AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You said you knew a good twenty languages,” Domino grunts. “Ares, who is this trespassing douche?”
“I’m the fucker who’s mere seconds away from shooting you in the chest if you don’t explain what happened to Miss Prescott,” he snaps with a menacing glare that kind of reminds me of myself when I’m mad. It’s just an older, more lethal version that still makes me shiver at the sight of it.
“Miss Prescott,” I whisper first. “She came barging in here after throwing our guardsman like he’s but a kettlebell and not a 300lb giant. Then proceeded to almost kill Domino, got into a knife fight with Zander, almost got shot by the guardsman, and had a bit of a standoff before she passed the fuck out.”
“Weak cunt couldn’t even face us properly before passing—” Domino is grunting before he can finish as he clutches his balls for dear life. “Fuck!”
As he proceeds to swear in Russian, Zander and I share a look.
“Wait.” Zander finally translates what I previously said in my greeting. “Brother?”
He looks from me to him and then back to me.
“You have a fucking brother?”
“I feel like I told you both this,” I mutter.
Yet, I’m not 100% sure.
Deciding it’s safe to move now that I’ve summarized the predicament, I proceed to descend the stairs while Zander crosses his arms over his chest.
“You said it when you were fucking wasted on Bourbon. I thought you were lying your head off.”
That’s what I get for thinking I’d enjoy a heart-to-heart with Zander after too many glasses of Bourbon. I don’t think he ever takes anything seriously.
Unless he’s off his meds.
“I wasn’t,” I confirm as I’m now off the stairs and approaching them. “If Dad sent you for some odd reason, I’m kind of bus?—”
“I’m working,” he announces and deep frowns. “Now, are you going to attend to her wounds, or do I have to rip out your tongues and sell them on the black market?”
Zander is gawking while Domino’s fighting not to open his stupid mouth and say something that’s going to get my brother triggered before he can get his gun out of his holster.
I only come to a stop because I realize something.
“Holy fuck. You’re actually mad?”
He has nothing to say, but I know that face. Know the lines of stoic frustration and flickers of fuming rage that dance in his eyes that are identical to mine.
Father was the first to teach us how to be masterminds in the art of manipulation. That all starts with how you present yourself. Remove all the layers of emotion. Pretend you’re but a blank canvas with every human interaction you’re faced with.
Then observe their first reactions. The lines of their faces, the way their lips rise, fall, or part. Monitor the emotions that dance in the depths of their eyes and how hard or easy it is for them to mask it all when confronting you.
Those who are open books may not justify their open-mindedness. No different from those emotionless individuals who are encouraged to hide their secrets and ensure no one knows what base of personality they execute on the daily.
It’s different from those who enjoy faking it for favor.
Being the person everyone adores or always acting happy and content.
We’ve never been like those types of manipulative individuals.
Our emotionlessness is our identity.
One we take pride in.
Those who dare to unlock an emotional response from us have earned the right and space in our lives to drive a connection that sparks in good and bad situations.
If he’s responding to this woman, that means she’s important.
