Page 106 of The Wrong Man

Within seconds, my arms are pinned behind my back and I am being dragged toward the door.

“Declan.” My voice comes out hoarse, broken. “Declan, what are you doing? Why are you here?”

My brother looks at me with an expression I can’t quite read. Disgust, certainly. But something else underneath. Something that might almost be satisfaction.

“Rescuing you, obviously.” He says the word as if it tastes bad. “Can’t have people saying Declan O’Shea let his twin brother get tortured and kept as some mobster’s pet. Makes me look weak.”

“I don’t need rescuing.”

The words are out before I can stop them. Declan’s eyebrows rise, and his mouth curves into something that is not quite a smile.

“Is that so? Because from where I am standing, brother, it looks like you have been living in a butcher’s flat, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed.” His gaze rakes over me, taking in Dante’s too-large shirt, the borrowed pajama bottoms. “Ma and Pa keep whining about the family name. About what it means that their son has been held captive by the Italians for weeks. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this has been for me?”

For him. Of course. Everything is always about Declan.

“How did you even find me?”

“I have my sources.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I assumed whoever had you would make demands. Ransom, information, something. But there has been nothing. No contact at all. Which made me wonder...”

He steps closer, and I flinch back instinctively. The men holding me tighten their grip.

“What exactly has been going on here, Dylan? Have you been telling him about me?”

“No! Of course not!”

“So then, just what have you been doing with your Italian captor all this time?”

“Nothing. I haven’t been doing anything. He just...” I trail off, because how do I explain it? How do I explain any of it?

Declan studies my face. Whatever he sees there makes his expression darken.

“Sweet Jesus. You really are pathetic.” He shakes his head. “Although knowing you, you twisted little freak, you probably enjoyed it. All that pain and fear and helplessness. Probably got you off, didn’t it?”

My face flushes. I cannot help it. The heat rises to my cheeks like a beacon, broadcasting everything I am trying to hide.

Declan laughs. It is an ugly sound, cruel and mocking, and it cuts right through me.

“Shut up.”

“Did he hurt you, Dylan? Did he make you scream?” Declan’s voice drops to something almost intimate, and it makes my skin crawl. “Did you beg him to stop, or did you beg him for more?”

“Shut up!”

I am shaking now. From rage or shame or fear, I can’t tell anymore. Maybe all three.

Declan’s laughter fades, replaced by an expression of pure revulsion.

“You disgust me,” he says quietly. “You have always disgusted me. Ever since we were children, I knew there was something wrong with you. Something broken. And now look at you. Bending over and taking it from your own torturer like a proper little faggot.”

“I am not...” But I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t deny it. Because he is right, isn’t he? I have slept with Dante. Despite everything, because of everything, I made love to the man who kidnapped me and hurt me and then somehow became the most important person in my world.

“Get him out of here,” Declan orders. “I can’t stand looking at him anymore.”

The men start dragging me toward the front door. I struggle, but it is useless. They are too strong, too well-trained.

“Declan, please.” I hate how desperate I sound. “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll disappear, you will never have to see me again.”

“Oh, you will disappear all right.” He follows us out of the flat, stepping over the broken front door without a second glance. “You know too much. About me, about my business, about things that could get me killed if they got out.”