Blood Brothers Read online

  I raise the medallion up and push the strands of hair on her chest behind her neck. Then I place the medallion around her head, the sterling silver falling on her dark skin beautifully as the medallion itself hangs right in her cleavage. Her eyes fixate on the medallion, her body unmoving as I continue to stare at her, trying to hold myself back from her lips.

  This is by far the most beautiful moment in my entire life. Never did I ever imagine I would be in this position, where both my mind, heart, and balls are exploding with anticipation.

  She opens her mouth as if to speak, and I hold her hands in mine, my thumbs caressing the back of her hand in smooth circles. She finally looks up from the medallion, the shock seeming to slowly settle in. I expected to see her happy. I want to see her smile, the familiar sparkle in her eyes that makes my heart skip a beat.

  I want to feel her arms around me, and her lips connect with mine.

  But for some reason these moments never go how I picture them. Hell, life never goes how I picture it—the world always finds a new creative way to put an obstacle in the road. She cries. From the way by which her body vibrates, and her eyes close with pain, the fact that these aren’t tears of joy becomes evident.

  I wrap my arms around her, not knowing what to say or even if I should say anything.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally utters, her words barely audible between tears. “Sam. Thank you so much. But I can’t accept this. I can’t. I don’t need this medal to remind me of your place in my heart. You deserved it, you earned this. But none of this is what’s making me sad. I can’t even think about any of this right now.”

  “What’s wrong?” I place a hand on her cheek, wiping the tears that continue to stream out of her eyes. I am such an idiot. Why do I always have to think about myself? Why I am always worried about how I feel about things when I should be worried about her?

  “I can’t even believe it.” Her body shakes with emotion as she leans on me. I let both our bodies fall onto the bed, the pillows and blankets beneath us providing solace. “My dad, he’s in the hospital. He’s in really bad shape. He’s dying.”

  As the words leave her mouth, all the sadness inside her releases in a single instant. I wrap my arms around her, trying to let the warmth of my body lessen the devastation as the aftershock of the news overcomes every part of her mind. A new heaviness resides in the air of the room as my mind ventures back into the worst moment of my life—the moment I stood on the edge of that cliff and realized my mother was dead.

  “Riva, I am so sorry.” I squeeze her hand as tightly as I can, keeping my other arm around her.

  “Don’t say that you’re sorry.” Her tone turns bitter. “People only say sorry when they can’t do anything about it. I’m sorry too. I’m so sorry that I can’t help him. Damn, I couldn’t even get a flight back to California until the morning. But I don’t want to be reminded of that.”

  “I can help. I promise. We can get through this together. He will get better; we have to believe. He can maybe even go into a Life Pod.”

  “I really hope something works, but I don’t know, Sam. In moments like these, it’s so hard to stay hopeful, even though I know I need to. He had a heart attack, a major one. And I hate how he has to go through this pain. He had it right before the Deadwave tournament went live. He always would watch the tournaments I competed in.” She looks up at the dark ceiling. “And he had it right before the finals started. He never will be able to see it. And I’m afraid that he will never be able to see me play again. That I will never be able to tell him how much I love him again.”

  She sighs, the tension in her body deflating for the moment. I want to hold her forever. I want to lie here, our breaths in perfect harmony as we let the darkness turn to light and then the light turn back to darkness again.

  Two loud pounding noises against the door interrupt before I can respond. They aren’t the frantic, forceful sounds of Riva before. The echoes have a distinct, foreboding character.

  I shoot up in bed, my mind instantly amok with anxiety. I fumble for my undergarments and shorts, trying to maintain as much of my dignity as possible before it is all possibly stripped away from me.

  “Who is that?” Riva stares at the door, unmoving.

  I don’t respond. I don’t have it in me to say who I think it is—who I know it is. So I look at her as I slip on my shoes, trying to take in her gorgeous figure for what may be one last time. I don’t want to wait any longer until the person at the door either barges in or finds a different way to break in. I can’t have Riva be in danger. After all, if these people know that I am with her, they will kill her. They already tried to late that night in the middle of Lake Michigan.

  “You can sleep here and wait for me until I get back,” I say as she starts to get up and try and stop me from answering the door. “I have to do this.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” My words have the exact opposite effect that I want them to. She tugs me on my arm, her unclothed body seriously tempting me to climb back into bed with her.

  “I’m ending this for good.” I pull my arm away from her. She nods, her body paralyzed with fear. She doesn’t try and hold me back as I walk to the door. She knows what these people are capable of. She knows I can’t stop them—that they can’t see us together or else they will kill her. “Hide under the covers. I promise you will be safe.”

  I look out the peep hole. And there they are. The security guard stationed outside my room has disappeared, and in his place my living nightmare stands. Well, I assume it is them. I actually have no clue who the secret organization trying to kill me is except that my dad is a member of them (I know, ironic), or what any of their members look like except Lez Mooney (he’s an uber wealthy media conglomerate from Britain whom I had the pleasure of meeting and being choked by after being bailed out of jail for a crime I didn’t commit). In the hallway stand three tall, husky figures. They all have on black jumpsuits and are wearing masks over their entire heads that make them look like a mutant cross between a troll and lion.

