All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

16. Zaire

ZAIRE

I barely have time to register what is happening before Oscar's iron grip clamps around my bicep, yanking me out of Vesper's room with such force I nearly stumble. The door slams shut behind us, the sound echoing through the empty hallway like a gunshot.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Oscar hisses, his blue eyes blazing with a fury I've rarely seen directed at me. His fingers dig into my arm, sure to leave bruises, but I don’t flinch. I've endured far worse.

I jerk my arm free, squaring my shoulders as I face my twin. "I did what was necessary."

"Necessary?" He barks out a harsh laugh. "You drugged her. Again. You're no better than the bastards who took her in the first place!"

His words hit me like a physical blow, and I recoil. "How dare you?—"

"How dare I?" Oscar's voice rises, his carefully controlled facade cracking. "How dare you! I told you to stay outside. To let me handle it.”

“You call her screaming about missing babies handling it, Oz?”

“I had it under control.”

“Didn’t seem that way to me,” I fire back.

Oscar's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. I can see the storm brewing in his eyes, the tension coiling in his shoulders. But I'm not backing down. Not this time.

"You're not seeing the truth of the situation, Oz," I spit out, my voice low and harsh. "Whoever had her? They didn't just break her body. They shattered her mind."

The hallway seems to shrink around us, the air thick with unspoken accusations and simmering rage. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears and feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"She's better off a ghost," I continue. "A memory. Not this empty shell of her, screaming about babies that don't exist."

The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I've crossed a line. Oscar's eyes widen, then narrow dangerously. In an instant, his carefully controlled facade shatters completely.

"You son of a bitch," he growls, and then his fist connects with my jaw.

Pain explodes across my face, but I don't stagger. Instead, I let the familiar rush of violence wash over me, welcoming it like an old friend. I lunge forward, tackling Oscar to the ground. We hit the floor hard, the impact jarring my bones.

Fists fly in a flurry of movement. I catch him with an elbow to the ribs and hear the satisfying whoosh of air leaving his lungs. But Oz gives as good as he gets, his knuckles splitting my lip, the taste of copper flooding my mouth.

We roll across the floor, a tangle of limbs and fury. Picture frames rattle on the walls, a vase topples and shatters to the ground. In the back of my mind, I know we're making too much noise, and that someone will come to investigate. But I can't bring myself to care.

"You don't get to decide that!" Oscar roars, pinning me to the ground. His eyes are wild, his perfectly styled hair a mess. "You don't get to write her off like that!"

I buck my hips, throwing him off balance, and reverse our positions. My hands find his throat, not squeezing, just holding. A warning.

"And you don't get to play hero," I snarl back. "Open your eyes, Oz!" I shout, pinning him there. "This isn't a fairy tale. There's no happily ever after here. The sooner you accept that, the better off we'll all be."

For a moment, we're frozen like that, chests heaving, blood dripping onto the carpet beneath us. The air crackles with tension, with unspoken words and shared history.

Then, from behind the closed door, we hear a muffled whimper. Vesper's voice, small and frightened, calling out for help that isn't coming.

The fight drains out of me in an instant. I release Oscar's throat, rolling off him and onto my back. I stare at the ceiling, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. The taste of blood lingers on my tongue, and I can feel a bruise blooming on my jaw where Oscar's fist connected. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, broken only by the soft sounds of our labored breathing and Vesper's muffled whimpers from behind the closed door.

Suddenly, footsteps echo down the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. I turn my head, wincing at the movement, to see Alex and Talon rounding the corner. They stop short at the sight of us sprawled on the floor, surrounded by the debris of our fight.

Talon's eyebrows shoot up, his lips quirking into a sardonic smile. "Having a nice chat, are we?" he drawls, his British accent more pronounced than usual.

I grunt in response, pushing myself up to a sitting position. Oscar follows suit, his movements stiff and pained. The fury in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a weariness that makes him look older than his years.

"Zaire drugged her," Oscar says, his voice hoarse. "Again."

Talon's smile fades, his expression growing serious. He runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair, loosening it from its man bun. "I see," he says, his tone carefully neutral.

I brace myself for another lecture, another round of accusations. But to my surprise, Talon doesn't immediately condemn my actions. Instead, he sighs heavily, leaning against the wall.

"Look," he says, his eyes darting between Oscar and me. "I'm not saying I agree with what Zaire did, but she's been through a lot. She needs time."

Oscar opens his mouth to argue, but Alex cuts him off with a sharp gesture. "We need to discuss this," he says, his voice low and urgent. "All of us. But not here in the hallway."

As if on cue, another whimper filters through the door. I see Oscar flinch, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"What about the babies she keeps mentioning?" I ask, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. "Are we just going to ignore that?"

A heavy silence falls over the group. Talon and Alex exchange a loaded glance, and I feel my stomach drop. There's something they're not telling us.

Finally, Talon speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not entirely in her head," he admits.

