“What the fuck is this?” Tyler snarls, stepping toward Fred and Liam. His body rigid with what I can only guess is betrayal, but something else, relief. Relief from the truth. Fred’s handcracks across Tyler’s face so hard the sound echoes through the concrete space, and Tyler stumbles, nearly toppling over.
I immediately feel rage; I recognize that instinctive flinch. I’ve been that boy. I’ve felt the crack of knuckles against skin, that moment when your body braces for the next blow before your mind can catch up. I’ve seen that same look in Liam’s eyes when we were kids as he endured more hits than I even had to. He didn’t raise Tyler; he beat him. Hurt him. Tyler did what he knew. This life probably forced itself upon him. I can see it in his eyes, and Liam can too, because in a flash, Liam is on Fred and punches him with so much force that Fred’s chair topples backward. He crashes against the hardwood floor, blood spraying from his nose, a flicker of fear passing through his eyes, and satisfaction hits me deep into my soul. Liam looms over him, his face contorted with a rage I’ve rarely seen even from my volatile twin.
“You call this raising a kid?” Liam roars, gesturing toward Tyler, who stands frozen, a red handprint blooming on his cheek.
“You’re the fucking devil!” Sara steps into me as I put my arm around her.
Liam’s fist connects with his jaw again. The crunch of bone is sickening, but music to my ears. I find myself not wanting to stop this, even as Riviera steps forward, throwing a folder onto Fred’s chest. Photos spill out—young girls, some barely teenagers, with vacant eyes and bruised faces.
“So, you’re a piece of shit for a father and a trafficker.” Liam snarls, grabbing Fred by his shirt collar.
Fred spits blood onto the floor and laughs. “You have nothing. I’m still a ghost, Liam. You can’t prove anything.”
Something dark crosses Liam’s face as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “I am the justice now. And I know exactly how to handle ghosts.”
Riviera steps forward, pulling another folder from his jacket. Contents that I had been working on and collecting, putting together. We needed to make a difference, and this was how.
“Actually, we have everything we need,” Liam says and drops it beside Fred’s head.
Paperwork spilling out to anti-trafficking foundations, wire transfers to organizations fighting against trafficking and sex work, with the need of an account number.
“Sign them,” Liam demands, grabbing Fred’s hand and slapping a pen into it. “All of them.”
Fred looks up at him with hatred burning in the blue eyes we share, his put-together appearance now a mess, and his grey hair, usually slicked back, disheveled. He turns to his side, wincing while Liam radiates pure menace. I let go of Sara to walk up to them, but her hand reaches out for mine, so I hold on to her and squeeze once to ease her worry.
“You need to allow these transfers,” I explain looking at Fred, keeping my voice steady. “These organizations will use your money to help the girls you’ve hurt. Consider it the start of your penance.”
Fred’s hand trembles as Liam forces his fingers around the pen, guiding it to the signature line on the first document. He signs with a shaky scrawl, then moves to the next one.
“Bank information too.” Liam growls.
“I don’t—I don’t have my account information memorized,” Fred stammers.
At a clear loss of patience, Liam slams Fred’s other hand against the hardwood floor, pinning it there with the weight of his knee. The crack of bones breaking fills the room, grinding it into the polished surface.
“Try again,” Liam says through gritted teeth.
Fred’s scream is primal, cutting through the tense air as his face contorts with agony and he thrashes beneath Liam’s weight.
“My checkbook!” Fred howls, “It’s in the drawer in my office! Top right drawer! Everything’s there!”
Mateo nods once and disappears down the hallway. The sound of drawers being pulled open echoes back to us. Sara presses herself against me, trembling. I wrap her against my chest, and Liam’s gaze snaps up. A flicker of worry for her crosses his face. He brushes his hair back, his expression a mix of a million feelings, but one is blindingly obvious—his love for her.
“Take her home, Joe,” Liam says, his voice eerily calm, a stark contrast to the violence in his hands. “She doesn’t need to see the rest of this.”
I hesitate, torn between staying with my brother and protecting Sara from whatever’s about to happen next. Tyler stands frozen in place, his eyes darting between us all, processing the revelation that shattered his entire identity.
“Go,” Liam insists, finally meeting my gaze. Something passes between us, that twin connection that’s always been there. I understand what he’s not saying aloud. Some sins need to be handled away from innocent eyes.
I nod once, tightening my arm around Sara’s trembling shoulders. “Come on, baby,” I whisper against her hair. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Sara looks up at Liam, tears in her eyes, her anxious gaze filled with unspoken questions.
“He’ll be okay,” I say, pulling her in tighter.
She finally allows me to lead her through the front door. We’ve barely made it to the driveway, and as I open the passenger door to get into the car, the gunshot rips through the air, followed by a blood-curdling scream. Fred’s scream.
When we get to the house, Sara is obviously shaken, I know she’s seen more than enough to validate being this upset, but something else is going on.
