005: Massive guilt punch

~~PEYTON~~

I remember him snatching it from my thigh like it was a trophy. And a drunken me didn't even bother. I was too engrossed in the sensations—the way his fingers traced my thigh—to care.

"I can't believe I'm thinking about that right now," I mutter. My body feels like a sack of cement; each limb takes a monumental effort to lift. The thought of coffee is the only thing propelling me forward.

I fumble for the coffee maker, my hands shaking as I load the grounds. The smell of fresh coffee brewing is a beacon of hope in the foggy mess that is my brain. While it drips, I stare at my reflection in the polished surface of the microwave. My hair is a tangled mess, my eyes are bloodshot, and there is a faint smear of something dark on my cheek. I look like a refugee from a bad zombie movie. The thought of Odin seeing me like this, even for a split second, makes my stomach churn. I feel I'm no better than him, and it disgusts me.

Finally, the coffee is ready. I pour a mug, and just as I'm about to take a sip, the doorbell rings. I freeze. Odin? He'd better not push my buttons. I saunter to the door, fling it open, and my jaw drops at the sight of a six-foot-five-tall man standing in the doorway, filling it completely.

Those amber eyes are familiar. That jawline and small lips... The mysterious bastard-slash-brother-in-law is here.

"You." I poke my finger at him.

He frowns, but I don't let him speak. I grab his collar, a firm but gentle hold. I don't care how close we are right now; heck, he's already ravished me, so what's the need for space?

"You knew, yet you fucked me. How could you—"

"Uh." His frown deepens, but I don't stop.

"Be so... so deceitful? So utterly shameless?"

He tilts his head, and I notice how confused he looks. His eyes narrow, yet I don't buy it.

"Why did you keep my panties? To frame me? Or what—"

I'm cut off by a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. It starts small, but then it builds—a deep, mocking laugh that makes my blood run cold. It's the same laugh I vaguely remember from the club, but no, this one sounds different.

He meets my gaze. "Are you sure you have the right person, kitty? 'Cause that sounds exactly like my brother Axel."

My world tilts. Axel. Odin's other brother. The one I met at the wedding—a fleeting handshake, a polite smile, nothing more. Or was it this one I met at the wedding?

My grip on his collar goes slack, my hand dropping as if it were burned. The image of the man from last night flashes, then superimposes with the face in front of me now. No. They are identical, but different. The eyes are similar, but the lips, the smirk... it wasn't him. It was Axel.

A fresh wave of nausea hits me, stronger than before. This is worse. So much worse. Not only have I cheated, but I've cheated with Odin's younger brother. And I just accused the wrong twin. And he damn well knows about my little secret.

"What?" The word is a pathetic squeak, barely audible over the sudden roaring in my ears. My eyes dart from his face down to my bare thighs, then back up to his gaze, which now seems to hold a flicker of something new—pity? Amusement? Disappointment?

"I... I..." My tongue feels cotton-dry. All the righteous anger that had propelled me moments ago drains out.

My cheeks flush hot. God, I want to melt into the floorboards and never resurface.

He steps fully into the room, surveying me, then the discarded fur coat, the coffee mug on the counter.

"Rough night, huh?" he asks, his voice softer now. "Looks like you could use that coffee more than a confrontation with the wrong twin. Where's Odin?"

Is he dismissing the issue? Just like that?

"Where's Odin?" he asks again, and I blink rapidly, getting myself together.

"He's, um... he's not here... he's at the office."

"No, he's not. I just got back from there," he says, shrugging and slumping on the couch.

Silence falls, and I'm still standing at the doorway, my eyes fixed on him as if waiting for something to explode. The sheer audacity of him just sitting there, calm as a cucumber, while I'm thinking about how I can claw my way out of this fresh hell. So break the silence.

"I'm sorry about all that," I say, and he finally glances my way.

"Oh, that? About your panties." He waves dismissively.

"I'm used to it. I always take the blame for every shit he does."

"Oh..." I mouth. Just as I'm about to say something else, he cuts me off, knitting his brow.

"I really don't want to know the details."

I swallow, looking away. "Um... okay... is there anything else you want?"

"Your husband and him only." He presses. "And I'm not leaving without him."

"Alright," I say, still awkwardly. "You'd better get comfortable; he won't be back till the evening." With a new fling, maybe a blonde, since his taste has changed these past few days.

He now faces me, legs crossed, rubbing his chin, eyes narrowed as if he's trying to figure something out.

"I'm a bit in a hurry, so how about you call him and tell him your kitchen burned down?"

"What?" I stare at him, dumbfounded, but he continues muttering to himself.

"Or something like an accident—you fell down the stairs."

"Hey..."

"Broke your leg."

"Hey." My voice rises, but he doesn't stop.

"Alright, we are going with your kitchen burning down." He shoots up from the couch. "Where are your matches? A lighter, perhaps?"

My eyes widen. "Are you crazy?"

"Oh, you're about to see how crazy I can get if your husband doesn't come to me right now," he says calmly.

Was he serious? Burn down the kitchen? Just to get his brother here? This man is as wild and unpredictable as Odin, maybe even more so. My head throbs, not just from the hangover, but from the sheer absurdity of it all. What am I supposed to do now? Call Odin and lie about a house fire, while his younger brother sits comfortably on my couch, waiting?

"What do you even want with him?" I ask.

"He owes me fifty million. No, scratch that, he doesn't owe it; he stole it!" His voice is sharper now as he gestures to my phone lying on the couch. "Call him. Or I'll indeed burn down your kitchen."