IN LOVE WITH MY BROTHER'S WIFE

EPISODE 12

"I hit the canvas roof of the speedboat like a meteor."

There was no grace in the fall. No superhero landing. Just a sickening c***k of fiberglass and tearing fabric.

The air left my lungs in a violent whoosh. I slammed onto the deck of the small boat, rolling hard into a tackle box. Pain exploded in my shoulder—the same one I had injured at the bank—and white spots danced in my vision.

I gasped, trying to suck in air that tasted of gasoline and sea spray.

"Jack!" Danny’s voice was right above me.

He didn't sound worried. He sounded annoyed.

I looked up. Danny was standing at the wheel of the speedboat. The rain was lashing his face. He looked down at me with cold, dead eyes.

"You never know when to quit, do you?" Danny shouted over the roar of the engine.

He let go of the wheel. The boat swerved violently to the left, tossing me across the wet deck.

Danny lunged.

He didn't pull a gun. He didn't pull a knife. He kicked me. A brutal, steel-toed boot to the ribs.

CRACK.

I groaned, curling into a ball.

"I gave you a chance!" Danny screamed. He kicked me again. "I told you to go home! I told you to take the girl and leave!"

I grabbed his boot on the third kick.

Adrenaline flooded my system, masking the pain. I twisted his ankle with everything I had.

Danny shouted and fell backward, crashing onto the captain's chair.

I scrambled up. I wasn't fighting my brother anymore. I was fighting a monster.

I tackled him. We rolled across the slippery deck, smashing into the gunwales. He punched me in the jaw. I headbutted him in the nose. Blood sprayed.

"Give me the tablet!" I yelled. I grabbed the front of his raincoat. "Turn off the drones!"

"It's too late!" Danny spat blood in my face. "The deal is done, Jack! The island is waiting!"

He brought his knee up into my stomach. I gagged, doubling over.

Danny shoved me off. He scrambled back to the wheel, grabbing the tablet computer that was mounted on the dash.

"You want this?" Danny taunted. He held up the device. "Go fetch."

He didn't throw it to me. He threw it overboard.

I watched the black rectangle spin through the air and splash into the dark, churning water.

"No!" I screamed.

Danny laughed. He slammed the throttle forward. The boat leaped ahead.

"Goodbye, Jack!"

He shoved me.

I was already off balance. I tumbled backward over the low railing.

The cold water hit me like a sledgehammer.

I went under. The darkness swallowed me. The roar of the speedboat faded instantly, replaced by the muffled silence of the deep.

I kicked for the surface, gasping for air as I broke the waves.

I spun around in the water, treading heavily.

The speedboat was gone, a streak of white foam disappearing toward the dark island on the horizon.

And above me... the Leviathan.

The massive container ship was groaning. It was less than a mile from the jagged rocks of the island. And it wasn't turning.

"Sarah," I whispered.

I was floating alone in the middle of a storm, watching the woman I loved sail toward her death.

ON THE BRIDGE OF THE LEVIATHAN

Sarah’s hands flew across the control panel.

ACCESS DENIED. ACCESS DENIED. ACCESS DENIED.

The red letters on the screen mocked her.

"Come on!" she screamed. She smashed her fist against the console.

The bridge was still filled with drifts of white foam, like a surreal snowstorm. The mercenaries were groaning on the floor, blinded and choking, but she ignored them.

She looked out the rain-streaked window. The island was looming closer. She could see the white water breaking over the razor-sharp rocks at the base of the cliffs.

If the ship hit those rocks at full speed, the hull would tear open like wet paper. The canisters would breach. The virus would release.

And she would die.

"Think, Sarah," she commanded herself. "Jack isn't here. Danny isn't here. It's just you."

She looked at the digital helm. It was locked out. Danny had routed the controls through his tablet.

Digital is dead, she thought. Go analog.

She remembered something Jack had said on the Sea Witch. Ships this size have fail-safes. Mechanical overrides.

She scanned the bridge. Her eyes landed on a heavy, red lever mounted on the far wall, encased in a yellow cage.

EMERGENCY ANCHOR RELEASE - PORT.

