Free Sneak Peek of Love and Deceit

Chapter 1

Dan

A toddler’s scream ricocheted off the tiled walls, sharp enough to slice through the heavy hum of the terminal. Behind me, oil hissed in a fryer; the scent of plantains curled through the air before being smothered by engine fumes. My shirt clung to my back, the heat crawling down my spine until a bead of sweat slid between my shoulder blades, slow as syrup.

Fans whirred overhead, their lazy circles stirring nothing but more heat. My collar stuck to my neck. I tugged at it, but the damp stayed.

Gabe’s backpack brushed my arm as he shifted forward in line, his stride loose, careless, as if we weren’t about to carve ourselves out of what little life we had left. He glanced at the departure board, eyes steady, expression unreadable.

The speaker above us crackled a little too cheerfully. Flight 567 now boarding.

“Seriously, Dan,” Gabe said, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You look like someone marched you to the gallows.”

“Not all of us are made of stone,” I muttered. “Some of us still… You know.” I sighed.

It came out sharper than I meant. He didn’t flinch, only gave a low chuckle, shifting his pack higher. He always moved like the world would catch him if he fell.

“The ground’s done worse to us than the sky ever will.”

“Rationally? Sure.” My gaze slipped to the hulking plane idling beyond the glass. “Try telling that to my brain.”

It sat there like a metal predator, enormous, waiting to swallow us whole. My chest tightened; a bitter taste rose at the back of my throat.

I shut my eyes. Counted to five. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
No use.

“Relax,” Gabe murmured, his hand settling on my shoulder, warm through the sweat. “Everything will be fine.”

I didn’t answer. The words were empty shells.

The line shuffled forward. Each step felt like signing something I hadn’t read. My legs moved on their own, numb, reluctant.

The gate attendant took our passes with a smile precise enough to cut glass. “Enjoy your flight, gentlemen.”

I nodded stiffly. Gabe’s nod barely counted.

The jet bridge swallowed us. The air grew heavier, thick with the hum of engines beneath our feet. The narrow walls funneled every sound forward, each step echoing too loudly in the metal throat.

“Last chance to bail,” Gabe said.

“Not helping.”

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Like in therapy.”

I shot him a look. “Therapy didn’t stick.”

Still, I breathed because it gave my hands something to do besides shake.

We reached our seats, middle and window. My fingers fumbled the seatbelt until the buckle clinked into place. Gabe sat like he was boarding a bus, elbow draped over the armrest.

His smirk was gone now. “Hey,” he said, softer. “You’re stronger than you think.”

I didn’t look at him. I just couldn’t. I didn’t want comfort; I wanted to feel angry in peace. I wanted to hurt the past. Fuck I wanted to forget I had lived it!

The plane began to taxi. The rumble beneath us built slowly, like thunder rolling in from far away. I gripped the armrest, breath coming short, shallow.

Gabe’s hand brushed mine, just a touch, warm and steady.

“I’m right here,” he said.

I let his stay on mine.

The plane lifted. That strange, weightless drop twisted my stomach. The city blurred beneath us, shrinking into a patchwork of rooftops and roads. I pressed my forehead to the window, allowing the cold glass to ground me. The engine’s drone filled my ears, constant and steady, but my thoughts refused to stay in the present. They drifted backward. Always backward.

To a house that never felt like home.

A cracked hallway mirror that always seemed to reflect too much. A door that never closed quietly. My father’s voice, rough and drunk, echoing off the walls like a curse.

He used to come home with blood on his hands and excuses ready. A fight at work. A man who “disrespected” him. A stranger who “looked at him wrong.” There was always someone else to blame. Always a story that made him the victim. But the truth was simpler; he went looking for reasons to hurt. He wore rage like a habit, and the world just kept giving him mirrors.

My mother would meet him at the door, voice soft, hands open. She’d try to calm him, distract him, diffuse him. But he didn’t want peace. He wanted control. Wanted obedience.

The plane jolted through a pocket of turbulence. My breath hitched; my hands locked tighter around the armrest.

His voice was still there, rattling inside my skull. The yelling. The crash of a glass bottle. The slap. The last gunshot.

I still remember her face, eyes swollen, lips split, but always, always with that flicker of hope burning behind the bruises. She used to say he’d change. That if we just held on, one day it would all be worth it.

