Chapter 3

Sebastian

Damien's fisthit my stomach, causing me to double over as the air suddenly left my lungs. The position put me off balance, and he used the opportunity to sweep my feet out from under me. My back hit the ground with a harsh thud, and before I could even take a breath, he was kneeling over me with one knee on my chest and his hand at my throat.

He smiled down at me. "You're dead. That's the third time I've killed you today."

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, slapping his hand away. "You win. You don't have to gloat about it."

Almost every important conversation Damien and I ever exchanged happened while sparring. Something about the movement of our fists made the difficult words flow easier. Any time one of us had something to say, we dragged the other off to our little homemade gym on the residential floor above the office, which I'd moved into when Damien had bought a new place with his partners recently. Not that he'd expected me to move away from him, we'd always lived together over our fifteen years on the run, but I did it because being around the three of them as they were all lovey dovey and having sex all the time wasn't my bag. It just made more sense for me to live in the apartment above the firm, even if it was rather small. I didn't need much space, after all.

Creating the gym upstairs meant taking space away from the rest of the apartment, too—the bedrooms barely had enough space for double beds and the kitchen was basically just a cluster of appliances in one corner—but it was worth the sacrifice. I'd take training, sparring, and talking with my brother over the luxury of more space any day. Especially since we rarely saw one another outside of work these days.

Once assured of his victory, Damien sat on the floor next to my shoulder. One elbow balanced on his knee while his other hand stroked his newly re-grown beard.

Damien had a unique talent for keeping his short beard perfectly groomed. Not a hair stood out of place, even after our sparring match. The sharp line it created along his jaw rivaled the edge of the finest blade. It was an impressive sight. It was also an obvious giveaway to anyone who knew him well. When Damien's hand went to his chin, beard or no beard stroking, that meant he had something on his mind. So, I didn't bother to get up and just reclined on the mat as I waited for him to find the right words.

Less than a minute passed before he spoke.

"You seem agitated. Something about that client bothered you."

I shrugged, though the action probably looked awkward from a prone position. "Not bothered, just... brothers, you know. One of them missing. The other desperately looking for him. Clay Dahler was only fourteen when he disappeared. No fourteen-year-old kid goes missing suddenly for innocent reasons. You and I both know he's probably dead by now. Even if he isn't, and we do manage to find him, the condition he's likely to be in is... well, not good. It all just reminds me of how easily that could have been us."

A memory passed behind my eyes, so fast it was barely more than a blur of color.

Voices arguing.

The bright light of a muzzle flash, followed by the reverberation of a gun firing, and finally, the horrible sound of absolute silence.

Hiding in the closet with my brother's hand pressed tightly over my mouth, holding in the petrified sobs that threatened to escape my chest.

Slowly making our way down the stairs to the living room, fear of the gunman and his goons still being there or coming back for us despite the fact we knew we'd heard them leave.

The sight of bright red blood staining the white carpet only inches from my shoe.

I shook my head, pushing the memories back.

Damien sat in silence for a moment, before finally blurting out, "I've noticed that you haven't been taking on as many cases lately. If you're not interested in being a PI anymore, or if all the stuff we see is starting to bother you, I won't mind if you quit to pursue something else. You know that, right?"

I shot up off the floor and sat directly in front of my brother, kneeling with my knees folded awkwardly under me.

"No, it's nothing like that. It's because..."

I hesitated.

What could I tell him?

I didn't want to lie to my brother, but I had to tell him something.

"I don't want to quit. I like that we help people. This one just got under my skin because it's a pair of brothers. I'm sorry if I seemed distant lately. I promise, I'll be more involved from now on."

The knowledge in eyes cut right through me as Damien scowled. He'd definitely noticed my hesitation, but to my relief he chose not to point it out.

"Fine," he relented with a sigh. "Since it affects you like this, I'll take point on the Dahler case. However, we might be able to wrap it up quickly. I got a report earlier from a hospital nearby of a John Doe that matches Clay's description."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Too easy. What are the odds that the person we're looking for would turn up just hours after we get the case? Besides, we aren't even sure the man is even in this city. Jason Dahler was quite vague about the details of how he actually tracked his brother here."

Standing up, Damien offered me a hand off the floor. "I know. I would have dismissed it too, except Clay Dahler has a distinctive birthmark on the inside of his wrist, and this John Doe has a similar mark."

I accepted his helping hand and stood as well, brushing dust from my black jeans. "Similar? Shouldn't it be exact?"

"Apparently, the John Doe was burned, so it's hard to tell. We'll have to take a look for ourselves, but I'm busy today. Our contacts at the FBI have requested another meeting."

Groaning, I tipped my head back so far, my eyes pointed toward the ceiling. We needed to dust the ceiling fan. Spiders were starting to make nests behind the light bulbs.

"What do they want? Another case they can't solve that they're going to push onto us?"

My relationship with the FBI was rocky, at best. It was a memory I tried not to think about too often. To put it simply, our parents had been killed. My brother and I saw it happen, and testified against David Russo, the mafia leader, in court, putting ourselves at risk for the sake of justice. The FBI had put us into witness protection and promised to protect us.

They failed.

We only survived by going into hiding on our own, changing our last names and reinventing ourselves on the other side of the country.

Ever since then, I couldn't help but view the FBI as an extension of the villain that haunted our lives. If they'd just done their job right the first time, Damien and I wouldn't have had to live in fear for so many years. Maybe we wouldn't have had to watch our parents die at all.

That was one of the things I liked best about my job now. As a private investigator, I could pick up where organizations like the FBI failed.

Damien shoved me toward the door. "Hey, they pay us, so what does it matter? However, I do need to meet with them, and then I need to meet up with Mason at the FPA office for another case, so you'll have to check out the John Doe. It's probably not our guy, but this way we can at least cross it off the list."

I nodded even before my mouth formed the words. "Yeah. Of course I'll go. Give me the details and I'll leave right now."

No further explanation was required. When Damien needed something done, I did it, and when I needed something, he always came through. There was no other option. After everything we'd been through together, relying on each other came as easily as breathing.

Maybe that was why keeping secrets from my brother felt like drowning.