Page 7 of Twisted Ties
“Vanished or made himself invisible to the naked eye?”
“No. He was definitely gone.”
“He can travel through space?”
“I presume so.”
“I didn’t know he had the power.” It makes the assassin even more dangerous.
We stand in silence. For once, my oldest friend has nothing to say. The one person who has always understood me. Who has always stood by me. Who has always had my back.
“Can you forgive me?” I ask.
“I’m not the one you need to convince to forgive you.”
I glance towards the door. “I had no choice.”
“She understands fuck all about this world. About how it works. She won’t understand. All she’ll know is that you did this without her consent.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “This is a fucking mess.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” my friend says, turning around and walking away. He’s more angry than he cares to show me. But I know. I’d feel the same way if the roles were reversed. I’d hate him for it.
I turn back to the door, hand resting on the handle. I’d feel the same if I were in Rhi’s shoes too. I’d hate my very guts.
But what’s done is done. It was perhaps always inevitable. Fate is a far more powerful force than any magical would ever care to admit. Pulling us together. Twisting and entwining our lives. Sooner or later, we would have collided. Sooner or later, I would have made her mine. Or perhaps she would have made me hers.
I just have to make her see that. Have to make her understand.
4
Renzo
I stare downat the knife in my hand, flicking up the blade and letting the fading light catch its sharp edge.
This knife killed Joey Lowsky, brother of Marcus.
He wants his death avenged, wants it avenged at all costs.
Lowsky is like that. All or nothing. Quiet, calm, calculating one moment, erupting with rage, raw and uncontrollable, the next. Apparently, it makes him fucking terrifying.
Not me though. I’m not like that.
Hey, I’m not like anyone else I’ve ever met.
My brain works in a different way.
My mom told me that long ago. Yelled it at me too when she kicked me out of her house.
Lowsky calls me his hunting dog. Says that because onceI pick up a scent, I’ll track that thing down until it’s ripped to shreds and lifeless in my hands.
And yeah, I’m like that too. Some call it ruthless. Some call it obsession.
I just know it’s the thing that keeps me alive. The buzz in my brain, the thrill in my blood. I need it. It’s like a drug. Like an addiction.
I tuck the blade into the handle, the metal cool to the touch, despite the warmth of my hands. I let my vision haze over, search through space and time, find the picture, a young woman’s hand, fingernails chewed, gripping the hilt of this knife.
Her hand.
