Dishonorable

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Just that she’s young. Sixteen, right?”

“So first you accuse me of being—what was the word you used? Cozy? Yes, cozy with Sofia, and now it’s something else with her sister?”

I grinned. “I thought you’d be better at masking your emotions by now, brother.”

“Fuck you, Raphael.”

“What is happening to the clergy these days?” I said, walking into the house and toward the kitchen, stopping at the door. “Are you coming? You wanted to work on the chapel. I mean, it’s why you’re here, right? There’s no other reason.”

Damon’s face grew red, and he fisted his hands at his sides. But he kept his mouth shut. We grabbed some bottles of water, left through the back door, and headed to the chapel. We walked over a mile in silence. I didn’t care. Didn’t give a single fuck. I’d hit a nerve, which with my twin was almost impossible to do.

Damon and I worked in silence for the first few hours, and the more time that passed, the more I thought about how he’d taken my comment. About how if there were some truth behind it, it would have heavy consequences for my brother.

I glanced over at him. He’d taken off his shirt and was lifting broken blocks of stone to carry outside.

“Damon,” I said, wiping my forehead with my discarded shirt. “It’s hot. We should take a break.”

“You go if you need to. I need to keep working.”

“Why? It’s been sitting like this for years. Now you’re in a rush?”

“I just need to work, Raphael. Go back to the house. I don’t need you here.”

He didn’t look at me once while he worked. I leaned against the wall and drank from my bottle of water, which was warm by now.

“Tell me what happened,” I said.

He stopped, his back tensing either from my question or the weight of the stone he carried.

“Nothing,” he said with a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He walked out of the church, and I heard the stone crash against the pile we’d already made.

I chuckled. For all his talk, my brother needed help being honest with himself.

“Well, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, how can it be nothing?” I asked when he returned, taking another sip of water. “Warm as piss.”

He stopped, his eyes darkening. “You’re in a church. Watch your mouth.”

I held up both hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t know you cared that much, considering.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked, suddenly in my face.

“Whoa, brother. Who’s got to watch his mouth now?”

“If you’re trying to goad me into a fight—”

“I’m just asking you a question,” I said, leaning into his space. We were equal in height and similar in build. I hadn’t fought him since he was a kid. I would if had to. Hell, maybe it’d feel good.

“Well, don’t.”

“You’re my brother. I’m just watching out for you.”

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t need watching. And I never asked you to protect me. Not once. You just did it. You took it.”

“What the fuck are you talking—”

He swung his fist so fast, I almost didn’t see it coming. But prison had perfected my fighting skills. I caught his arm, stopping the collision with my face.

“I said watch your mouth. You’re in a holy place!”

“Does a holy man have any business looking at a sixteen-year-old girl?”

Damon’s hand closed around my throat, and he shoved me hard against the church wall. I chuckled. “Where’d you learn that move? They teach you to fight in that seminary?”

“Stop.”

“What, Damon? Am I getting under your skin?”

“I saw your fingerprints around Sofia’s throat, brother.”

My mouth turned into a hard line, and this time, it was Damon who grinned.

“What is she, half your size? Learn that from dad after all?”

My breathing came tight, my chest heaving with each breath. I guess he knew how to get under my skin too.

“What’s the matter? Too much truth for you?” he asked.

Fuck. He sounded like me. Exactly like me.

I shoved his arm off me and knocked my fist into his jaw. Damon stumbled backward, almost tripping into a pew, but righted himself fast and came at me, arm raised to strike me back.

“Yeah, that’s better. Hit me. I can take it, and I can give it back. You don’t fucking hit someone half your fucking size,” he said, his fist colliding with the side of my face.

I shoved him backward, this time smashing him into the wall and grabbing him by the throat. “I don’t fucking hit her. I’ve never fucking hit her. I would never—”

“And those bruises, did she put them there herself?”

I drew my arm back again, so angry, so fucking angry all I saw was red. Damon’s eyes moved over my shoulder. I hadn’t even heard her come, but all of a sudden, Sofia’s hands wrapped around my arm, and she used all her weight to keep me from knocking Damon out.