#23

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TWENTY-THREE

'The truth is rarely pure and never simple.' - Oscar Wilde

Something uncontrollable happens the moment Luke's face shows on the screen before it goes black. An astonished noise emits from James and he takes a long step back from the screen, almost tripping over his own feet and furiously shaking his head in disbelief.

We all watch as the Australian prince backs into the table, catching himself on the edge before he stumbles just as the director of the secret service walks in.

"You better have an explanation for what I have just seen on there," James pounds up to the director's face spitting each word like ash in his mouth. Adam and Henry try to pull James from the director but James kicks back and frees himself, slamming his hand down onto the glass table and making us all jump.

"You're sick, all of you. What the fuck was that?" he fires accusingly.

"Your Highness," the director speaks for the first time as I grab onto James' forearm.

"I would advise you to choose your next words very carefully," James warns, his eyes daring the director of the secret service – a man seven feet tall with years of training and specialised skills to say what we are learning to be true. I have not once seen James look so terrifying. The man in front of him could take him down in one blow but at that moment James was a volcano that had laid dormant for years and he was seconds away from exploding. And the director – a man no doubt adept at torture with surprisingly soft eyes says, "your brother is alive."

The laugh that erupts from James is cruel and twisted and he turns to me and if it wasn't for the tears that were pooling in his eyes, I would recoil at the sight of him.

"Don't believe a word they say. He's not alive, I would know. I would know."

"James," my heart lurches for him and I try to catch his forearm once more but he shrugs my touch off.

"They have doctored the tape or something, Eva," he whirls around to Julia, Henry and Adam. "This is a cruel joke, right? You're doing this to scare us into submission or something—"

"Mate," Henry begins but James steps back and glances at the screen.

"It's all one sick joke, right?" he thunders. "Right?"

His eyes are wild and Derek, the director, runs one hand down his tie, smoothing it out before he speaks.

"I cannot imagine what you must be feeling right now, Your Highness. But, please come with me so I can further explain."

"I am going nowhere with you," James spits, flinching like the thought repulses him.

"James," Henry tries again to comfort his friend but James stares at his head of security like he's just grown two heads.

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeats, each word dripping with venom.

"You always were the stubborn one,"

My entire body turns to ice as the glass door swings open, the sound of wheels on the harsh flooring enters first before the voice speaks. I swivel around at the same time James sucks in a sharp breath and my hand flies to my mouth as the gasp pours from my body.

My eyes latch onto the man in the wheelchair in the doorway of the secret service headquarters. I almost don't recognise him at first, with his buzz cut and a scar tracing the length of the left-hand side of his face, his skin tainted with burns. But that voice. That voice has haunted my dreams for a year and a half and has made me cry most nights in fear of not remembering it.

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