Cellar Door (33 page)

I step inside the place that has become familiar to both of us now. No longer do I visit my brother alone; Madonna and I have become regulars here. As if reading my thoughts, she looks up at me with those twinkling, cobalt blue eyes that drew me in the first time I saw her.

“It’s okay. I know you never counted on him bonding with me.”

“He doesn’t bond, Madonna,” I say, shaking my head.

“In his own way, he does.”

“You’d be wise not to underestimate him.”

“I’m not, I’m not. But you have to admit, my writing is better because of him.”

“Your writing is better because you walked through fire and made it out alive.”

After opening the lobby door for her, I place my palm on her lower back to guide her toward the registration desk. I do a double-take when the receptionist actually smiles at us. Normally she just eyes us while she continues typing – weird. After this many months, I guess she no longer sees us as a threat—if only she knew…

“Good afternoon, Karen,” Madonna says warmly.

Karen’s fingers never stop flying across the keyboard as she looks up at us and replies, “Always good to see the two of you and I know your brother enjoys the visits.”

“It’s always good to see you, too, especially when that beautiful smile lights up your face.”

“You’re such a flirt, doctor,” she says as she shakes her head. “Now, off with you both. You know where he is.”

We follow a guard down the hall and as usual, I take a deep breath before I enter the room where my twin brother is waiting. My brother is still not an easy man to deal with. Fucking with me remains his favorite pastime. The love/hate relationship we’ve cultivated in recent years continues on unabated.

For the first time, I sit down at the metal table rather than leaning against the wall. Brother or not, I’m aware of how dangerous the man seated across the table can be. Looking at him really is like looking in a mirror, in more ways than one.

“Well, well, if it’s not my two favorite people in the world,” he purrs seductively as he eyes
my
woman.

“Hmm, how long will that sentiment last, Lance?” My voice drips with sarcasm. We both know he only expresses how he feels when it’s in his best interests. Nothing is ever as it seems with my brother.

He ignores me and directs his attention toward Madonna. He flips the hard bound copy of her latest book open and, clearing his throat dramatically, with a sly, sidelong look in my direction, reads the dedication aloud:

“For Lance. You saved my life and made me a better writer for all the readers I adore. May you always be the free bird I’ve come to know...

“I’m flattered. I never anticipated becoming a true celebrity. To have my name in a New York Times bestselling book. Well, let’s just say I’m humbled.”

You’re never humbled, you snake in the grass.
Though I don’t say a word, I narrow my eyes at him to remind him that I know he’s full of shit.

Madonna chuckles good-naturedly, “So what are you saying? I’ve made you famous?”

“Absolutely. I made myself a household name all by myself, but you’ve definitely given me the cool factor around here. The other patients are impressed and maybe even a little jealous that I have a book dedicated to me.”

“Well, I meant every word.”

“Do you?” he asks benignly and Madonna nods in reply. I flinch as he leans in toward her with the glint in his eyes that always means he’s up to something, the little fucker.

“Well,” he whispers conspiratorially at her, “how would you like to have a silent partner?”

I can’t hide the irritation in my growl. “What the fuck are you talking about, Lance?”

“Well, I have so many stories to tell, you see. Some of them are real, some just take place in my head. In here,” he says excitedly as he taps his fingertip against his temple.

“Damn it, Lance,” I growl. “Are you ever going to lose your need to kill? What, if you can’t do it, you want to fantasize about it?”

He raises his palms in mock surrender, causing his chains to make a jarring, clanking noise.

“Down, killah…I intend to let your lady tell my stories. What do you think, sweetheart?” he asks cockily.

“Lance, you know I stopped ghostwriting back before…everything happened. I’m sorry…” she says softly.

“No, no, no,” he admonishes her, “this will be all you. Consider me a consultant of sorts. I’ll spin tales, which may or may not be true – that’s the fun part – and you do whatever you want with them. I promise you, you’ll have more bestsellers than you’ll know what to do with. I have my own fans you know. They know all about my…skills, but with me locked up in here, I can’t very well expand my repertoire. This is the perfect way to sate their curiosity but keep them interested. And you will write the books and reap the rewards.”

“Oh, I’d want to split royalties with you, Lance.”

“Please, what am I going to do with money? Buy a lifetime supply of gum in the commissary? No, I just want…” he trails off, frowning.

“…to stay relevant?” Madonna finishes for him.

“Yes, exactly. So…are you interested?”

Her face becomes practically luminous, a sure sign that he’s piqued her interest.
Well, shit
.

“Lance, you’re such a tease. How could I ever resist you?”

A slow smile spreads over his face at the innocent question. He shoots me a smug glance, then gives her his undivided attention as he drawls, “But you see, that’s the beauty of it. You can’t.”

For more of Liam and Lance’s story check out Urban Renewal available on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Urban-Renewal-Elite-Book-ebook/dp/B01BXB9LEK