It wasn't a button. It was a hydraulic release.

"The anchor," she whispered.

If she dropped the anchor at full speed, it might rip the bow off the ship. It might snap the chain.

But it would drag. It would slow them down.

She ran through the foam. Her boots slipped, but she caught herself on the railing.

She reached the lever. She grabbed the safety pin and yanked it out.

She gripped the cold steel handle.

"For Jack," she whispered.

She pulled the lever down with all her weight.

CLANG-THUNK.

A vibration shuddered through the entire ship. It felt like an earthquake.

Outside, on the bow, the massive brake released. The port anchor—thirty tons of iron—dropped into the sea.

SCREEEEEEEEECH.

The sound was deafening. It was the sound of metal being tortured. The massive chain flew out of the hawsepipe, sparks showering like fireworks in the rain.

The anchor hit the bottom. It grabbed the rocks.

The ship lurched violently to the left.

Sarah was thrown across the room. She hit the wall hard, her head slamming against a metal cabinet.

Blackness edged her vision.

The ship groaned. The chain held for three seconds. It slowed the massive vessel from eighteen knots to ten.

Then—SNAP.

The chain broke with a sound like a gunshot that echoed for miles.

But it was enough. The ship had lost its momentum. It drifted sideways, sliding past the sharpest rocks.

It didn't smash head-on. It grounded.

GRIND. CRUNCH. SCREECH.

The hull scraped over the sandbar and the lower rocks. The ship shuddered to a halt, listing heavily to the port side.

The lights on the bridge flickered and died. Then, the red emergency lights bathed the room in blood.

Sarah slid down the wall to the floor. She touched her forehead. Her fingers came away sticky and warm.

"Jack," she whispered into the silence. "I stopped it."

Then, she passed out.

IN THE WATER

I watched the ship hit.

I heard the screech of the metal, saw the sparks fly. I saw the massive beast list to the side and stop.

It didn't explode. There was no cloud of green gas.

"She did it," I gasped, spitting out saltwater. "She actually did it."

But now I had a new problem.

I was half a mile from shore. The water was freezing. My limbs were getting heavy. The current was pulling me toward the jagged rocks where the drones were hunting.

Swim, I told myself. If you stop, you die.

I kicked. My boots felt like lead weights. My injured ribs burned with every stroke.

Left arm. Right arm. Breathe. Left arm. Right arm. Breathe.

I focused on the island. It wasn't just a rock. I could see lights now. Floodlights turning on along the cliffs.

This wasn't a deserted island. It was a fortress.

Danny hadn't crashed the ship. He had delivered it to the front door.

I swam until my fingers went numb. I swam until I couldn't feel my legs.

Finally, my knee hit sand.

I crawled out of the surf, dragging myself up the black, volcanic beach. I collapsed on the stones, coughing up water until my throat felt raw.

I lay there for a minute, staring up at the rain. I was alive.

But Sarah was on that ship.

I forced myself up. I stumbled toward the cliffs.

The Leviathan was grounded about two hundred yards down the beach. It was leaning toward the shore, looking like a dead whale.

I ran. I slipped on the wet rocks, cutting my hands, but I didn't feel it.

I reached the ship. A rope ladder—probably deployed by the crew during the crash—was dangling from the stern.

I grabbed it. I climbed.

My body was running on fumes. I hauled myself up, deck by deck, until I reached the bridge wing.

The door was open. The wind was howling through it.

"Sarah!" I yelled.

I stepped inside. The red emergency lights made the foam look pink.

I saw bodies on the floor. Mercenaries. Groaning, unconscious.

I stepped over them.

"Sarah!"

I found her in the corner. She was slumped against the wall, her head resting on her chest.

My heart stopped.

I fell to my knees beside her. I touched her face. It was cold.

"No, no, no," I whispered. "Sarah, please."

I checked her pulse.

It was there. Weak, but there.

"Sarah," I said, shaking her gently. "Wake up."

Her eyelids fluttered. She groaned. She opened her eyes. They were unfocused for a second, then they found mine.

"Jack?" she rasped.

