Fake I.D.

Fake passports.

Fake everything.

It’s going to be the only way I can get Braxton out of this. He’s in too deep. He’ll never even be given the chance to try and pay off what he’s stolen, let alone fix the mess he’s made. There is just no way he’ll get away with it, and we’re only two people, not capable of taking on something of that size. Which means the only way out is to wipe everything clean and start again.

Hell, I’ll even consider faking his death if it means I can get him out safely.

Whatever I can find, I’ll try it.

I don’t have long.

I know people, thank fuck, and they have put me onto someone who can get me everything I need for the right price. New identities. We’ll start again. Somewhere else. Somewhere fuckin’ safe. I’ll get my brother out of this mess, and I’ll get him clean.

My boots splash into a puddle, jerking me from my thoughts. I glance around, pulling the hoodie further down over my head. This is a bad side of town, dangerous, but that’s what you’re dealing with when you step into this world. Danger. Always fucking danger. But for Braxton, I’ll risk it. I can’t be seen or recognized. If I am, it’ll be my life mistakenly taken.

I walk down the dark alleys, dripping with water from the rain that fell a few hours ago. The pipes make a swishing sound as the water runs through them, but that’s the only sound that can be heard. Everything else is dead silent. Nobody is around. The streets are quiet. Eerily so. I don’t like it, at fucking all. I glance at the address I was given once more and then walk up to an old, broken-down door. It has been put back together with a few slabs of timber that have been nailed on very, very well.

I lean in and yell, “Hello?”

Takes a few minutes and a dark man appears. He’s tall, with skin so dark he blends with the night. His eyes are piercing against his skin. He’s big, fucking big. A good six feet three and solid muscle.

“I’m looking for Jarod.”

He narrows his eyes. “Name?”

“Dakoda.”

He studies me, squinting. “Yeah. OK. Come around the back. Make it quick.”

I thumb the gun in my jeans that I shoved in before I left home and move around to the back of the building where a solid door opens and Jarod appears again, his domineering presence a lot stronger now. I wouldn’t fuck with him unless I had a lot of fucking weapons to back me up. He’d snap a man even my size in a millisecond.

He looks at me, for a long, long time.

“This some sort of fuckin’ joke?”

I pull my hoodie off and he takes a step back.

“You’ve got some fuckin’ balls comin’ out here,” he growls, pulling out his phone.

“I’m not Braxton.”

He grunts. “My eyes see what my eyes see, and you’re Braxton.”

I reach for my hoodie and he pulls out a gun quickly, so fucking quickly I pause and hold his eyes. “Got I.D. in my pocket. Goin’ to show you. I’m his twin brother. But I’m here on his behalf. You don’t want me to move, I won’t. You can get it out yourself.”

The big man’s eyes narrow. “Don’t fuckin’ move.”

He reaches for my hoodie pocket and jerks out the papers in there. I made sure to bring it all, in case questions were being asked. Birth certificate, all my photo identification. Everything. He studies it all, flicking through the pages, looking at the pictures, and then thrusting them back at me. “Twin brother. Hate to say it, but you’re fuckin’ in as much danger as he is, walkin’ around lookin’ like him.”

“Fully aware of that,” I mutter. “But I gotta get him safe. He fucked up, but he’s my brother. Family. Blood. Can you help me, or not?”

He stares at me, jaw tight, eyes intense. “Do the same for my brother, and frankly, I stay out of other people’s business. Just know, your brother has a lot of people after him.”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“Big hits against his name.”

I jerk back. “What?”

“You didn’t know?”

I clench my jaw. “Please fuckin’ explain.”

“Man he fucked over. He don’t do his own dirty work. He puts hits out. Big ones. Lots of money. Enough to get the attention of desperate people out there, junkies, people who need money. All they gotta do is put a bullet in your brother’s head and bring him to him, and they’re walkin’ away with big cash. Two mil, last time I checked.”

Fuck.

Me.

Two. Million. Dollars.

That’s big. Fucking massive.

“Fuck,” I hiss, running my hands through my hair. “How fast can you work? Startin’ to think he’s not safe, even where he currently is.”

“Tell you somethin’, your brother ain’t safe anywhere in this state, hell, possibly this country.”

Fuck.

Dammit, Braxton.

“Can you help me?”

“You got cash. I’ll help.”

I pull out the right amount of cash, handing it to him. He counts it, one bill at a time. Then he takes all the paperwork he needs to give us a new identity.

“Give me two weeks.”

“I don’t have that fuckin’ long,” I bark, clenching my fists.

“Shit like this, shit that’s goin’ to pass through not only government agencies, but airports, borders, means I gotta fuckin’ do it right. It ain’t easy. It’s risky. Two weeks or nothing.”

Fuck.

“OK,” I growl. I don’t have a fucking choice. “Two weeks.”

“Come back here, two weeks exactly. I’ll have what you need.”

I nod, studying him once more. If he fucks me over, if he runs with my money, I won’t have time to do this again. He knows it. I know it. Both Braxton and I will be dead. The heat is fucking rising, and we’re starting to crumble under its pressure.

“Not goin’ to do a runner on you,” Jarod says, voice gruff. “You got enough problems, if you get away with this alive, I’ll be very fuckin’ surprised.”

Him and me both.

Yeah.

Him and me both.

~*~*~*~