But now? It seemed my entire existence infuriated him. He wasn’t the same man I’d known my whole life—which begged the question, was he ever who I thought he was? Or just who I wanted him to be? Who we as a family needed him to be?
War has a way of changing people… but with Tex, the thought lingered, what if he’s been just waiting to strike?
What if…
We invited the enemy in our very own home.
Only to be infiltrated from the inside out.
Things had been brought to my attention over the last three weeks, disturbing things… if they were true. I chewed my lower lip in deep thought.
“Mo!” Tex yelled from the other side of the door. “Thirty minutes, get moving, you want to look your best.”
I saluted the door with my middle finger and made my way into the bathroom. My reflection killed me. It really did. Because on the outside I looked the same. Dark silky hair that fell to my mid-back, bright blue eyes, a sharp feminine jaw, high cheekbones, and olive skin that I’m pretty sure every girl would kill for—just hopefully not kill me for. Sad, that the thought actually entered my head. Then again I’d had a lot of threats to my life within the past few weeks, just more secrets to hide from everyone.
I lifted my shirt and patted my flat stomach. What would it be like to bring a child into a family of war instead of peace? What child of mine, or even Tex’s for that matter, would have a shot in hell with the information I’d just learned? Was it even fair to bring innocence into our blood-stained hands?
I shook my head and tried to snap out of it. Nixon would be expecting his sister, the typical smart-ass, sarcastic, slightly narcissistic pain in his ass. And right now I was acting like Eeyore. “Snap out of it, Mo.” I took a few soothing breaths and turned on the shower.
Time to put on a show.
Time to fool them all.
Again.
CHAPTER THREE
Blood is always telling. It holds the key to our existence. It holds your life and eventually your death.
Tex
I GRIPPED THE COFFEE CUP so hard my hand hurt. The scalding burn of the liquid through the porcelain was the only thing that made me feel better. Great, I was officially turning into a masochist. Hell, maybe I’d always been one. I’d have to be to keep going back to Mo and praying that things would be different.
But every damn time it was the same.
She offered me a piece.
When I wanted it all.
And then she’d gone and cheated, not that I was really able to stand on a soap box about that one, considering I’d cheated first. But still, I had cheated one time to acquire some information, not because I actually enjoyed getting smothered by someone who smelled like cheap perfume and wore red lipstick on the outside of her lips. I shuddered and took another sip of coffee. The second time I’d cheated I’d done it purposely, to piss Mo off. Better than break her heart. At least if she was pissed, she could shoot me and get it over with, but that had been a gargantuan error, you know because I was still freaking obsessed with her and all. Right, good move Tex, just make her hate you enough to go and sleep with some effing bastard stupid enough to get her pregnant. Shit. Had she even checked for STDs? How did I even broach that conversation with her? Shuddering, I took another long sip of coffee. Thankfully, I’d made it strong. Hell, I probably should have added whiskey to it—Nixon would need it.
We would all need it after shit went down.
I checked my phone just as Mo came breezing into the kitchen. That’s what she did. She breezed. She never did something so common as walking. It would be impossible for her. Every movement was fluid, purposeful, graceful. It was distracting as hell when the person you were in love with, moved like some sort of goddess out of a mythological tale.
She was my Aphrodite.
My Athena.
I freaking worshipped that woman.
But our relationship was like the nerd of the class trying to date the popular girl, I think in essence, she felt sorry for me. Then again, I’d never let her know the real me, so maybe it was my fault.
“Tex?” Mo approached, tilting her head to the side. Black hair swirled across her shoulders. “Did you hear what I said?”
Nope, too busy being distracted by those hips. “Sorry I was just thinking about what I was going to say.”
Mo’s eyebrows drew together. “Just stick to the story, right?”
“Right,” I repeated. Damn, she didn’t even realize that with every look she pulled another string, I was like a puppet, and I hated that analogy because I’d felt like a puppet my whole life. “I’ll just say we’re in love.”
Mo nodded slowly, her eyes filling with tears.
“And that I messed up.” My teeth clenched. “That I’m so freaking in love with you I didn’t use a condom? Is that what you want me to say? Help me out because I really don’t think that’s a good plan, Mo. Not if you want me to live in the foreseeable future.”
Mo rolled her eyes, the tears turning into amusement. “Well, maybe don’t use the word condom.”
“Right.” I offered a smile. “How about I tell Nixon that I wanted to beat him at something, so I decided to get his twin sister knocked up?”
At that Mo laughed out loud.
“You what?” A voice roared from the door.
I closed my eyes and hung my head as Mo’s face froze into a smile in front of me. Right, in love. Happy about baby. Happy, happy, happy. Shoot me in the mother effing face.
I turned and opened my arms. “Friends! You’re home!”
“What. The. Hell. Did you just say?” Nixon roared, throwing his bag so hard against the countertop it skidded off and collided with one of the chairs nearly sending it through the window. His hands barreled into tight fists as he stomped towards me.
“Friends?” I offered backing up so that Mo was behind me. If Nixon pulled out a gun I’d take the bullet. She knew that, I knew that, Nixon most likely knew that, which probably meant the odds were I was getting shot in a few seconds.
Nixon grabbed me by the shirt and pushed me against the countertop. The hard granite bit into my back making me momentarily wince. He pushed harder; my skin was going to get rubbed raw if he kept doing that. I pushed back a bit to give us some space. We were pretty matched for height and strength. I could have fought back, but I owed him this. He couldn’t beat up the guy who actually did get his sister pregnant so he might as well use me as the punching bag. Ha! Story of my life. The freaking Abandonato punching bag. Fantastic.