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Taking a deep breath, I look around, collecting myself before climbing out of the plane with the box of heaven. I walk up to the main road and find my car still sitting there. This top-of-the-line Range Rover has blood in the trunk and I am fighting the urge to run and hide like I used to. Bailey needs me. I know she does, even though she expressed to me she didn’t. The moment she stepped back home, her hair returned to its natural color, the color of blood.
I drive to our temporary abode. One I don’t plan on staying around for. If Bailey won’t leave with me when the time comes, then the back door operation will be specifically for me. I’ll have to leave this woman behind.
This Irish mansion holds the secrets of my fiery partner and it compels me to want to know every single dark corner. Walking through the front doors, I can hear the celebration in the back ballroom. I place the box on the entrance table and grab a glorified piece of dough. My focus shifts and I walk to the study while devouring the croissant. I lick the chocolate from my lips and suck the flaky substance from my fingertips. This is a much-needed mood enhancer for the shitstorm that is brewing.
I’m standing in the empty office by myself and looking at all the photos. Observing the men, women, and families. Some happy, some sad, most intimidating. Walking over to the fireplace, where a hefty fire is burning, the mantel displays one particular photo that is larger than the others.
Twins.
Bright-red hair, the biggest unwavering smiles, and arms wrapped around each other. Looking closer, it is Bailey and her twin. Though they are identical, I could pick that insufferable woman out anywhere. This explains the hair color change when we first arrived here. I hadn’t met her twin yet, but from the vague description Bailey gave, they had a massive falling out. Deceived, it pushed loyalty too far.
A person steps into focus as a reflection in the photo. It looks like Bailey, but I know it isn’t Bailey. Her hands run up my back and rest on my shoulders. I don’t like being touched by someone I don’t know. Bailey doesn’t like to touch too much either. We came close a few times and had one epic kiss, yet she always kept a safe distance. I just thought it was her weirdness, but now I know it’s the secrets she harbored.
I quickly turn, pull my gun from inside my vest, and hold it, pointing at her head.
She smirks, pushing her head into the end of the gun. Same eyes, now same hair, and same looking smile, but this one holds a sinister smirk. Her forehead is flush with the end of the gun, and she bares her teeth.
“Where is Bailey?” I ask.