She believed in love like it was religion. And she died for it. Because love doesn’t cure monsters, it feeds them.

I begged her to leave. Screamed at her to stop loving him. But she looked at me like I didn’t understand.

Maybe I didn’t.

The night he killed her, the air in the house was already wrong.

The front door banged open hard enough to rattle the frame. He stumbled in, eyes glassy and the stink of liquor and iron rolling off him.

“Poison,” he slurred. “Witch. Bitch.”

His finger jabbed at my mother like a weapon.

“Stop!” I said, stepping forward before I even realized it.

She tried to laugh, but it cracked halfway through. “You’re tired. Sit down... Let me ease that…”

The punch landed before she finished the sentence. A dull, sick thud. Her head snapped back. She went down hard, and the sound of her body on the floor made my blood boil.

I lunged. Shoved him with both hands, hard enough to knock him down. My palms itched to beat the hell out of him. “Get away from her!”

His eyes locked on mine, bloodshot and wild.

Then his gun came out fast, and before I could catch up with his intentions, the shot thundered through the room, and she jerked once and lay still.

I didn’t even hear my own scream as I launched myself at him. My shoulder slammed into his ribs; we crashed against the wall, his arm with the gun pinned between us.

“Drop it!” My voice tore through my throat. My knee came up, trying to knock the weapon loose.

He grunted, the sour heat of his breath in my face, and drove his elbow into my temple. White sparks burst behind my eyes.

The gun clattered to the floor. I dove for it, but his boot came down hard on my wrist. Pain shot up my arm.

Then his hands were at my throat, squeezing, cutting off air. My nails dug into his skin, scraping for purchase. My lungs burned. My vision tunneled. His spit hit my cheek as he cursed, “bloody asshole!”

I twisted, kicked, but he was too heavy. My strength was bleeding out fast.

And then…

The back door slammed open.
Gabe stormed in, voice a roar, and tore him off me like I weighed nothing. They hit the floor hard, fists and fury, chaos. The lamp went over with a crash, glass splintering, shadows scattering like frightened things across the walls. My father’s curses tangled with Gabe’s shouts until the wail of sirens rose above them, closing in fast.

I survived because Gabe walked in before my father finished.

Red and blue lights strobed through the windows, painting the walls in crime-scene colors.
Because that’s what it was.
It always had been.

“Hey.” Gabe’s voice again, here, not there. “You okay?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”

A lie. The truth was too heavy to haul into the open at thirty thousand feet.

I turned to my laptop, letting its glow spill over my fingers, pretending to focus on files I couldn’t see.

Her voice was louder than the engines now. Take care of each other.Her last words. No vengeance. No demands. Just that.

And maybe that’s what breaks me most, the way she asked for so little, and we still couldn’t give her peace.

Gabe thinks we can outrun it. I think we’re just hauling the wreckage faster, dragging that house behind us everywhere we go. Invisible, but still there.

Outside the window, the clouds broke, sunlight spilling across the sky in pinks and oranges like brushstrokes. It looked peaceful from up here, like the world hadn’t clawed us open and left us bleeding.

Maybe that’s the trick.
Maybe healing is just surviving long enough to pretend.

The sky steadied, the plane cutting through it clean. Gabe closed his eyes beside me. I stayed awake, counting the seconds between the engines’ hum and the heartbeat in my throat.

We were headed somewhere new. Gabe called it rebirth. I called it survival.

Still, for the first time in years, I didn’t look back.

Chapter 2

Dan

Ontario sunlight carved through the oval window in hard gold spears, slicing the cabin floor into bands of molten light. The plane shuddered once, a breath caught midair, then stilled.

“See? Not so bad,” Gabe said, nudging my arm. His tone carried a practiced ease, but the muscle jumping at his jaw gave him away.

I didn’t answer. Just pried my fingers from the armrest, one by one. My knuckles had gone bloodless. I flexed them, feeling the sting rush back, like punishment for surviving the descent.

“Yeah,” I rasped. “Sure.”

The seatbelt sign chimed off. I unlatched mine with fingers that still trembled, pulse beating double-time beneath my skin.

Gabe rose and stretched, vertebrae cracking like punctuation. You’d think he’d just rolled out of sleep, not flown through turbulence with me gripping the armrest like a man on trial.

I stayed seated, letting the new air seep through metal and memory, back home the heat clung like guilt. Here, it flayed.

