Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“You should die. You stole everything that’s mine,” he grits out, his teeth bared in a cold smirk and I have no fucking idea what he’s talking about but I don’t care. “I’m taking what I deserve. Your house. Your business. Your girl. It should have been mine. All of it.” His eyes are bloodshot, crazy looking.
My fist connects with his face three times. Blood sputters from a busted lip before he shoves me backward, leveraging the wall behind him and pushing me off balance.
I stumble back as he charges.
“You got adopted and got everything. Me? I got stuck with a hooker for a mom and drug dealer for a dad. Then ten foster homes and then prison.” He howls. “And you’re here, living the life I should have had!”
I stare, the realization hitting me slowly, and then all at once. “You’re...who the fuck are you?” I roar as he screams like a lunatic. This man is not right. This isn’t just rage, it’s something more.
“Twin! I'm your twin! I’m you!” he spits, anger turning into maniacal laughter. “I'm the unlucky you who got left behind. And you got it all. The money, the power. The women. It’s my turn.” He drums on his chest like a gorilla.
I hurl my full torso into him. As he loses his balance and hits the ground. I'm on top of him, punching, punching but the blood is making his face slick. His hands jap and flail around my face, push at my chest.
He manages to get out from under me.
“You stupid fucker!” I pin him down again. “All you had to do was come and tell me the truth! I would have taken care of you.” I twist his arm, shifting to get him in a choke hold. I want to kill him, but I don’t at the same time. “Why were you trying to ruin my fucking life?”
He twists and screams manic, cursing, crying, saying things about our mother. Our father. I do what I can to subdue him but it’s no use, so I keep punching until my knuckles are bleeding. I don’t care if he’s my twin, he hurt Chastity and there’s a price to be paid.
I hear Chastity telling me to stop and I realize I’m punching an unconscious man.
I look over to see her standing behind me, her eyes darting from me to the man on the floor then back, like she’s trying to decide if this is real.
My body turns cold as she sways. “I’m dizzy Daddy…” Her eyes roll to the back, and she falls forward.
I catch her mid-fall. I get her out of there, away from him, the man who would have been me.
I carry her out of the closet and put her onto the bed as there is a pounding on the front entry door.
“Police.”
More pounding.
I’m caught between Chastity, watching the fuck laying on the floor and The police. I lunge to the wall where there is a security control panel and push the button that lights up the small screen.
It’s the cops, five of them outside the door, and I push the com button.
“I’ll open the door. We’re down the left hallway, all the way to the end in the bedroom. One man is down, I’m Jackson Carter, this is my home with my fiancé who is drugged or injured. Perpetrator in the closet.”
“Open the door.” One of them looks into the camera, his hand on his holster.
“Call paramedics,” I finish and punch in the code to remotely open the door.
Ten minutes later, the cops are wrangling my twin now conscious but beaten twin out of the apartment. He came to just after they stormed the bedroom and there was a five on one, which he almost won. But, they got him cuffed and I can still hear his manic yelling and laughter as they dragged him out of the apartment.
Paramedics are nudging me sideways, trying to check Chastity. As the cops entered, I tore off my suit jacket and wrapped it around her, then grabbed a pair of my boxers and slipped them on her as well. If I wasn’t so worried about her, I’d take a picture because she’s cute as hell, even wearing my shit which is ten sizes bigger than her.
The cops found a rag on the floor of the closet that they said smelled like Chloroform. I rub my forearm over my face, wiping my twin’s blood off my cheek and jaw, peering over the paramedics’ shoulders as they treat her.
“She’s going to be okay, right?” I demand, more a statement than a question.
One of them looks up, meeting my eyes, and it seems like an age before he answers. “It looks that way, but we can’t know for sure until we get her to the hospital.”
“Then let’s get her to the hospital,” I bark and they shoot me a look, but being polite right now isn’t a priority.