MARRY YOUR KILLER
Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Brothers
---
The car pulled into the driveway at noon.
Jay was in the study, the map spread across the desk, her uncle's face pinned to the wall. Keifer was beside her, his laptop open, his hand still on the mouse. They had been working for hours. They didn't talk. They didn't touch. They didn't look at each other.
The doorbell rang.
Keifer looked up. His face changed. Something soft. Something she had never seen before.
He walked to the door. She followed.
The front door opened. Two boys stood on the step. One was tall, seventeen, his face cold, his hands in his pockets. He looked at Keifer with the same eyes, the same jaw, the same stillness. Keigan. The younger brother who had been trained to kill before he learned to drive.
The other was small, ten years old, his face bright, his hands full of bags. He dropped everything when he saw Keifer. He ran. Keifer caught him. He lifted him. The boy's arms went around his neck. His face buried in Keifer's shoulder.
"Kuya," Keiran said. His voice was muffled. His hands were tight. "Kuya, I missed you."
Keifer held him. His face was open. Soft. The face of a man who loved someone more than himself.
"I missed you too," Keifer said.
Jay stood in the doorway. She watched Keifer hold his brother. She watched Keigan stand on the step, his face cold, his eyes watching her. She watched the car drive away, the boys' parents leaving for London, leaving their sons with a brother they hadn't seen in weeks.
Keifer put Keiran down. The boy looked at Jay. His face was bright.
"Ate Jay," he said. "You're here. You're really here. Kuya said you were here. Kuya said you were staying. Kuya said—"
"Keiran," Keigan said. His voice was flat. Cold. "Stop talking."
Keiran stopped. He looked at his older brother. His face fell.
Jay knelt. She looked at the boy. Ten years old. The same eyes as Keifer. The same smile.
"I'm here," she said. "I'm staying."
Keiran smiled. He hugged her. His arms were small. His hands were tight.
"I knew you would," he said. "I told Kuya you would. I told him you were nice. I told him you would stay."
Jay looked at Keifer over the boy's head. His face was calm. His eyes were not.
"I'm staying," she said.
---
Keigan stood in the living room, his arms crossed, his face cold.
He looked at the house. At the photographs on the wall. At the study door, open, the map visible, her uncle's face pinned to the wall. He looked at Jay.
"You're the one he married," Keigan said.
"I'm the one he married."
Keigan's eyes moved to her hand. The ring wasn't there.
"You're not wearing the ring."
Jay's hand was steady at her side. "I don't need it."
Keigan stared at her. His face didn't change. But something shifted in his eyes. Something that might have been respect.
Keiran was running through the house, his footsteps echoing, his voice bouncing off the walls. He found the kitchen. He found the garden. He found the steps where Keifer and Jay had sat. He found everything.
Percy appeared in the hallway. He looked at Keigan. He looked at Keifer.
"Your brothers," Percy said.
"My brothers."
"They're staying?"
"They're staying."
Percy looked at Keigan. At the cold face, the still hands, the eyes that were the same as Keifer's.
"He's like you," Percy said.
Keifer looked at his brother. Seventeen years old. Already a killer. Already a weapon. Already the man their father had trained him to be.
"He's better," Keifer said.
---
Keiran found Jay in the study.
She was standing at the map, her back to the door, her hands at her sides. The pins and strings and photographs were spread across the wall. Her uncle's face. The warehouse. The money that had been moving for thirty years.
Keiran stood in the doorway. His face was small. His hands were empty.
"Ate Jay," he said.
She turned. "Keiran."
He walked to her. He stood beside her. He looked at the map.
"Is that the bad man?" he asked.
She looked at her uncle's face. The smiling face. The face of the man who had held her when she was small, who had taught her to ride a bike, who had been trying to kill her for months.
"Yes," she said.
Keiran looked at the map. At the pins and strings and photographs. At the war that had been going on his whole life.
"Kuya will stop him," Keiran said. "Kuya stops everyone."