  I open the door, and the hot air in the hallway still doesn’t stop goose bumps from lining my body. This time they don’t drug me or knock me out with a toxic gas as they normally do.

  Instead they wait for me to shut the door behind me and greet me with a warm handshake.

  I don’t need them to tell me why they are here.

  It is time for me to kill my father.

  Chapter 3

  The harsh gusts of wind force my blonde hair over my eyes. Two large men stand on either side of me, their hands directing my movements to the helicopter in front of us.

  I have tried to get them to tell me what the hell is going on and what I am doing for the last five minutes, to no avail. My dad is staying in the same hotel as me, I am confident in that. I even tried to help them locate his whereabouts by telling them his exact room number, which is a few doors down from mine on the same hall.

  The masked men were not intent on listening. In fact, they stayed silent the entire time as they pushed me up the concrete staircase all thirty floors up to the roof. They are on a mission, and I suppose I am too now that I am being dragged along.

  Except this isn’t the mission I prepared for. And the entire time as I walk up the steps, the musty, cold air making its way into my lungs, I ponder whether this could be a good thing or not. What if they think it’s easier to get rid of me?

  I shudder as I glance at the city skyline silhouetted against the night sky. On all sides, spiraling glass skyscrapers pierce the clouds above, their metal spires and flashing lights on top acting as a beacon of hope for a world that has none left. Over the years, Manhattan has been transformed into a playground for the ultra-wealthy, and now they are practically all that’s left. In the distance, a number of massive residential skyscrapers that billionaires sleep in among the clouds glow brightly as the rest of the population—all the people whose jobs were taken away—are left to suffer on the outer boroughs.

  The r
ed helicopter grows closer with each step. The fear that they are going to throw me off the building and let my body plummet to the cement sidewalk below lessens as the doors to the helicopter open up. Looks like it’s time for an adventure. I grind my teeth together, analyzing the rooftop. A large greenhouse takes up most of the space, with exotic flora and brightly colored flowers visible from the outside.

  It embodies everything that these people aren’t: it’s fragile, innovative, and priceless, especially at a time when the world is beginning to suffocate underneath the increasing tons of carbon in the air. Our ancestors have created the perfect disaster for us to try and clean up in the twenty-first century. The industrial revolution created a bunch of useless shit poisoning all of our natural resources and a bunch of potent greenhouse gases hell-bent on altering the climate on which agriculture and all aquatic and terrestrial life depend on (so like, yeah, it’s kind of a problem). Of course, since we are so great at creating even more issues, we decided that it would be better to create even more wealth for the wealthy and give even more useless shit to the poor. So now in exchange for useless cat videos and odd advertisements taking up our brainwaves (that’s at least how they want it to be), the information revolution has led to the rise of big data, which further concentrates wealth and has led to artificial intelligence replacing even the most skilled forms of labor such as neurosurgery.

  We did such a great job. Well, no, not me specifically. Just the world. And now what may be the only solution is escaping from it into a virtual world. It’s my dad’s plan to change the world forever. It’s my dad’s plan for the technology his company, Chimera, has been researching for over a decade: Life Pods. And now he is going to be killed over it.

  But this is just the beginning. As I look at this city and feel the energy of the iconic skyline surrounding me, I can’t help but feel that this is the beginning of the end.

  Everything is about to collapse.

  And instead of helping to fix the problem, I have to kill one of the most powerful men hell-bent on solving it. Maybe it’s hitting me now, but I am really an awful person. Like what I’m being forced to do doesn’t just affect me—this changes everything.

  I could singlehandedly be fucking this world even more.

  I can still jump off now. It won’t be too hard to shake the men off me for a second to break free and leap off the building. But I’m no savior. I’m too selfish to end it like that. I’m too ambitious. Part of me wants to take my dad’s place.

  Part of me wants to be the sole man responsible for saving this world.

  You don’t need to tell me that it’s all probably a pipe dream, but it’s what I believe. And I can’t let myself die. I can’t let these people kill me.

  So, I do as they say.

  Which in this moment means climbing up the steps of the helicopter and entering its brightly lit confines. The door shuts behind me, and the two masked men who had escorted me to the helicopter step further inside, leaving their coworker (or fellow kidnapper and overall crappy person) outside my hotel room.

  He better leave Riva alone. I blink, motioning with my hand to try and call Riva. My instincts fail me this time. Of course—I left my hologlasses back in my hotel room. Objects like that are only a distraction during an intimate moment. In a time like this, they are essential.

  The lights slowly dim as they force me to sit down in a leather chair at the front of the helicopter. Given that this mysterious group of rich bastards never seem to be frugal about their own spending, the helicopter itself is by far the nicest I have ever seen. The leather chairs themselves are laced in gold, and the interior of the helicopter has four seats, and a massive tablet at the back that has all the controls for the helicopter, including the temperature, flight path, fuel, speed, among dozens of other settings that I don’t have time to ponder.

  One of the men moves to the back of the helicopter, and I watch closely as he taps a few times on the screen, zooming in on a specific building in the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

  After pleading with them at least a dozen times to tell me what the hell is going on, I have learned my lesson by now to not ask questions and let it all happen. Then, the masked figure next to me pulls out a long, serrated knife, making sure to hold it right in front of my eyes so that I can get a good look.