“Hotel’s booked,” Gabe said. “Try not to overthink it.”

I nodded, the kind of nod that meant fine, whatever keeps the peace. I hauled my bag out and joined the slow exodus toward the jet bridge.

Gabe flowed through the crowd like water finding its own level. I dragged behind him, ghosts snagging at my heels.

The terminal swallowed us whole, a mouthful of sound and glare. Suitcases clattered. Voices collided. The air reeked of pretzels and disinfectant. Every other face flickered half-familiar, cruel tricks of resemblance that left my gut pitching.

At baggage claim, I hovered too near the carousel, hypnotized by its lazy spin. Gabe didn’t wait, just reached in, snagged my duffel, and handed it to me.

“Here.”

Our fingers brushed, a flash of shared history. His knuckles, scarred and scorched, told their stories without asking permission. Mine still burned, freshly guilty.

“You’re quiet,” Gabe said, eyes scanning me like a doctor checking vitals.

“Long flight,” I muttered, though that wasn’t the reason.

He snorted. “It was barely three hours.”

I didn’t bite. Silence has always been my safer weapon.

“Ready to explore Ontario?” Gabe’s grin tried to make it sound like a vacation, but the word exile sat heavier between us.

I reached for my flask, an old reflex. The cap clicked like a confession. Gabe noticed. Didn’t comment. Just filed it away in that quiet ledger of his.

I took a long swallow. Whiskey struck like fire on dry wood, fast, bright and unforgiving. For one heartbeat, it was the only thing I felt.

I offered it to him. A peace offering, or maybe a dare.

He shook his head. “No.”

I took another swig anyway. Let it burn for both of us. “Suit yourself.” The burn steadied me better than his reassurance ever could.

We were halfway to the curb when she appeared, like a misstep in time.

Something in her movement snagged my eye. Wrong rhythm. Wrong weight.

A woman in a silk skirt and floral blouse swayed ahead, her steps unraveling. Each heel strike faltered, her body leaning left as though gravity had singled her out.

“Hey,” I murmured. Gabe followed my line of sight.

Then she folded, one heel buckling, her whole frame collapsing like a marionette suddenly unlaced.

Instinct beat thought to the punch. I lunged, too late to plan it. It wasn’t pretty, my shoulder hit her ribs, our weight crashing down in a blur of limbs and sound. My knees screamed. I twisted, shielding her skull from the floor.

“Shit,” Gabe hissed, grabbing my shoulder a breath too late.

She was soft, heavier than she looked, her body yielding against mine like she’d fallen straight into sleep. Her scent, crushed flowers, musk, a thread of something sharp and expensive, folded over me, a déjà vu I couldn’t name.

A soft sound left her lips. Then nothing. Stillness. The crowd circled like vultures, phones raised, mercy absent.

Gabe was already at the curb, barking orders. “Come on, get her up!”

I hooked my arms beneath hers, gritting my teeth as I lifted. Her head fell against my shoulder, her hair damp, silk against my jaw. Her skin burned through her blouse.

“Hospital,” Gabe barked. The driver swore in Spanish but floored it.

Gabe swung the door open before it fully stopped, and I slid out, still cradling her in my arms. My legs burned from the abrupt lift, but I didn’t care.

Two nurses appeared instantly, stretcher in tow, moving with calm precision that made my own hands feel clumsy. I lowered her gently onto it, lingering just long enough to memorize the curve of her shoulder, the tilt of her head, the faint tremor in her fingers.

“She’s breathing, but shallow,” I murmured to no one in particular, pressing my palm lightly to her wrist.

“Thank you,” one nurse said, eyes soft but unreadable. “We’ll take it from here. Please wait at reception.”

I stepped back, swallowing a dry, sharp knot in my throat. Gabe’s eyes met mine, and in that look I saw all the tension we hadn’t voiced. The flight, the panic, the city, the unknown.

We moved through the hospital’s automatic doors like ghosts. Fluorescent lights buzzed, echoing down the corridors. Every step felt amplified, every click of my shoes on tile like the percussion of a heart under siege.

At the reception, the chairs were cold, hard. Gabe sank into one, jaw tight, hands flexing like he was wrestling something inside. I sat beside him, but my body refused to still, refused to let go of the memory of her limp weight against me.

“Jesus,” Gabe whispered, more to himself than to me. His gaze didn’t leave the floor.

