"Why exactly do we hate my mother again?" 

Nash was already on his second pack of cookies. Foss couldn't understand how he wasn't sick yet. For what felt like the hundredth time, Foss stood up from the small staircase where he'd been sitting, took a few steps, and stretched his back.

The cellar was less than four square meters; they could barely lie down in it. That's how they'd woken up, completely disoriented. His mind had been racing with panic until he realized it was his cellar.

Then came pure confusion, followed by rage. And that rage was still simmering inside him.

Unbelievable. His mother had locked them down here. Drugged them, dumped them here, blocked the door, and then dared to leave for Charming to kill his father.

Even Nash, with his overactive imagination, couldn't come up with something like this, though he claimed he could. It however didn't fit the image Nash had of Naomi. "It's out of character," he'd said, as if focusing on that helped him cling to his make-believe world.

But there was nothing fictional about this. They were really locked in his cellar, with nothing but a damn bucket to piss in—or worse. He'd piled the bulk pack of toilet paper on top of it, hoping it would keep the stench at bay.

While Nash was reevaluating his life choices and stared to believe that maybe the fights at home weren't so bad after all, Foss's thoughts wandered to his father.

Was he already dead? What was her plan? Was she just going to walk into the clubhouse, spin some dramatic story to get him alone, and stab a knife into his heart?

And what if she got caught?

God, had she even thought about that? What if they killed her? Left her body to rot somewhere while he was stuck in this hellhole? Forever, maybe. They'd screamed their lungs out already, but no neighbor had come to check.

Okay, calm down. No need to get melodramatic. They had two cartons of juice, a bottle of soda, and a crate of beer. They wouldn't die of thirst anytime soon. And unless Nash kept shoveling food into his mouth the way he was now, they wouldn't starve, either.

Someone would find them eventually.

Not that Foss could think of who, but still.

With a sigh, he sat back down, resting his head against the wall. Above him, there was a protrusion from the staircase on the other side. Maybe he should try to sleep. He slid down a bit, trying to get comfortable on the floor. The last few days had been intense enough to make sleep tempting. It would at least make the time go faster.

He curled up, tucked his hands under his head, and tuned out Nash's voice. But the moment he closed his eyes, bloody images filled his mind. His mother's head exploding. A knife plunging into his father's chest.

Cursing, he rubbed his face, almost feeling the blood splatter.

If his mother had had a shred of empathy, she'd have left that stupid casserole down here so they could sleep through a few more hours instead of sitting here in this stressed-out limbo.

Foss woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. Dazed, he sat up, rubbing the stiff muscles in his neck as he looked around. The cellar. Right.

The strange situation came rushing back.

Nash crouched next to him. "Someone's coming."

Foss yawned. "Well, it's about time." He strained to hear. Nash was right—footsteps. One person. Not an entire gang of bikers ready to declare him as guilty as his mother.

It wasn't long before someone fumbled with the door, and it creaked open. His mother appeared in the doorway, bloodstains dotting her shirt. His heart clenched.

"Is he dead?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"No." She let out a heavy sigh. Her face was pale, but she didn't look as defeated as he'd expected. "I told him everything."

"Oh?" That was a surprise. "And you couldn't have said so instead of locking us in here?" Anger crept into his voice, making it tremble slightly.

"I didn't plan it. It... just happened." Naomi's gaze darted to the ground, guilt written all over her face. "I'm sorry. I really am. I panicked."

Foss scoffed. "You thought this through. You don't get to blame panic for this." He got to his feet and climbed the stairs, brushing past her. He needed to get out of that claustrophobic room.

"It wasn't panic, okay. It was desperation," she called after him. "So much was at stake, and you two were about to ruin everything—"

"Oh, don't you dare," he snarled. "We didn't give you any reason to drug us and lock us in a fucking cellar. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It was just for a few hours," she said, annoyed. "You know I would've let you out."

"Like hell! I saw that Happy guy—he wouldn't hesitate to tear your head off. And then we'd be stuck here for days!"

Her face fell. Foss could tell the thought had only just occurred to her.

She rubbed her eyes, red with exhaustion. "I didn't know what else to do. I really didn't. You were about to ruin everything." When he tried to argue, she raised her voice. "And I'm glad you interfered. Happy figured out something was off. Please, Foss. Just let me explain everything."

He snorted. She'd lied to him so many times; how could he believe her now? He made an impatient gesture toward the living room. "Fine. Go ahead."

As he stormed into the living room, he noticed the casserole still sitting on the table, half-filled plates alongside it. Shaking his head, he dropped onto the couch.

