Page 100 of Awakening the Beast
I can’t speak. Every word I had planned to say has dissolved into the panic I feel, the fear of destroying his world and mentality with the truth. I’m trembling so badly, I feel like I might fall apart in his arms.
“Baby, you’re fucking shaking…” his grip tightens around me as if he can hold me together through the tremors.
I can’t bring myself to let go. I cling to him as if releasing him would somehow make the situation worse. Slowly, Arlo walks me backward, crouching over to keep me wrapped in his arms. When we reach the couch, he lifts me, his hands firm around the back of my thighs as he sits down on the edge, perching me on his lap, but I keep my soaked face buried in his shoulder.
“Wren, let me see you,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing through my hair.
I pull back just enough to let him see me, but I keep my eyes low. His examine my features, taking in the bruise on my cheek and cuts on my lips. He tilts my head back gently with his fingers on my jaw, looking at the marks on my neck, then a protective growl rumbles in his chest, his anger mounting, but what he is feeling now, isn’t even the tip of the iceberg.
“We need to talk,” I whisper, and he pauses, trying to catch my eyes but I avoid the collision of our gazes.
“Where’s the kids?” he asks and that finally makes my look at him.
“Safe.” I say with a sniffle.
His brows pinch, ready to say something again, but I cut him off.
“I’ve found out everything, Arlo. I just need you to confirm it by facing it and then we can go from there.”
He looks at me puzzled, his eyes momentarily finally meeting Jaspers, and I shift my body, turning and leaning over to get the document. I clutch it and then offer it to him.
“I found a key a few days ago,” I confess. “In your mom’s office. Hidden.”
His face is a picture of confusion, and I climb off him, taking the seat beside him so he can go through the papers.
“My mom tracked down what it was for,” I begin, and Arlo's eyes snap to mine, a brow arched, but I continue. “It was for a secure locker on the outskirts of New York. Inside, there was this paperwork and a USB stick.”
Arlo’s gaze drops to the contract, his fingers flicking it open. His eyes scan the contents with a focused intensity. I watch him, biting my bottom lip despite the pain it causes. When he finally finishes, he slams the paperwork down on the coffee table with a frustrated huff, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
“Wren, what the fuck is this?” he demands, then stands quickly, causing both me and Jasper to rise at the same time.
Arlo paces back and forth, his movements agitated. I fidget with my fingers, feeling the pressure of his growing anger.
“Carmella isn’t your real mom, Arlo,” I finally say.
The impact of my words is immediate. Arlo halts mid-stride, his body rigid as he stares ahead, processing what I’ve just said.
“Jasper is your twin,” I murmur, almost afraid of his reaction.
His head whips around, eyes wide as he locks onto Jasper. I take a cautious step back as Arlo’s massive frame strides past me, purposefully toward Jasper, locked in and focused.
When he stops close in front of him, Jasper meets him head on with a steady expression, lifting his chin slightly in silent challenge. Arlo’s gaze scrutinizes Jasper’s face, searching for something hidden. He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing.
My eyes flicker between them, taking in their features—the same color and texture of hair, yet different styles, similar height, and build, though Jasper is slightly slimmer. The tattoos on their bodies seem to mirror one another, except Jaspers have colour, whereas Arlo’s are gray and dark. The only thing that is the total opposite are their eye color and subtle differences in their noses. And of course, there personalities and demeanours are completely different.
“I look nothing like this ugly motherfucker,” Arlo bites out, but Jasper simply grins at his brother.
Arlo’s jaw tenses and he spins around, his eyes flashing with rage as he throws his hands up.
“What the fuck is this?!” he shouts angrily and my body tenses although he wasn’t really aiming it at me.
“He’s your…” I say, but he snaps.
“I fucking heard you. But it’s not fucking true, Wren!”
He looks over at Jasper, enraged. “Is this about your batshit crazy mother again?” he demands sharply.
I shake my head, stepping closer to him. “No, it's yours. Carmella.” I pause, feeling the weight of the truth I’m about to deliver. “I'm sorry, baby, but it’s worse than you can imagine.”