“I can still feel her,” I admitted. My fingers twitched against my knees, phantom pressure where her head had rested.

Gabe didn’t answer. The silence was thick, charged, a tether between us that neither of us wanted to sever.

Minutes stretched until the doctor appeared, moving toward us with measured steps, clipboard in hand.

“Are you the ones who brought in the young woman?” he asked, his tone calm but precise.

“Yes,” we said together, automatic, rehearsed.

“She’ll be fine. Dehydration, most likely. We’ll run a few tests.” He hesitated, eyes flicking between us. “Her family…owns the place. You don’t need to worry about billing.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

I exhaled slowly. Relief rippled through me, but it didn’t settle. It hovered, a fragile shadow I couldn’t quite grasp.

“Can we see her?” I asked, voice tighter than I intended.

The doctor hesitated, then gestured for us to follow.

The room was cold, artificially so. Machines blinked with slow, deliberate rhythm. Light slanted through blinds, casting bars across her pale skin. She lay there, still as marble, hair spilling across the pillow like ink in water.

I stopped at the foot of her bed, heart thudding so loud I feared she might wake just from it.

Gabe leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, silent. “You gonna hold her hand too?” he asked quietly.

I met his gaze, sharp, exhausted. “We did what we could,” he said, almost too quickly.

“Yeah,” I whispered, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.

I stepped closer, drawn in spite of reason. But it wasn’t her I saw. Not really.

It was our mother.

That night, replaying in unbearable clarity, hair splayed across the living room floor, blood spreading like a dark halo. My lungs locked. My ribs clenched against memories that refused to soften.

“Gabe,” I murmured, almost swallowed by the quiet. “Where were you that night?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes roamed the shadows, the blinds, anything but mine.

“Don’t,” he said finally. Quiet. Dangerous.

“I need to know.”

His fists clenched. “It’s over, Dan.”

“She’s not gone. Not here.” I tapped my temple. “I see her. Every time I blink.”

His eyes blazed, stepping closer. “You think I don’t? You think I fucking don’t?”

The space between us collapsed under silence so heavy it cut like glass.

He turned, shoulders sagging. Breath shallow.

A faint rustle from the bed made us both freeze.

She stirred. Eyelashes fluttered, a soft sigh escaping.

Then stillness again.

My chest tightened. My hands shook.

I didn’t know her name.

But I needed her to open her eyes.

And I had no idea why.

Chapter 3

Eskah

I heard them before I saw them, low voices threading through the hush of the hospital room. The blinds creaked faintly in the stale air. One voice was raw, fraying at the edges: “I need to know.”
Another, clipped and hard as glass: “Don’t.”

Light bled through my lashes as I surfaced. The ceiling blurred into focus. My mouth tasted like metal and regret. And then, there they were. Two men. Identical, and disarmingly beautiful. Standing at the foot of my bed like they weren’t sure if I’d shatter or explode.

The bigger one lingered near the wall, arms crossed tight, shoulders like armor. His jaw looked carved, hazel eyes unreadable. He carried silence the way some men carried weapons. The other stood closer. Not soft, just composed. Still. His gaze caught mine and didn’t move, even when I saw the sheen of tears he refused to let fall.

Neither spoke. They just looked.

My throat burned as I swallowed. The IV tugged at my arm like a leash. “...Water,” I rasped.

The closer one moved instantly. No hesitation. He handed me a glass from the tray beside the bed, his fingers brushing mine.

I drank too fast and coughed, lungs spasming with the effort. The sound scraped against the sterile quiet. The bigger one didn’t flinch.

I wiped my mouth, tilting my wrist just enough for the gold bracelet to catch the light. A habit. A signal. Never look weak.

“Hi,” I croaked finally. “Didn’t realize I was such a spectacle.”

The calm one let out a breath that wanted to be a laugh but cracked in the middle. The other said nothing, just stared.

The door opened. A nurse swept in, brisk and unfazed. She checked my IV, the machines, and the chart. “Vitals are stable, Miss Lockhart.”

“Delightful,” I said, voice dry as dust.

She smiled the polite kind of smile people wear when they’re paid to. Scribbled something. Left. Silence reclaimed the room.

Finally, the calm one cleared his throat. “You really scared us,” he said softly.

