No.
This was Lucas.
Lucas.
My little brother.
The boy I had practically raised. The one who I would have to sing to when I pulled off his bandaids because it distracted him enough so he wouldn’t cry. The one who would only eat sandwiches if I crunched up potato chips on them first. The one who I’d taught how to throw a punch because the bullies at school wouldn’t stop giving him shit because he’d been smaller and quieter than the other kids.
That Lucas.
My Lucas.
Gone was my fight-or-flight, replaced only by confusion, a soul-deep sort of confusion.
Was he just fake kidnapping me?
Was he trying to get me out of that life that had been such hell for me for years?
But then why wouldn’t he have just whispered in my ear? Told me it was him, that I was safe.
It wasn’t until his gaze lifted from his aching hand that I’d just slammed in the trunk that I knew.
I knew without a shadow of a doubt.
There was no way for me to try to convince myself that he was trying to save me.
Not with that evil, hollow, awful look in his eye.
No.
No, this was worse than anything I had ever imagined. This was betrayal of the worst kind.
“Lucas?” His name croaked from between my lips, a pathetic, horrified sound.
“Didn’t think you had that in you, big sis,” he said, and I swear it didn’t even sound like his voice.
Sure, Nicky had always been the one with the fun, lighthearted, often upbeat tone. But while Lucas had been more somber and serious, he never sounded so, well, evil.
Or was that just me trying to convince myself of that? Was I clouded by the little boy I once knew, the kid I had raised?
Could I really have looked at his face day after day and not seen that strange, hard, almost demonic look in his eye?
Or had he just been that good at hiding it, at putting on a mask?
“What are you doing?” I asked, body frozen in place. Even if I could think clearly enough to tell myself to move, I wasn’t sure my muscles and bones would work together to make it possible. So there I was, half in and half out of a car trunk, staring at my brother. Who looked like someone I’d never seen before.
“What amIdoing?” he repeated, tone feelingless even as he flexed his hurt hand open and closed over and over. To ease the pain? Or to feel more of it? It was impossible to know. “I think the better question here, sis, is what have you been doing?”
That pit in my stomach? It had grown to the size of a watermelon now.
Had my subconscious been trying to warn me all day that things had gone sideways? That threats were coming from unexpected places?
“Where’s Nicky?” I asked, finally forcing myself to look around, to try to see if there was anyone anywhere that could help me. Because something deep inside me told me that I really, really needed some help right about then.
“Nick?” Lucas repeated, spitting out his name like a curse. “Who the fuck knows? Who the fuck cares?”
“You should care. He’s your brother,” I reminded him.