Page 6 of Twisted Needs

I straighten instinctively. “It’s late, sweetheart.”

Anders exhales through his nose. “Mhmm.”

“You should go to bed.” I try to sound authoritative, but it comes out more as a suggestion than a command.

He tauntingly grins. “You were the one who woke me up, Parker.”

I shake my head and push away from the counter, walking over to him pressing my palm against his forehead like I’m giving him an exorcism. “Stand down, killer.”

Finally letting him go, Anders watches me move toward the stairs, laughing like he’s won the conversation. “Oh, so you’re not gonna beg me for a kiss goodnight?”

“No,” I fire off quickly, forcing myself not to give him the reaction he wants. “Goodnight.” The bottom step creaks beneath my weight.

“Don’t miss a step,” he calls out.

“Goodnight, Anderson.”

Maybe I’m a hypocrite for thinking it, but sometimes it’s impossible not to look for the cracks in the things we keep buried. As much as I’d like to think I’m strong enough to move on from the past, I don’t think it’s possible until I’m willing to let certain things go.

And the problem isn’t that it’s hard to let things go…it’s the fact that I don’t want to.

I refuse to.

CHAPTER 2

ORDERING A HITMAN

PARKER

Three Years Back

“What are you doing here?” I ask, pulling the door open. “It’s midnight.”

Anders brushes past me, followed by a gust of cold air and attitude.

“What do you think? I’m mad at my fucking brother,” Anders mutters, equally furious and frustrated. He’s got his grubby little hands on one of my beers before I can even close the front door.

“No way,” I warn. “Give me the beer. If I’m harboring a fugitive, I’m sure as hell not letting him drink my beer.”

He gives me the same defiant look he’s always given me, dismissively shaking his head like I’m joking. It’s not as adorable as it used to be.

“You already have one,” he tells me, nodding observantly towards my fresh bottle sitting on the coffee table.

Anders kicks his shoes off by the door, and I immediately give him a look. Holding his gaze, I flicker my eyes down to his sneakers.

“Whatever,” Anders scoffs. He straightens them out with a grudging precision. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m calling Luca.”

“Dude, relax,” he immediately says, forcing himself to sound nonchalant. “Luca knows I’m here.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

The corner of his mouth curls up into a sheepish grin. “Emelie knows I’m here.”

“Emelie is in France.”

“Oh my God, Pet’ka.” Anders dramatically throws his head back and groans. “I’m eighteen. I can do whatever the hell I want.”