Us.
My gaze flicked to the bigger one. His expression didn’t change, but his jaw tightened.

“I see,” I murmured. My lips tasted faintly of ash. “Who are you?”

They hesitated. Then the calm one spoke. “Dan.” A nod. “That’s Gabe.”

Gabe’s eyes never left me. Cold. Steady and Watching.

“Hmm.” I let the sound linger like perfume. Dan and Gabe. Even their names carried symmetry, sharp, simple, biblical.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” I asked.

Dan blinked. “Uh. No.”

I smiled, slow, deliberate. “Didn’t think so. hotel?”

Dan shifted, glanced down. Gabe’s voice rumbled, low and warning.

“Yeah. We have a hotel booked.”

Bingo.

My gaze slid over them, cataloguing. They’d photograph well against marble arches. One calm, one dangerous. Distinct enough to intrigue, similar enough to sell the illusion.

“A hotel,” I repeated, my tone smoothing like honey over glass. “You carry me in here like knights from a Greek tragedy, and now you want to hide in a two-star dive off the freeway?”

I ignored him. Focused on Dan, the hinge and the opening.

“My estate has six empty rooms. Private baths. Clean sheets. You wouldn’t even have to see me.” I softened the edge of my voice, let it ache with practiced vulnerability. “Please. Let me make it worth your while.”

Dan’s gaze slid to Gabe. Gabe’s eyes stayed hard, but Dan exhaled, steady. “It’s generous,” he said finally. “Really. Thank you.”

Gabe’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue.

And just like that, warmth unfurled in my chest. Victory. Not because I cared, but because image was everything. They’d look perfect in photos, silhouettes behind me. A comeback story. A tragedy survived. Two beautiful men orbiting my wreckage? Pity was dull. This was curated.

The door opened again. The doctor entered, clipboard clutched too tightly, pretending he hadn’t been eavesdropping.
“Miss Lockhart,” he said. “Good to see you awake.”

Dan and Gabe straightened.
“We’ll let you talk,” Dan murmured. “We’ll be outside.”

Gabe gave me one last, unreadable nod. Then they were gone. The door clicked shut. The doctor hesitated, extending the clipboard. “Your discharge papers. Sign here.”

I scrawled something legible enough. He didn’t move.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” he said quietly. “About… the overdose.”

I lifted my eyes, letting the silence do the work. “Good,” I said. “That would’ve been messy.”

He swallowed. “Miss Lockhart, you’re young. Beautiful. You don’t need…”

“Spare me.” I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t need to.

He flinched, color rising. I set the pen down with a deliberate clink. “Your job’s done.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll… leave you to change.”

“Do.”

He hesitated at the door. My phone buzzed. I lifted it from the tray. “Close it behind you,” I said without looking up. The door clicked shut.

I answered on the second ring. “Well, well. Look who’s alive.” Natalie Cruz, the only friend worth a damn.

“Barely,” I said.

“Heard you made a scene at the airport.”

I rolled my eyes. “News travels fast.”

“Need anything for the weekend? Got a new batch, pure as your father’s stocks.”

My fingers twitched. My chest cinched. The memory cut through like glass: sneaking out of my office, heels echoing on marble, heart pounding like a war drum. I hadn’t told my guard. I’d needed Natalie. I never made it to her.

The pressure had been eating through my skull, too many meetings, too many eyes, too much silence from my father unless communication came sharpened with disapproval.

I was Managing Director of the entire goddamn airport. Every press release, every handshake, every expansion plan traced back to me, and none of it mattered to him.Not unless the numbers dipped. Not unless I failed.

“Not this weekend,” I said quietly.

A pause. Then Natalie’s voice turned sly. “Oh? Company?”

I smiled, slow and dark. “The brothers.”

“Ooh. The knights.”

“One’s calm. Solid. The other’s all ice and fury. They’re identical, but you wouldn’t mistake them twice.”

Natalie snorted. “Which one are you gonna ruin first?”

My voice dropped to a whisper. “The snobbish one.”

A beat of silence. Then: “You tell Daddy dearest you’re hosting strays?”

I laughed, cold, sharp. “My parents wouldn’t notice if I hosted Satan himself, as long as the quarterly report stays green.”

“Jesus, that’s bleak, even for you.”

“Cover for me if anyone asks.”

“Always do, babe. Try not to die in front of them this time, yeah?”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, psycho.”