He knew. That motherfucking prick knew.
He sat in her classes, teaching her, laughing at her, knowing exactly what he and his ‘buddy’ had done. Did she know? Was she reliving it every time she had to sit there? Did he throw it in her face right under my nose?
I am almost on him when Victor hits me from the side, rugby tackling me and driving me hard into the ground. The impact rattles my teeth and I groan, trying to push myself up. Commotion breaks out to my left and I twist my head just enough to see it. Riggs is bent over, retching, as Atlas tries tosteady him. It is Felix that breaks me though. His head tipped back, staring at the ceiling, his hands flexing again and again. His chest heaves like the air itself has turned poisonous.
Victor’s weight pins me down as I try to move again; his forearm locked against my back. His voice drops low and vicious as he leans into my ear.
“Stop, Roman, or I won’t let go,” he growls, his teeth clenched. “You want answers? Then keep him alive and get them. A dead man can’t talk.”
CHAPTER 14
ROMAN
My body relaxes. Victor is right. It is the only thing that has stopped me from killing Jack multiple times in the last couple of hours. He must feel the shift because he finally lets me go, standing and brushing the dirt from his jeans. I follow, dragging in a slow breath as I take in the room. Riggs has stopped vomiting but still looks green, crouched by the sink. Felix, though… he is barely holding on.
I do something I never thought I would. I walk over, grab his shoulder, and pull him into a bear hug. Felix stiffens under my touch, but I don’t let go. If I am this unsettled, I cannot begin to comprehend how her twin feels. Did he know? Is this reaction because we all know now, or because he is finally hearing the truth of what she went through? Atlas didn’t say much, but it was enough.
Fae was raised by a monster.
Felix slowly relaxes into me, his arm coming up to hold on as his forehead rests against my shoulder. In all the years I have known him, I don’t think we have ever touched. I am extremely touch-sensitive. Even a brush of a shoulder usually ends with me snapping. But this… this is different. There are no pinpricks, noirritation crawling under my skin. I hold on a little longer, until the tension leaves his body.
When I step back, we drop our arms. Felix moves to the metal chair and sinks into it heavily.
“You good?” Atlas asks.
I am not sure who he is talking to… maybe all of us, but it is Felix who answers.
“How did you know?” he says, turning to me and pointing at Jack. “How did you know he was connected?”
I groan internally. I don’t talk about my issues. People just assume I am a psychopath because of my love for blood and I never correct them. My mum warned me this day would come, that eventually I would have to explain it, but I never saw the point. I hate labels.
Dad tried to get me diagnosed the moment he noticed something different, but to me, this is normal. I sometimes wonder if he would treat me the same if I didn’t have the intelligence to balance it out.
Biting the bullet, I realise I might as well get it over with.
“I have HSAM, otherwise known as highly superior autobiographical memory, or hyperthymesia. I can recall every conversation we have had in extreme detail. Dates, days, what you wore, what you ate. If I read something once, it stays.”
“Like photographic memory?” Victor asks from beside me.
“Similar, but more extreme. Photographic memory is more of a performance trick.”
“You would think that,” Riggs scoffs. “Are you telling me all this time you were calling yourself a genius, you actually are?”
“Well, why would I lie about that, Riggs? I keep telling you, I do not lie,” I reply, exasperated. “And whilst we are on the subject, I might as well add that I also have autism.”
“Oh, we know that,” Felix says, flicking his hand dismissively.
“Wait… what? How?”
“You are not the only genius in this group,” Riggs winks. “I mean, it could be that… or the fact it was fucking obvious.”
“Remember when he lost his shit because I was three minutes late for that meal he made for the girls?” Atlas says.
“That was because it was rude,” I grumble.
“For me, it was when he complained about the texture of the new towels the housemaids brought in,” Victor adds.
“They felt like grit.”