwing his arms up.

I thought my comment was appropriate but apparently not because all I did was piss him off more. So I keep my mouth shut as he continues to pace, muttering to himself about his brother being an asshole and how the world is better off but it still sucks. Because he was the only family he had, the only real family he had. And for some reason that pisses me off.

"Justin, you have family," I say. He gives me a furious look and keeps walking. I continue on, trying to keep my tone even. "You do. And you're lucky for it. You're lucky you have people who give a shit about you. Don't act like blood means something. You know it doesn't."

He ignores me, but I think I got my point across. Justin definitely heard what I said and even if he didn't hear it right now, it's something he'll think about later. His cousin Reese was accepting of me. He didn't look at me like I was an alien because of how I look—something I get often. He was happy that I was with Justin. Reese pushed for us to be together even though he didn't know a damn thing about me.

If he knew who I truly was would he still feel that way?

Would he still have been so accepting?

I'm a monster. I do terrible things. He has too, but I'm different. It's all different. I'm not like other people. At least, not the normal ones. I'm far from normal. I know this and I've accepted it. But me accepting it has never been the issue. It's others who can't and won't accept it.

Justin continues to mumble things I can't make out, and I keep my attention on him so I don't get lost in my thoughts and spiral again. After at least twenty minutes of us not speaking a word, he stops, lets out a long breath, then asks, "How did you know about Remington?"

"What?" I say, thrown off by the question.

My mind goes blank, not a clue what he's talking about. I thought he was upset about his brother; now he's asking about Remington Bellanca?

"And why did you pretend you didn't know the details of my favor when I told you?"

Oh that. I smirk. I can't help it. I love when he accuses me of shit. He still refuses to accept the fact that I know everything about him. That I'm watching him always. He's still underestimating me. His brain will catch up one day.

"For this reason right here," I say, jerking my chin toward him. He raises a brow in question. "You're so fucking adorable when you can't figure me out."

His jaw drops open, and I picture slipping my dick inside those beautiful lips.

Not the time, Sev. Not that time.

Yeah, I know, but I still want to do it.

"Because you're insane," he yells. "I'll take the fact I can't figure you out as a compliment. I'd rather not be in the head of a psychopath."

"Some people would pay a lot of money to be in your shoes."

I expect him to go on a rampage about how much he hates being where he is. How much he hates me. But he really throws me for a loop when he growls, "Why didn't you call? Answer my texts? I thought you had gotten arrested. Or killed. I was thinking the worst. For days."

His eyes are red, brimming with tears.

Is he this upset over me not calling? Or is this because of Jackson?

This sort of thing is the most confusing thing about people. The emotional whiplash.

"It wasn't safe."

That's sort of the truth. It wasn't safe for him because of me. Or maybe it wasn't safe for me because of him. He doesn't seem too upset about his brother being gone, but he'll definitely be pissed if he finds out I'm the one who did it. Especially with the lies, and the fact he's already mad at me for ignoring him. I'll ignore the way my chest warms over that. I don't want him upset with me, but knowing he missed me is fucking satisfying.

Justin moves to stand in front of me, staring down at me. I crave to reach out and touch his delicious hip like I always do, but I don't. I'm not sure that's what he needs right now, so I push down my urges and just let him be.

He pivots on one foot and drops onto the bed beside me, falling to his back and spreading his arms wide. Justin's eyes are on the ceiling, and when I catch a glimpse of his stomach peeking out from where his shirt is riding up, my dick gets hard.

Not now.

"You broke my chair," I say, breaking the silence and hoping it'll lighten the mood a little. I don't like all this somber shit. Don't like seeing Justin upset. I want him smiling or angry. Those are my favorite.

He rolls his eyes. "Too bad. Stop fucking kidnapping me," he mutters just loud enough for me to hear.

"You make it too easy. And it's way too fun."

I shift to lean back and throw my leg over his hip to straddle his waist. Okay, so maybe my dick doesn't like to listen to me and takes control whenever he wants. No, that's not right. This has nothing to do with my dick. This has to do with whatever dark, primal thing is living inside me. The urge isn't to fuck Justin, it's just to touch him. Claim him. Make sure he understands that he belongs to me. That doesn't necessarily mean fucking, but obviously I wouldn't say no to putting my cock in his tight hole.

Justin watches me curiously before carefully bringing his hands to my thighs. Palms down, he drags them upwards until he reaches my waist. He pauses, frowns, then slips his hands under my shirt. I suck in a sharp breath.

He's touching me.

Justin has his hands on me willingly.

They feel fucking amazing.

I feel fucking feral over it.

But I grit my teeth and let him do his thing. My heart is pounding so damn hard I think it'll explode. This moment is precious. He's like a scared little animal. If I act too quickly, or acknowledge he's here, he'll scurry away. If I give him the space he needs, he'll come to me on his own. I need to let him come to me.

"How much can you deadlift?"

I blink a few times, allowing my brain to register the words I just heard.

"Did you just ask me how much I can deadlift?"

He nods once, still avoiding looking at me. "I was thinking about it earlier. I want to know."

I scratch my head, and answer, "Uh, last I recall was about 450?"

His eyes widen the slightest bit, but otherwise he doesn't react. He drags his hands upwards. "Impressive."

"Thank you," I say proudly. But my words tremble just a little because his hands are still on me. And I swear he's hard beneath my ass. Or maybe it's wishful thinking.

Sliding his hands back down, he thrusts his hips up the smallest bit.

"Fuck," I whisper. "What are you doing?" I ask him.

"Whatever I want," he answers, flicking his eyes up to mine.

He holds my gaze for a long moment before sitting himself up, throwing his arms around my neck and kissing me. His tongue sweeps between my lips and I eagerly open for him. He moans softly, his cock throbbing beneath me. I want to make him come so fucking badly. Want to feel him pulsing in my hand. Want his hot, sticky cum all over me.

Justin is touching me. He's kissing me. I've never felt so fucking alive.

I'm pretty sure he's trying to take this to the next level, but…

I press my hand to his chest and pull back. His lips are swollen, eyes dazed. The frown on his lips is adorable, but I can see how confused he is.

"First things first," I say, reaching into my back pocket to pull out my switchblade." I owe you something."