The Red Evening

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Half-brother, but brother nonetheless," he clarified.

I stared at him in disbelief and placed my hand over my stomach that kept turning into knots. I flared my nose and as my patience was running low, my temper grow stronger. Rage boiled my blood and without a second though, I threw my hand forward as hard as I could, whipping it across his face.

"I'm fucking over you and your sick jokes," I spat.

He inhaled in anger as he touched his red cheek. Stinging vibrations were transmitted throughout my palm and to my fingers. I stared down at the redness and back at him.

"I wish it was a sick joke," he seethed.

"How would you even know if you were my brother?" I ran my hands through my hair and shook my head in bewilderment. "My mom only had me, and my dad... my dad..." I stared at Art with growing eyes. "We both know nothing about our dads. This has to be a joke."

"I just found out, Morena."

"From who?" I questioned.

"The man himself."

"My dad is in France."

"No, he's here."

"No, he's not," I denied.

"He is here," he emphasized.

I stepped back to analyze him. I looked for any small sign of a lie: crooked smile, nervous tapping, maybe even sweat. There was nothing. The realization that he could possibly be telling the truth started to sink in.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, baffled. "We could've gone our seperate paths. I could've lived my obvious and ignorant life and you live yours knowing you had a sister you'd never see again."

"You're horrifically selfish, Morena... but I told you because I needed to say it out loud. It's the only way I'd get over you."

I raised an accusatory eyebrow. "Yeah, I'm the selfish one," I murmured.

"I guess we are more alike than we thought."

"So, who's the guy?" I asked, impatiently tapping my foot. "Might as well ruin my whole night."

"I already told you. He's here."

I flailed my arms in desperation. "You said that already! Do you know fucking big the city is? Do you not understand my patience is running thin with you?" I yelled angrily.

"He's here! He's in the restaurant."

"What? Jean, the pastry chef?" I tossed out.

"No, petite chou," he gibed as he nonchalantly walked towards the back door.

"Motherfucker!" I yelled as I charged past him. I bursted through the doors that led to the lounge and caught Elijah looking towards my direction. I gazed at him with hurtful eyes, he stood up but I motioned him to sit back door.

I tore our gaze apart and ran towards the back of the lounge that discreetly hid the break room, meeting room, and another room I've never been in.

I pounded my fists against the door. The restaurant must've heard the raucous I had caused because Vincent, one of Monsieur's goons, ran towards me to hold me still. He wrapped his arms around my chest, pinning my arms down against my check as I flailed my legs around as a maniac.

"Let go you fucking ass," I screamed. "I need to see him!"

"Morena!' I heard Elijah call in concern. He whipped towards the back of the lounge and he pulled Vincent off of me and threw him across the hall - an incredible distance considering Vincent had more mass than him. Elijah punched him in the face and I covered my mouth as blood spattered out of his nose.