“Paul killed our father, Ofori.”
She’d struck a chord, its vibration strumming through him until it finally snapped. Her brother looked at her with utter disdain. “That name is dead to me. Same as you are.”
74
AFTER
Ofori shoved Nena hard, causing her to stumble. She caught herself and turned to face him.
“Paul killed our brothers. Razed our village to the ground. He beheaded Papa.”
She searched his eyes for recognition. She thought for a moment she had broken through when he stopped, becoming serene and unreadable.
Ofori was looking down at the portion of the floor covered in oriental carpeting. He looked back at the space Paul had just vacated at the top of the stairs.
After a moment, he looked away. “I don’t give a fuck what he did to Papa or the lot of you.” When he fixed his eyes back on Nena, she saw nothing but a black hate-filled void.
Same old selfish Ofori. Anger loosened her tongue. “Paul betrayed Papa, who he called brother. Imagine what he’ll do to you when he betrays you,” she said. “Because it’s me he’s always wanted. You were merely his consolation prize.”
His face twisted into a rage, and he roared for her to shut up. He kept repeating those words—“Shut up”—spittle flying from his mouth. It was as if all the pain of his years fighting for acceptance, his feelings of inadequacy, real or imagined, culminated in this one moment. The trapped sound he made was like that of a wounded animal. Reflexively, Nena increased the space between them.
He squeezed his eyes shut, lips forming a rigid line. He stilled, a stillness that was almost preternatural. She hadn’t meant to anger him. She had only wanted to shock him into sensibility, but when he opened his eyes, Nena knew his decision.
“There can only be one of us, little sister.” The chill in his voice sent all her danger sensors into hyperdrive.
“Only one,” he repeated, his head bent as his eyes bored into her.
Nena let her shoulders slump, resigned to what was about to happen. She stared at Ofori, who was so much a blend of their parents. She refused to believe he could be anything but her brother.
“You are the only brother I have left,” she said, trying to lull him enough to get close. She decided she’d only incapacitate him until she took out Paul. Then Mum and Dad would know how to help Ofori. Despite all he’d done, shooting Cort and kidnapping Georgia, he was as much a victim as she.
Her brother was a leopard, muscles coiled, eyes black as night, pupils dilated.
She took a step toward him. Closer. Maybe some doctor could help him.
Softly, she said, “You are Ofori.”
She ducked when he hurled a nearby vase at her head. It sailed a hair above her before smashing against the wall.
“My. Name. Is. Fucking. Oliver!”
She put her hands up in appeasement.
“You were supposed to be dead, Aninyeh. All these years . . .” He choked back a sob, trailing off. “Why aren’t you dead?”
He looked at her with such malice and hatred. What had she ever really done to him but survive?
Could either of them ever be well after what they had suffered at the hands of Paul?
“Ofori—”
He leaped and was on her, taking her by such surprise her reaction was delayed. She took the full brunt of the jab he launched at her side. She stumbled backward as pain flared through her. She touched the area, her hand coming away red with her blood. She stared at her brother, his legs now splayed in a fighting stance. In his left hand was the knife he’d used to cut her.
We’re more alike than we realize. It was funny because she and her brother had both developed an affinity for knives. And shattering because just when the Asym children had reunited, one of them might have to die at the hands of the other.
75
AFTER
He charged her again, his blade pointed at her. She pushed the pain away, wiping her blood on her jeans. She crouched, deflecting the one-two, jab-swipe combination he came at her with. She parried a thrust with an upper push to his chin, driving his head and the rest of him away from her.
She used her arm to shove the hand with the knife out so she could grab it with her other and twist his hand back. He grunted, and the knife dropped, skittering across the floor well beyond either of their reach. They continued to face off, him launching attacks at various parts of her body and her matching with defensive blocks and kicks. She didn’t want him dead. She wanted him saved.
She landed a couple of punches to his abdomen. Her leg spun out, swiping his from beneath him. He fell hard, grabbing her ankle and bringing her down with him. Her knee took the impact, and she felt the crack of bone as pain ripped through her body.