Chapter 1 The first thing I notice is Drew's stupid fucking grin, like he's stumbled onto a practical joke instead of a hostage situation. He leans against the doorframe arrogantly, twirling the key card between his fingers like it's a poker chip, taking his sweet time while my mind races with a thousand and one questions. How the fuck did he find us? Has he known all along where I was but didn't tell anyone else? Does he know anything about Lilian? "Well, isn't this awkward?" Drew says, whistling low as his gaze bounces between us. "Two Aries for the price of one." "Where's Lilian?" Arson demands, ignoring his bullshit. Drew's expression shifts from smug amusement to a flicker of concern. "Lilian? I don't know where the hell she is. I came looking for you." He points at me. "None of us has heard from you in weeks, except for Lee, and even that's been sporadic. Every phone call goes straight to voicemail. I finally got fed up and tracked your car to this shithole." "You tracked my car?" I squint at him. "How the fuck did you track my car?" "I have trackers on everyone's car. After all the shit we've been through, I felt like it was a baseline security measure." His eyes skim the facility that we're in before returning to land on me. "And I wasn't wrong." I'm forced to admit he wasn't, but I don't concede graciously. "It's fucking great that you finally noticed I wasn't around or acting like myself and decided to do some investigating, but it's a little late now. We have bigger issues to worry about. So you haven't seen Lilian at all?" I pull against my restraints, the metal biting into my already aching flesh. "No," Drew speaks slowly, his eyes narrowing as he properly takes in the scene. "What the fuck is going on? Why are there two of you? I thought you said your brother died? Like when we were in our midteens, right?" "He's obviously my twin brother," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady despite the fresh wave of nausea at the abject betrayal. Drew utters a soft, "Duh," that I ignore. "His name is Arson. The family kept him locked away for years. I thought he was dead, too, until he kidnapped me to get revenge. You met him when we were kids. You don't remember?" Drew's eyes widen, and he blinks as if he's trying to pull up the memory. "You have to be shitting me." He shakes his head as if he can't believe it. He turns to Arson, his smile charming. "Well, I guess, nice to see you again. Weird you're not actually dead, though." All I can do is roll my eyes as he continues with a grin directed at me now. "Damn, your life is like daytime soap opera gold." "Sure it is, but you're missing the point. None of this is important right now. Lilian's been gone for over twelve hours, and she locked us both in here and didn't return." "We've had no contact with her since then," Arson says impatiently, finally deciding to join the conversation. "This just keeps getting better," Drew says. "Lilian. That little five-foot-nothing, blond-haired walking heart condition locked you both up? Why would she do that? Better yet, how did she do that?" I exchange a glance with Arson, silently asking how much we should reveal. The shame of what happened between the three of us still hangs heavy in the air, and I don't know that we need to air all of our dirty laundry. "It's complicated," I finally say. "Emotions were running high, some things were said, she got upset, and then left." "Ohh, so you're both in the doghouse, then." He chuckles, and his gaze sweeps the room again. "Or better yet, the dog cage." "Seriously?" Is he really making a joke out of this situation? "Okay, I'm sorry. So you made her upset enough to lock you both up and leave you to rot together?" Drew sounds genuinely concerned now, though I can't tell how much is real and how much is acting. You never can tell with him. So even now, I have no idea if he's actually concerned about Lilian or simply playing the part he thinks we want to see. That could also be the betrayal talking. I'm beyond angry with him and my other friends, and the fact that it took them this fucking long to realize something might be wrong. I've been trapped for months, and they just now started asking questions. "She was upset, but she wouldn't have left us here for this long," Arson insists. "Something's happened to her. Now are you going to help us or waste more time acting like an entitled dick?" Drew studies us both, his gaze lingering on me for a half-second longer than necessary. There's a lingering question in his eyes that I don't want to answer. "Say I let you out," he says carefully. "How do I know you won't just kill each other? Clearly, you two need to sort out some serious shit." I blink. How is this even a question? "Finding Lilian comes first," Arson says, and the certainty in his voice