"I'm here," I said. tears—hot and stinging—welled in my eyes. "I'm right here."

She reached up and touched my face. She traced the split in my lip, the water dripping from my hair.

"You're wet," she whispered.

"I went for a swim," I choked out a laugh.

She sat up, wincing. "The ship... did I stop it?"

"You saved everyone," I said. "The hull is intact. No virus."

She let out a breath and leaned into me. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her wet, shivering body against mine. I buried my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin beneath the smell of the sea.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered. She gripped my jacket, burying her face in my chest. "I saw you jump. I thought I lost you."

"You can't get rid of me that easily," I said.

We held each other in the wreckage of the bridge. It wasn't s****l. It was deeper than that. It was the desperate, clinging embrace of two people who had looked death in the face and blinked.

"We need to go," I said, pulling back. "Danny is here. This island... it's the Syndicate base."

"Here?" She looked around. "Where?"

I walked to the front window.

"Look."

We looked out at the island.

The floodlights were blazing now. We could see a massive concrete structure built into the side of the volcano. A dock. A landing pad.

And on the dock, we saw activity. Trucks were moving. Men in hazmat suits were swarming.

They weren't evacuating. They were preparing to board the ship.

"They're coming for the cargo," I said. "Danny delivered it right to them."

Sarah looked down at the floor. Something caught her eye.

It was a piece of paper. A printout from the comms machine. It must have printed just before the crash.

She picked it up.

"Jack," she said. Her voice went cold. "Look at this."

I took the paper.

It was a manifest. A transfer order.

CARGO: SUBJECT 8 (200 UNITS) RECIPIENT: PROJECT AEGIS AUTHORIZED BY: J. MILLER

I stared at the name.

J. MILLER.

"Jack Miller," Sarah whispered.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "That's Danny. He's using my name. He's framing me."

"Read the bottom," Sarah said.

I looked at the bottom of the page.

BIOMETRIC SIG: CONFIRMED. DNA MATCH: 99.9%

My blood turned to ice.

"Biometrics?" I whispered. "How could he use my biometrics? My fingerprints? My DNA?"

"Because you're brothers," Sarah said. "But not just brothers."

She looked at me with a strange, horrified realization.

"Jack... did you ever take a DNA test? For ancestry? Or medical?"

"No," I said. "Never."

"Danny did," she said. "Last year. He told me he wanted to check for genetic diseases."

"So?"

"He told me the results were weird," she said. "He laughed about it. He said he was 'one of a kind'."

She grabbed my arm.

"Jack, DNA doesn't match 99.9% for siblings. It matches about 50%."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Sarah whispered, pointing at the manifest. "That there is only one way Danny could use your identity to sign this. There is only one way the system would confuse you two."

I stared at the paper. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.

"You're not his brother," Sarah said.

"What?"

"You're his twin," she whispered. "His identical twin."

"That's impossible," I said. "Danny is two years older than me. We have birth certificates. We have birthdays."

"Do you?" Sarah asked. "Or is that just what your parents told you?"

I thought back to my childhood. No baby photos of us together. My mother always changing the subject when I asked about my birth. The fact that Danny and I looked so much alike, people always mistook us for each other until he grew his hair out and got the tattoos.

"He stole your identity," Sarah said. "He's been planning this for years. He set you up as the fall guy. To the world... you are the terrorist. You are the one selling the virus."

I crushed the paper in my hand.

The anger was gone. It was replaced by a cold, hollow shock.

I wasn't just the spare. I was the clone. The copy. The scapegoat.

"He stole my life," I whispered.

"He stole our lives," Sarah said. She stood up. She looked at the hazmat teams moving on the beach below. "And now he's going to finish it."

She grabbed a gun from one of the unconscious mercenaries on the floor. She checked the magazine.

"We have to get off this ship," she said. "Before they find us."

"And go where?" I asked. "We're on an island of killers."

"We go to the one place Danny won't expect," Sarah said.

She pointed to the massive concrete structure on the cliff.

"He thinks we're dead. He thinks he won."

She chambered a round. Click-clack.

"We're going to break into his house. And we're going to tell the world the truth."