Page 1 of Twins for the Enemy

Chapter one

~FARAH~

Running from a burning building and fleeing a crime scene wasn’t exactly how I pictured mynight going.

The smell of smoke is deep in my clothes. I run my palms over my shirt like the scent can be wiped away.

My hands tighten on the wheel as the police sirens get closer. I check my rearview mirror. My heart nearly stops as I see a white SUV. But as it turns onto a side street, I see it doesn't have the blue stripe or Chicago Police sprawled across it.

I let out a slow breath and look forward again. The brake lights in front of me flare, and I slam the pedal, but my tires skid over rain-slicked asphalt. I barely register the back of the other car before I plow into it.

The impact jerks my car violently sideways.

My world becomes a symphony of scraping metal and shattering glass. Pain lingers at the edges of my mind. The glass shards seem to be suspended in front of me, moving at the same rate that I am as my car is hurled into the air. I should scream. I should be panicked. But my mind can only come up with one thought: Oh.

The passenger window explodes, and glass bursts up at me like a violent fountain at the same time that the side airbags deploy. The screeching of the car as it slides against the asphalt reverberates in my ears even after it stops, and the seatbelt cuts into my shoulder as it keeps me dangling in my seat.

Pain courses through my arm, but as I raise it, the pain doesn't get any worse. I'd take it as a sign that it's not broken, but adrenaline could work as a better narcotic than any street drug.

Everything sounds like it's underwater. The crash must have overwhelmed my hearing. I fumble for the buckle of the seatbelt, the shards of glass biting intomy hand. I need to check on the other driver. I brace my foot against the center console, preparing to fall to the passenger side.

I stop, turning as I hear a small popping noise. I watch the side airbags deflate. The shadow of a broad-bodied person appears on the other side, cutting away at the airbag.

"Are you okay?" a voice asks.

My vision is swimming when I get my first view of the man. My car is compact, but he still must be over six feet tall, considering I can see him peering over the width of the vehicle to see me in the wreckage. "You came out of nowhere."

"I'm so sorry about that," I mutter, my voice barely audible to me. I raise it, almost yelling, "I'm sorry! I don't know what happened."

My eyes start to clear, and I realize that I'm talking to a man who could sell every bridge in Chicago.

A halo of dark sky is around his head, but even at night, his face could con any woman or man intoinvesting in a blatant scam. It's not that it exudes trustworthiness—the unruly black hair and the stubble indicate more of a devil-may-care attitude—but the concern creasing his forehead and the softness in his dark eyes are enough to make me feel safe. This man is a stranger, but he could tell me that I need to buy the Michigan Avenue Bridge to save all of the orphans in Chicago, and I'd believe him.

"Miss? Are you okay?" he asks again.

I realize that my hands are gripping the wheel so tight that my fingers seem unwilling to loosen.

"Yeah," I say. "I'm, uh, I'm doing great. How are you?"

"Well, I didn’t plan on testing the safety rating on my vehicle today, but here we are. Take my hand."

It seems preposterous. He'd need to pull me straight out like I'm a potato chip in a bag, but the alternative is falling into a pile of glass.

This was a sign that I should've turned myself in. I'm not resilient enough for a life on the run. I'm not even strong enough to get out of my own car right now.

I look back at the man. He has his phone out.

Like I'm possessed by the worst basketball player on this side of the Mississippi, I smack the phone out of his grip.

"Don't," I say. "Don't call the police."

"It's okay," he reassures me, disappearing from my view as he picks up his phone. "I was calling for an ambulance. They need to check you over."

"No, I'm fine," I insist. "Don't call."

He reaches over the car, leaning against it to grasp my hand. He slightly turns it, looking at where a burn is already blistering. I wait for him to ask about it. Nothing in the car is burning.

"Can you unbuckle yourself?" he asks. "I'll pull you out."

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