Nash lingered in the doorway, as if unsure whether this concerned him. With a tilt of his head, Foss motioned for him to join. They'd gotten into this mess together, and whatever his mother had to say, he'd tell Nash anyway. Better he hears it firsthand.

Nash flopped down beside him, leaning his head against the backrest. "I'm so damn tired, and I should be mad. Does this have to happen now?"

"Yes," Foss muttered. Because once his mother was done talking, he was leaving. And who knew if—or when—he'd come back.

Naomi sank into a chair, clasping her hands tightly. Her shoulders slumped. "Promise me you'll let me finish, Foss."

"I'm not promising you anything."

She let out a soft sigh. "Fine. Then I'll get straight to the point: You have a twin brother. My stepmother took him from me before he could even speak."

Foss stared at her, searching her face for any hint that this was yet another lie meant to cushion some blow.

"I was sixteen when you were born," she continued. "Even before that, my stepmother kept me locked up. That's why Happy never knew about the pregnancy. Hana found the test, and after that, she kept me inside and later sent me to boarding school."

Foss said nothing as she paused. What the hell could you say when this kind of ugly truth was thrown in your face? Even Nash was silent.

Her lack of reaction seemed to discourage her, but she went on. "When I finished school and came back, Alec was gone." She bit her lip. "Your brother. That's when Hana started blackmailing me, forcing me to kill people. If I didn't comply, it would cost Alec a body part. Once, it was a severed finger." She swallowed hard, her head bowing further until her curls hid her face. "After that, I did whatever she said." Her voice wavered as she finished. "And that's why we're here."

Foss slumped back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He felt... he didn't even know what he felt. A deep sense of betrayal burned inside him at the thought of having a brother all these years—one his mother had refused to tell him about.

"You could've gone to the police," he said eventually.

"And risk what Hana would do in response? I couldn't take that chance. Not at first. And later... it was already too late. I'd killed people, and Hana could prove it. She had me completely trapped."

He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, unable to look at her. "So, all those stories about hunting down rapists?"

She hesitated. "They were not rapists."

"Did you even get raped?"

Another telling silence. "No."

"Fucking hell," he muttered, pushing himself off the couch and shaking his head. "Do you even understand how twisted that is? Lying about something like that?"

"Of course I do. But I did what I had to do."

"You should've told me the truth."

"I know you, Foss. You wouldn't have let it go. You'd have gone looking for your brother and gotten yourself—and him—killed."

"Alec—" the name felt foreign on his tongue "—has been in danger his whole life."

"Being locked away is better than being hacked to pieces."

Foss doubted that. Twenty-five years in captivity... Man, he'd barely survived a few hours. He turned to look at Nash, who had been eerily quiet.

His friend was staring into space as though his mind had shut down entirely. Foss nudged him with his elbow. "Got nothing to say?"

Nash shook his head, as if dragging himself out of deep thought. "Honestly? What's done is done. We already knew your mom was insane." He shot Naomi a sheepish grin. "No offense." Then he grew serious—uncharacteristically so. "So what do we do now? Your brother... We have to get him out of there, man. Especially now that your mother isn't planning to kill her one true love."

Naomi raised her eyebrows slightly. "I told Happy everything. Tomorrow, they're sitting down to come up with a plan." Tears glistened in her eyes. "I still can't believe it. That there's help. A team that actually knows how to handle weapons."

Normally, Foss would've gotten up to wrap a comforting arm around her, especially since it was so rare for her to show this kind of emotion. But now, it felt like a deep, unbridgeable chasm had opened between them.

"I need some air," he muttered eventually. He pushed himself off the couch, grabbed his jacket from the hook in the hallway, and stepped outside, letting the door click shut behind him.

The cold night air stung his eyes, and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

At the end of the street, he sat down on a low wall and gazed up at the stars peeking through the thin veil of clouds. Suddenly, he didn't just have a father—he had a brother. A twin brother, who had spent his entire life in misery.

Something tugged in his chest as if an invisible thread connected them, one he had only just become aware of.

"Alec," he said softly. The name still felt foreign on his lips, so he repeated it a few more times.

His mother had been right. Now that he knew Alec existed, there was no way he could abandon him. Whether they could ever become a real family, he didn't know, but he wanted to meet him, to get to know him.

And he'd make damn sure he was part of the plan to rescue him, no matter what these bikers thought. He owed his brother that much.

He couldn't shake the weight in his chest, the gnawing guilt that he hadn't seen through his mother's lies sooner. That he hadn't tried harder to uncover her past.

If he had, they could've done this years ago.

"I'll find you." With a lump in his throat, he whispered that promise into the night air.