Jay looked at the door. Keifer was in the kitchen, making lunch, his voice low, Keigan's voice lower. She couldn't hear the words. She didn't need to.
"Your kuya is very good," she said.
Keiran looked at her. His face was serious. Ten years old, but serious.
"He loves you," Keiran said. "He told me. Before the wedding. He said you were the bravest person he ever met. He said you were the strongest person he ever met. He said—" He stopped.
Jay waited.
"He said he was scared," Keiran said. "He said he was scared you would leave."
Jay looked at her hands. The ring wasn't there. The skin was pale where it had been.
"I'm not leaving," she said.
Keiran smiled. He hugged her. His arms were small. His hands were tight.
"I knew you wouldn't," he said.
---
Keigan found Keifer in the kitchen.
Percy had taken Keiran to the garden. Aries was with them, their face soft, their hands in their pockets. Yuri was in his corner, watching, not watching. The kitchen was empty except for the brothers.
Keigan stood at the counter. His arms were crossed. His face was cold.
"She's not wearing the ring," Keigan said.
Keifer didn't look up. "I know."
"You let her take it off."
"She doesn't need it."
Keigan stared at him. His face didn't change. But his hands tightened on his arms.
"She signed a contract," Keigan said. "Two years. Then she leaves."
Keifer looked up. His face was calm. His eyes were not.
"You read the contract."
Keigan's jaw tightened. "I read everything. I know everything. I know about the war. I know about her uncle. I know about the Shadow Market. I know about—"
"Keigan."
"I know you love her."
The kitchen was quiet. The house was quiet. The whole world was quiet.
Keifer looked at his brother. Seventeen years old. Already a killer. Already a weapon. Already the man their father had trained him to be.
"She doesn't love me," Keifer said.
Keigan's face didn't change. "She doesn't have to."
He walked out of the kitchen. The door swung behind him.
---
Keiran was in the garden when Jay found him.
He was sitting on the steps, his legs swinging, his face turned toward the sky. The sun was setting. The flowers were blooming. The steps were warm.
She sat beside him.
"Your kuya and I," she said. "We have an agreement. A contract. Two years."
Keiran looked at her. His face was small. His eyes were bright.
"I know," he said.
"After two years, I leave."
Keiran looked at the garden. At the flowers Care had planted. At the steps where his brother had sat alone every night.
"You don't have to," he said.
Jay looked at her hands. The ring wasn't there.
"I signed a contract," she said.
Keiran took her hand. His fingers were small. His hand was warm.
"You can break a contract," he said. "People break contracts all the time. Kuya says contracts are just paper. He says promises are what matter."
She looked at his hand on hers. So small. So warm.
"I made a promise," she said.
He looked at her. His face was serious. Ten years old, but serious.
"Then make a new promise," he said.
---
The night came.
Keiran was asleep in the room Keifer had prepared for him, the room with the dinosaur posters and the books and the nightlight shaped like a moon. Keigan was in the room next to him, his door open, his light on, his face turned toward the ceiling.
Jay stood at her window. The garden was dark. The steps were empty.
There was a knock at her door.
She opened it.
Keifer stood in the hallway. His face was tired. His eyes were dark.
"Keiran told me what you said," Keifer said. "About the contract. About leaving."
She didn't speak.
He stepped closer. His face was inches from hers.
"He said you made a promise. He said you were going to keep it."
She looked at his face. At the shadows under his eyes. At the scar on his lip.
"I made a promise," she said.
He took her hand. His fingers were warm. His grip was steady.
"Then make another one," he said.
She looked at their hands. His fingers laced with hers.
"What promise?" she asked.
He pulled her close. His arms went around her. His face was in her hair.
"Stay," he said. "Not for the contract. Not for the war. Not for anyone else."
He pulled back. His face was close. His eyes were steady.
"Stay for yourself," he said. "For what you want. For what you need. For what you choose."
She looked at him. The enemy. The stranger. The man she had married.
"I signed a contract," she said.
He kissed her forehead. Soft. Brief.
"Break it," he said.
---
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT