Chapter 31

Carter

A fucking volcano eruption would have been less spectacular than my entry into Chantal’s drug dealer’s penthouse.

To say my insides are boiling is an understatement. A fucking inferno is raging through me. It grows so fast I can barely stop myself from smashing everything in sight.

Some lean, tall dude with too many pimples and bloodshot eyes tries to stop me.

“Hey, man,” he starts then stops.

Without a word, question or explanation, my fist collides with his face. I get him fair between the eyes, and he crumples in front of me.

Like a rag doll, I toss him aside.

I don’t feel sorry for him. What could I say? He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Feeling the adrenaline pump through me even faster, my eyes search the room. Where is the fucker? And what are all these dudes doing here?

Another one steps in my way, and instead of punching him, I shove him to my left.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lose his fucking balance and grab onto something. That something was a vase on a display stand. Both go tumbling down.

I stand there briefly, taking in huge gulps of air as I reel with anger. Both send volts of electricity through me and make me cloudy with disillusionment at the same time.

The guy I shoved into the vase is currently in a heap on the floor, crumpled like a piece of paper.

He stares up at me with an expression of horror, as if afraid to move a single muscle on the chance that I’d clock him so forcefully in the face it will send him into oblivion.

In all fairness, he’s probably right.

If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay right where he fucking is, like the deadbeat shithole pile of garbage he is, right there on the floor.

Through some unstoppable force, I’m turning into the Hulk, a loose cannon with burly muscles that’s ready to tear anyone I see limb from limb, especially if they dare get in the way of my path of destruction.

The guy on the floor, who I assume is the drug dealer, continues to stay right where he is, staring up at me with stone black eyes that look as if they’ve seen death a few times over.

“I don’t mean any harm, dude,” he says meekly, and grimaces while placing his hands protectively over his head.

So, he’s not going to try to stop me. Well, that’s savvy of him.

I barrel down a narrow, poorly lit hallway and stop in front of a closed door. I don’t know what it is about this particular location of the house, but I hesitate, coming to a hasty stop right in front of it.

Pins and needles of alarm spread across my skin like wildfire, and I prickle my ears to hear anything that might give off a clue to Chantal’s location.

I know she’s in this room. My gut can feel it, and my pulse pounds in my ears like angry river rapids.

At first, I try the door. I know my efforts will be in vain, but instinct tells me to attempt it anyway.

Of course, the knob twists but is unyielding. I have two choices here: I could break the door down, further inflicting damage to this house, or I could call out to Chantal inside.

I opt for option two. Perhaps I can put my negotiation skills to the test and try to persuade Chantal to cooperate.

“Chantal?”

My voice booms like a crashing wave to the shore. At first, there’s no response from the other side of the door. It’s like fucking crickets in a pasture.

Nothing. Zilch. Only silence.

“Chantal?” I call out again, this time using a more threatening tone.

I hear a thump inside, and a female voice whispers, “Shit.”

I press my ear to the door and frantically wiggle the doorknob. “Chantal, I know you’re in there. It’s Carter. I need to talk to you. Open this fucking door right now.”

So much for trying to coax her like a fly to honey. My frustration and fury are getting the better of me.

I lean back as I feel the door handle give way beneath my white-knuckled death grip.

The door creaks open with timid trepidation and, finally, I’m face to face with a very doped-up Chantal.

My eyes immediately trail down to her belly, which I notice is not swollen with a baby but remains flat as a board.

Well, this is just fucking great, the icing on the cake. Chantal is most definitely not pregnant.

Her eyes have dark circles under them, and her pupils are wildly dilated with a manic expression.

Her cheeks are sunken in and hollow, and her skin looks so pale that it’s almost gray.

“Carter!” She wails and throws herself at me, wrapping her scrawny, stringy arms around my neck.

“Get off me,” I say in revulsion and try to swipe her away.

“I missed you, baby,” she whispers in my ear, and her breath is absolutely rancid.

Cringing, I recoil and stiffen my body, hoping that she’ll take the hint. I don’t want to knock her through a wall like I did to her little friend at the front door.

I couldn’t want Chantal any less. I’m pretty sure that I’d opt to fuck a caked-in-dirt ape in the woods over Chantal right now, or at any time for that matter.

“You aren’t pregnant,” I state coldly.

She searches my eyes, hunting frantically for something. “Put a baby in me. Right here, right now.” She takes my hand and presses it to her pussy, and I instinctively shove away from her.

“No, stop.”

“Lawrence will never know the difference,” she hisses with a malicious smile on her face.

I wonder if it’s the drugs talking and consuming every asinine thought in her brain.

“What are you talking about?” I demand, pinning Chantal against the wall as she wiggles and squirms, grinning like a crazy woman.

“You’re the same person, you and Lawrence, right? Twins. Identical at that.” Her sneer lets me know she’s trying to get a rise out of me.

I have to maintain control of my emotions. She’s not going to win this battle. Not now, not ever.

The thought of people not being able to tell a difference between Lawrence and myself is my biggest fear, something that keeps me up at night.

Something captures my attention from my peripheral vision. It’s a dark figure, looming near and swiftly approaching the place where I stand, clutching Chantal’s wrists against the wall.

It’s the drug dealer. Well, this is just fucking fantastic. As if I need more drama from wasted humans all around me.

“Is everything cool over here?”

He seems to have retrieved a fresh batch of confidence from somewhere, probably via a needle in his arm.

I take my hands off Chantal and stand so close to the drug dealer that I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. He’s significantly shorter than me.

He holds up his hands defensively. “Hey, man, I don’t mean any harm.”

I shove my hand in my pocket and pull out my wallet. I take several crisp and fresh hundred-dollar bills and toss them to the junkie in front of me.

It’s all the cash I have on me, and I have no fucking clue what Chantal might owe this prick. I’m not really here to settle her debts, but it’s a step in the right direction at least.

“Listen to me very carefully.” I stand broodingly over the asshole and narrow my eyes in on him with dark aggression. “Never sell drugs to Chantal ever again. If I hear about it, next time, I’ll throw you through the fucking wall and make sure you never wake up.”

It’s an empty threat. I don’t really plan on murdering this piece of seaweed, but I have to make him think I’m totally serious about carrying out the act.

“Of course.” He holds his hands up again and chuckles nervously. “In fact, I can do you one better, man. I’ll make sure no fucking dealer I know on the street will ever sell to her again. I’m talking the whole east coast.” He gestures fanatically with his hands, then laughs. “Bitches be trippin’ all the time, am I right, homie?”

I glare at him. “I’m not your homie.”

“Right, of course…my bad, dude.” The dealer steps aside to let me through as I take smoldering struts back to the front door.

If I have to spend another single fucking second in this hellhole, I might just snap.

It’s only when I re-enter the atmosphere of fresh sunlight and the normal world outside that I remember where I’m supposed to be right now.

Shit. I am very fucking extremely late for a doctor’s appointment with June. She’s going to be even more enraged than I was back in the dealer’s house.

I jump into my car and speed down the street, tires screeching for at least half a mile down the road.

I’m like a race car driver on a mission to the clinic, knowing in the depths of my heart that I’m failing June with disappointment by not being by her side to hold her hand.

She’s new to all this and needs somebody by her side to help her through the scary parts. And I can’t believe I’m blowing the opportunity to see my child on an ultrasound screen for the first time.

Suddenly, I realize I’ve wasted too much time on Chantal, and now I’m paying the price for it. It’s a cruel punishment I’ve inflicted on myself by not being there, and now, I’ve missed out on every part of the milestone doctor visit.

When I arrive in the parking lot next to the clinic, I discover that things are even worse than I imagined.

To my horror, a torturous scream wails inside my mind and it’s all I could do to close it and prevent the siren sound from escaping my throat at full throttle.

I watch with dread as Lawrence presses June up against his car. They are kissing. Their faces are pressed together, and I’m going bat shit fucking crazy on the inside.

Lawrence is the first to notice me walking towards them, my fists clenched at my sides and my head reeling with fresh fury.

My brother locks eyes with me, and that’s when I notice the flicker of mischief hiding in his dark features.

It’s obvious that he was kissing June on purpose to get under my skin.

Guess what, twin brother? Your little act succeeded, and I’m fucking furious.