  I’ll be a good boy, I promise. I stare straight forward, not wanting to make any movements to test the man and see if he will try and hack one of my limbs off with its deadly edges. The other masked figure, whose bodysuit blends in with the blackness of the night and interior of the helicopter, approaches on the other side of me. Instead of whipping out a deadly knife, he sits right next to me.

  Chills run down my spine as I feel the presence of his body inches away from mine. I don’t need to see his face to imagine how unnerving it is. He probably has fangs for teeth, pits for eyes, and large nostrils with hair protruding out from them in long, booger-filled strands.

  Or maybe he is a normal guy. Maybe he has a family at home, and he is working for this horrible group to try and make ends meet. That thought is a bit more sobering than thinking about him as a despicable killer. It actually makes me respect them both a bit, if that is truly why they are doing this. Monsters do truly exist in this world. No one needs to convince me of that. But sometimes a bad situation can turn good people into monsters too.

  Hell, I am a monster myself. I am a killer.

  On the short helicopter ride to the selected building, the entire skyline of the city whizzes by at new fantastical viewing angles with every second. For a few seconds, the new mega-skyscrapers on Billionaire’s Row illuminate the night sky, while in the next view the sprawling expanse of Central Park can be seen below. Far off in the distance, the older skyscrapers in Midtown and even Wall Street glow in the night. Unlike most cities in the United States, the lights in this city are still abundant, and the abandoned, deteriorating buildings that plague the skylines of Chicago and San Francisco are nonexistent here.

  For a moment my mind loses itself in the web of streets and concrete jungle below. I can stay in this state for hours, maybe even for eternity, knowing what is about to come. There is something about this city that causes someone to have to glance at the same place for hours to fully appreciate all its nuances.

  I don’t have hours, though. I don’t have any time at all.

  The landing gear of the helicopter collides with the concrete of the helicopter pad in a dull thud. The reverberation of the helicopter sends shockwaves through my body as the lights in the helicopter turn back on and the blades halt to a stop. I won’t let them kill me.

  One last determined thought passes through my mind as I stand up. I swallow, stifling a nervous sigh. The helicopter doors slide open, and I suppress the doubt and fear inside me, letting the anger and hatred boil to the surface of my mind. If I can focus on those two emotions, I can get out of this.

  Another man stands at the edge of the helicopter pad, a tight-lipped smile on his face. His wispy gray hair sways in the wind as he reaches into his waistband, which has an entire arsenal of weapons and grenades strapped to it. It is too late for me to get out of this now. I have no option but to take the handgun he holds out for me.

  I grip it in my hand and feel a chilling, powerful sensation trickle down my spine.

  He doesn’t need to say anything for me to know what is happening. This is the weapon I have to use to kill my dad.

  Chapter 4

  “We’re very glad you came.” His voice has a sickening tone to it. He smiles again, this time showing off his chipped front teeth. The way his cheeks tighten and jaw clenches make it seem like smiling is a painful, arduous act for this man.

  I hold back the urge to retort to his ridiculous comment. Yeah, right, like I had any choice.

  “What is going on?” I turn around, both surprised and concerned by the fact that the two men who had forcefully taken me to the helicopter remain at the bottom of the stairs, guarding their position. With a few
seconds of examining the rooftop, I can tell that this building is full of the ultra-wealthy. On the rooftop, they have three private helicopter pads, a large garden, and a narrow, spiral staircase leading to a glass observatory tower. The rooftop itself has dark-brown stained wooden tiles instead of cement, and instead of the large “H” on the helicopter pads being painted on the cement, they have white gold lining the pads, which causes the light from the lanterns on the roof to refract off it spectacularly.

  If this is the time for another meeting at one of their houses, I am so out. I glance at the man in front of me, unmoving with my question. His hand strokes the arsenal of weapons in his belt, and that is the only reminder I need not to mess with him. Never mind, I am so in.

  “Follow me,” he says, waving me in his direction as he sets off towards the other end of the rooftop. Seeing that I don’t have another logical option, I promptly comply.

  After a few strides, I notice that he is clearly making his way to the edge of the roof, which out of all the possibilities of what this could mean, I can’t even think of one that could be mildly bearable.

  “You have to get in that harness.” He narrows his eyes at me while pointing at the contraption staked into the waist-high barrier separating us both from a five-hundred-foot fall to the city streets below. The contraption consists of a system of cables, carabiners, and an automatic relay machine that has a massive rope tied into a huge stake in the floor tile. The entire system looks so messily set up, that the weight of my foot might be enough to rip this all out of place and send me plummeting to my death.

  “Excuse me.” I step back, my eyes wide and mind dizzy from looking down the steep drop. If I haven’t mentioned it already, I will admit that I do have a hear of heights. Nothing major, of course—it’s not that I’m a wimp or anything (well, Jake always says I am, but after falling off a cliff as a child, I feel my fear is warranted). Just every time I look down this high out into the open, unguarded from the confines of an airplane or building, I feel nauseous.