Oscar's head snaps up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

Talon's words hang in the air, heavy and ominous. I feel my blood run cold, a chill creeping up my spine despite the sweat still cooling on my skin from the fight. Oscar and I exchange a glance, momentarily united in our confusion and growing dread.

"Explain," I demand, my voice rough with emotion. "Now."

Talon runs a hand over his face, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by a grim seriousness that sets my teeth on edge. He takes a deep breath as if steeling himself for what's to come.

"When they took Vesper, it wasn't just about ransom or leverage. They harvested her eggs."

I hear Oscar's sharp intake of breath and see the color drain from his face. My own mind reels, struggling to process the horror of what Talon's saying.

"But that's not all," Talon continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "They want her living children, too.”

“How the fuck do you know this?” Alex asks.

“The paperwork at the auction. They made me sign a breeder’s rights agreement. It outlined that should Vesper have kids, they get first rights as her original goddamn breeder.”

Oscar's voice cuts through the haze, sharp and accusing. "Why didn't you tell us when the doctor was here?"

Talon's jaw clenches, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he schools his expression. "I found out just before we extracted her," he admits. "But getting her out was the priority. Those were your own words, Oz. I did what you asked me to do.”

"Bullshit!" Oz snarls, surging to his feet. "You should have told us the moment we got her back. We could have...we could have..."

“What could we have done? The damage was already done. The violation already complete,” Talon challenges, pushing off the wall to face me. His brown eyes, usually so warm and friendly, are hard as flint. "Getting her here, getting her safe, that was far more important," Talon continues, his voice softening slightly. "Now that she's here, we can sort it out. Figure out our next move."

Oscar stands slowly, his movements stiff and pained.

“There was a name on the contract. Johan Mikeal. He was listed as the seller.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“No idea, but it’s a start. More than we had before we got her back.”

“Alex,” Oz demands.

“Already on it,” he declares, disappearing into the room he’d set up earlier while Oz played night watchmen. The sound of “Boots and Blood” by Five Finger Death Punch comes from the other side of his bedroom door. Unlike the rest of us, Alex has always used music to keep him focused while he worked. The darker the song, the more focused.

Talon's words hang in the air, heavy with implications. I watch as Oscar's face contorts, a mixture of rage and despair battling for dominance. The hallway suddenly feels too small, too confining, as if the walls are closing in on us.

"Oz," Talon says softly, reaching out to place a hand on my brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner. But what's done is done, and now we need to focus on helping Vesper."

Oscar shrugs off Talon's hand, his blue eyes blazing. But before he can unleash another tirade, Talon continues, his voice low and steady.

"And as much as I hate to say it, Zaire did the right thing. Vesper needs time. Time to heal, time to process. We can't push her too hard, too fast. It'll only make things worse."

I blink in surprise, not expecting Talon to come to my defense. Oscar looks equally stunned, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

Talon runs a hand through his hair, loosening it further from its man bun. "Look, I know it's not ideal. But right now, the best thing we can do for Vesper is give her space. Let her rest. We'll figure out our next move when she's stronger."

The tension in the hallway is palpable, crackling like electricity in the air. I can see the conflict playing out on Oscar's face, his desire to help Vesper warring with the logic of Talon's words.

Finally, Oscar nods, a short, jerky motion. "Fine," he grits out. "But we're not done discussing this."

Talon's shoulders sag with relief. "Agreed," he says, then glances down the hallway. "I should go check on Alex, make sure he's not tearing the place apart looking for answers."

With a final nod to both of us, Talon turns and strides away, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

As soon as he's out of sight, the silence between Oscar and me becomes oppressive. I can feel the weight of my earlier words pressing down on me, threatening to crush me under their gravity.

"Oz," I start, my voice rough with emotion. "I'm sorry. About what I said earlier, about Vesper being better off as a ghost. I didn't mean it."

Oscar doesn't respond immediately. He stares at the closed door of Vesper's room, his expression unreadable. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and raw. "You're right, you know," he says, not looking at me. "This isn't a fairy tale. There's no guarantee of a happy ending."

I feel a twinge of guilt in my chest. "I'm sorry," I say again, the words feeling inadequate but necessary. "I saw her like that, and I panicked. I thought I was helping."

Oscar sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I know," he says softly. "But we can't keep making decisions for her, Z. We have to give her a chance to heal, to find herself again."

The weight of everything we've learned in the past few minutes settles over me like a shroud. Vesper's eggs were harvested without her consent. The threat of her future children being taken. It's almost too much to comprehend. All this time that Oz has been looking for her, she’s been tortured and harvested like a fucking heifer. The thought of what she’s endured creates a coiling snake of rage inside of me. Oz believed, all this fucking time, he believed she was still alive, and I didn’t believe him. The guilt for not saving her that he has been carrying for us all dragging him down farther beneath the depths every day she was still gone.

"What do we do now?" he asks, his voice sounding small and lost.

"We wait," I say finally. "We let her rest. And while she does, we plan.”