surprises me. "Everything else can wait." I nod my head in agreement. "We can settle scores later." Drew hesitates, the key card still in hand. "So you both care about her that much?" "Yes," we answer simultaneously, another unsettling moment of twin synchronicity despite our hatred. The look on Drew's face shifts into shock mixed with respect. He's known me long enough to recognize when I'm putting aside a personal vendetta for something more important. Maybe he thinks that by knowing me, he knows my twin, as well. He has no clue who Arson is or what he will do. He should be as wary as me when it comes to him, but none of that seems to matter, since right now, all I care about is getting to Lilian. We don't have fucking time for any of this bullshit. "Fine," Drew mutters, finally stepping forward to unlock the door and enter. "But if either of you is fucking with me, you'll regret it." He moves toward my restraints first, then holds his hand out to Arson. "Key." "Where did you find the card?" Arson asks as he slaps the key into Drew's palm. Drew makes quick work of the first cuff. "Outside, near the east entrance," he says, moving to the second restraint. "Figured it was dropped accidentally. I saw your car and decided to see if I could get any answers." The restraint falls away, and I resist the urge to rub my raw wrists. Instead, I watch Drew's hands carefully -the same hands that passed me drinks in college, that helped me when I was too drunk to stand, that I trusted for years to lead me and protect me. Hands that had no problem shaking my replacement's hand while I rotted in captivity. The moment I'm free, every instinct screams to lunge at both of them-Drew for not even noticing one of his best friends was missing, and Arson for everything else. Thankfully, I have enough self-control to suppress it, focusing on what matters now since I know there will be time for retribution later, once Lilian is safe. "We need to figure out where she went," I say, finally rubbing my wrists, eyes locked on Drew in silent accusation. He doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. I stand slowly, muscles protesting after hours of restraint. The cell's dimensions feel even more claustrophobic now that I'm upright-a concrete box designed to break the spirit as much as contain the body. Perfectly calculated, just like everything else my brother does, apparently. "How long have you been locked up?" Drew asks, actually sounding concerned. "You look like shit." "Months," I reply tersely. "The days blend when you're inside a cage." His eyes widen slightly, and I see calculation forming, chased by guilt, before it clears. Good, let him stew in it. Arson leads us toward his security room, moving with the confidence of someone in familiar territory. I follow, cataloging every door, building the mental map I'd begun to create of my prison. Or at least what I gained the night of my near escape. Knowledge I should have had weeks ago, if I'd been more careful, more observant. If I hadn't underestimated my own brother. Then again, how could I have known? Everything about my brother was pushed so far into the back of my mind. Every lie my father told, every beating he gave me to force me to forget Arson-all of it tries to surge forward at once. I can't let it. I shove those thoughts deep, so deep all I feel is a numb awareness of their presence, and I focus on the men with me. "This place is insane," Drew comments, looking around at the converted warehouse. "How long have you been planning this whole twin-revenge thing?" "Years," Arson says shortly, clearly uninterested in small talk. "The security room is this way. We can check the camera feeds and get a better idea of which direction she headed." The walk gives me time to study my twin from behind-the squared shoulders, the measured stride, the constant awareness of his surroundings. He moves like someone who has learned to navigate hostile environments, expecting threats from all sides. What exactly did they do to him in that place? The security room is a stark contrast to the industrial warehouse-featuring sleek monitors, state-of-the-art equipment, and a setup that would make government agencies envious. The room screams obsession, years of planning, and single-minded focus. Another stark reminder of how thoroughly I'd been outplayed. "Jesus," Drew mutters. "You weren't fucking around." Arson ignores him, typing rapidly on the keyboard. Multiple camera feeds appear on the screens, their time stamps indicating they're from yesterday. "There," he says, pointing at one screen showing Lilian exiting through the side door. The time stamp reads 5:42 p.m. "She left this way." We watch in silence as she walks across the loading area, her head down, clearly upset. She pauses at the edge of the property, looking back at the warehouse once before continuing out of frame. The sight of her makes something in my chest contract painfully. Even through the grainy footage, I can see the changes in her since this all began-the way she carries herself differently and the determined set of her shoulders despite her obvious distress. Whatever happened between us in that flood has transformed her, just as it's transformed me. I crave her more than ever now. "Switch to the street view," I suggest, leaning closer. Arson types again, bringing up another camera feed. This one shows the access road outside the warehouse. Lilian appears, walking quickly now, arms wrapped around herself like she's cold. Or scared. "Wait," Drew says suddenly. "Go back. There-that car." Arson backs up the footage slightly, and a black sedan with tinted windows appears at the edge of the frame, driving slowly along the access road. As Lilian walks, it picks up speed, pulling alongside her. "Fuck," I breathe as the passenger door opens and two men in suits emerge. One approaches Lilian, who backs away immediately. There's no audio, but her body language screams fear. "Shit," Arson says, his voice tight. I cast him a sharp glance. "You know them?" He ignores me, his gaze intent on the screen. The second man moves behind her, cutting off her escape route. The first says something, gesturing toward the car. Lilian shakes her head vehemently. Then the second man grabs her arm. "No, no, no," I mutter as she struggles briefly before being forced into the vehicle. The car pulls away smoothly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I curl my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood. The image of Lilian being manhandled and forced into that car while I sat helpless in a cell burns like acid in my veins. If they hurt her... "Who the fuck was that?" Drew demands, anger and shock in his tone. "My backers," Arson says, voice flat with controlled rage, his fingers flying across the keys as he fiddles with something. "The men funding this operation. I've been...off schedule lately. They aren't very happy with me." "Your backers just kidnapped Lilian?" Drew grabs Arson by the shirt, hauling him up and shoving him against the wall. "Backers for what? What the fuck? What have you dragged her into? She's innocent in all of this." I move to separate them, surprising myself when I pull Drew off him, versus joining him in the destruction of my brother. A zing of jealousy zips up my spine. Why does Lilian matter to him? "What the fuck do you care so much about Lilian for? She isn't anyone to you." He takes a deep breath, then whispers, "You're right. She isn't anyone to me, but she's something to you. We all knew you were obsessed with her from your first interaction. All that cold indifference...too much indifference." I ignore Drew and direct my attention to Arson. "Do you know where they might have taken her?" Forcing myself to remain calm despite the terror clawing at my chest is difficult. I can only imagine what she's going through, the pain she's suffering because of us. Arson nods his head. "I have a few ideas. They own properties throughout the city. Places they use for...sensitive discussions. They've likely taken her to one of those locations." "How dangerous are these men?" Drew asks, straightening his shirt as the reality of the situation finally sinks in. Arson's expression darkens. "Very dangerous. Especially when they think someone has compromised their investment." "And has she?" I ask, already knowing the answer but hoping he says no. "Yes," Arson admits, turning back to the monitors. "It's because of her that the entire plan has changed. Initially, it was about revenge, but now I yearn for something more than that. They see that. They know it's because of her, and they will do anything to ensure we stay on task." The admission hangs in the air between us, unexpected and revealing. I file it away for later examination, focusing instead on the immediate problem. Drew studies him, then steps away. I keep my eyes on Drew, though, and I spot each emotion as it crosses his face, born from years of friendship and playing together on the football field. He feels guilty, and I can use that. "And how the fuck do we find her?" I ask. "These are your guys, you know them better than either of us. What do we need to do to get her back?" Arson pulls a phone from a drawer-not his usual one, but something older and more basic. "There's a number. A direct line. But using it means we are on the vulnerable end of the negotiation." "I don't care," I say immediately. "Call them." "It's not that simple," Arson warns. "These men-they don't operate like normal people. They have their own rules and codes. If we go charging in..." "They might kill her," Drew finishes. "Jesus Christ," I mutter under my breath. The fear hits me like a physical blow, followed immediately by white-hot rage that needs somewhere to go. I turn on Arson, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle his teeth. "This is your fucking fault," I snarl, inches from his face. "Your revenge, your backers, your goddamn games. Now she's paying the price for it." He doesn't fight back, which only makes me angrier. Just stares at me with those eyes that are exactly like mine, reflecting the same terror I'm trying to bury under fury. "You think I don't know that?" he says quietly, and the broken edge in his voice deflates some of my rage. "You think I'm not imagining what they're doing to her right now?" I release him, stepping back, hands shaking with the need to hit something, to break something, to make someone else hurt as much as the thought of Lilian in pain is destroying me. The brutal reality settles over us, silencing the room. I close my eyes briefly, trying to push away the images my mind conjures. Lilian was terrified, hurt, and used as leverage. When I open them again, I find both men watching me, waiting for something...another explosion or for me to finally break down. I don't know what the fuck they want from me. It's strange-after weeks of powerlessness, of being the captive rather than the captor, they're looking at me for direction now. Like they expect me to have a plan. To take control. To be the man I was before all this. The irony doesn't escape me. Before my captivity, I was becoming exactly what our father wanted-calculated, ruthless, focused on the Hayes legacy above all else. Well, focused on destroying it, but my father didn't need to know that until it was too late. Now, stripped of everything, I'm finally acting out of genuine conviction rather than revenge. "Fine, then we need a plan," I say, pushing aside the fear threatening to overwhelm me. "And we need it now." Arson looks at me, then at Drew, calculation evident in his expression. "They'll expect me to come alone. To fix the problem and get us back on schedule." "Which means what?" Drew asks. "Which means," Arson says slowly, "they will be expecting me." Our eyes meet again, identical faces reflecting identical determination. For the first time since childhood, we're completely aligned in purpose if not in method. "We need weapons," I say. "Information. Floor plans of wherever they're keeping her. Can we get her out while you're distracting them?" "No, they will just kill all of us and do something else. We have to give them what they want...the destruction of Richard and all of the Hayes's influence and business." "I don't care what we have to do. Whatever gets her out safely." I don't care if it means giving up my father and my relationship, such as it was, with him. That was never real, anyway. Not like Lilian is real. Even after repeatedly pushing her away, I know her feelings for me-her love for me-are there, constant, unchanged, unmoving. I can't say the same for my father. Arson nods, already shifting toward another cabinet. "I can get it. I can call them and then...see what they want. Give it to them in exchange for her. Maybe buy us some time. I'll walk into Richard's office right now and put a bullet in his brain if they'll release her." "Fine by me. It won't change shit between us, but if it means they release Lilian, I'll work with you to get it done," I agree coldly. Drew glances between us, shaking his head in disbelief. "You two are seriously fucked up, and you have some serious shit to work through, shit I want nothing to do with, but I will do whatever I can to get Lilian back. If only for not getting her out of his shit show sooner." "Great, then let's get started," Arson says, pulling out a laptop and a tablet. "Because every minute we waste is another minute she's with them. And these men aren't known for their patience." I sink into a chair beside him, pushing aside exhaustion, hunger, and the burning hatred that's defined me for months. My body bears the evidence of captivity-weight loss, muscle atrophy, the lingering weakness that comes from confinement-but my mind feels sharper than it has in years. Focused. Clear. Lilian's face appears in my mind-not the frightened figure from the security footage, but how she looked at me in those final moments before the flood, when all pretense was stripped away. When I finally stopped lying to both of us about what I wanted. What I felt. I owe her more than I can ever repay, and God knows she deserves better, but to let her go would be like ripping my still beating heart out of my chest, and I won't do that. I can't. I need to get her back and protect her, no matter what the cost. Everything else-the betrayal, the revenge, the eventual confrontation with my so-called friend and brother-all of that can wait.