What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t have her. He couldn’t think with his dick; he had to think with his brain—and he couldn’t have her. It was that simple. He couldn’t think about the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, or the sexy curve of her lips and how she would look . . . He groaned softly and rubbed the front of his jeans, swearing again when he had to use a hard pressure to even feel the wave of pleasure that edged far too close to pain.

“They’re two minutes out, Ken.”

Jack’s voice startled him, never a good sign when he had to be alert. It had just been so long since he’d felt sexual pleasure, and being close to her, feeling his body harden and fill with pounding need was a miracle—and a curse—he hadn’t expected.

“Are you certain she’s unconscious? We can’t chance her warning anyone. If they don’t follow Nico, we can’t get her to Lily’s. And you and I both know Whitney has something else up his sleeve that insures she’ll go home. I want Lily to check her over thoroughly before she ever gets near Briony.”

“She’s out. We cut that one a little too close. They were an hour behind us. Nico could be in trouble.” The buzzing in his head was fading, indicating that the team was moving away from them.

“We wanted them to think they were gaining on us. They had to follow him. Nico knows what he’s doing. Logan will be here any minute, Ken. I need to ask you . . .”

“Don’t. I tried to tell you and now it’s too late.”

“We have to talk about it. I had to face it when Briony came to me asking for shelter. There was every possibility our father lived inside of me.”

“There was never that possibility. We made a pact, Jack, that we’d never get close enough to a woman to fall in love, but I always knew you would be fine if it happened.”

“How? I didn’t know. I feel nothing at all when I take the shot, Ken, you know that. I didn’t feel remorse when I killed our father.”

“When you finished what I started,” Ken reminded. “Mom was already dead when I walked in on him. I should have run, but all I could think about was killing him.” He could still remember in vivid detail tearing the baseball bat from his father’s grip and swinging it hard. There was absolute pleasure when the bat connected with a satisfying crack and his father screamed. For the first time in his life, Ken had felt powerful and in control. He wasn’t even a teenager, and yet he’d planned his father’s death a million times, and when he’d found his father with his mother’s blood all over him, something cold and ugly, vicious and merciless, had sprung to life and taken hold.

“You think I didn’t have those same feelings, Ken? He made our lives a living hell. He beat the crap out of us, out of Mom; he ridiculed and embarrassed us. He wanted us dead, and he punished her every day of her life for loving us. Of course you wanted him dead. That has nothing to do with her.” Jack stepped closer, gesturing toward Mari.

“It has everything to do with her and you know it.” Ken was too ashamed to admit his feelings to his brother, the one person he loved and respected the most in the world. It was bad enough that he knew his own fatal flaw, that he had to stare into the mirror every day and see his father looking back at him, but he sure as hell didn’t want Jack to see what he did. “I would feel like that, not wanting to share her with anyone. I’m not taking the chance that we might have children and I’d lose my mind completely. When I heard about Brett . . .” He could hardly say the name and a wealth of disgust and anger was in his voice. “I should have been thinking what she went through, but all I could think about was that he’d touched her, been inside her, that I wanted him dead.”

“I had the impression she despised him. If he forced her, he deserves to die. Hell, I’d want to kill him.”

“The point is, I wasn’t thinking about her—I was thinking about my own feelings, and they weren’t exactly noble. And I wanted to be inside of her, driving any memory of him out of her.” There was shame in his voice.

“Ken,” Jack said, keeping his voice low, “we’re both different. We have to be careful, but it doesn’t make us like him. So we’re a little more dominant . . .”

Ken snorted. “A little?”

“And a little more jealous than the average man . . .”

“A little?” Ken repeated. “Hell, Jack, Briony’s too sweet and lets you get away with going all badass on her; she thinks you’re cute or something. Who knows what goes through her head. And you don’t lose your mind when she’s around other men.”

“It disturbs me,” Jack admitted. “I handle it.”

“And what if you couldn’t? What would that eventually do to your relationship with Briony? How do you think it would make her feel every time some man smiled and you were instantly angry?”

“I’d have the good sense to keep it to myself. I trust her. You don’t even know this woman, Ken. She doesn’t love you; you don’t love her. Why do you expect to be able to handle something like jealousy when you haven’t even built a relationship with her yet? If you trusted her, and loved her, it would be different.”

Ken shook his head. “Logan’s here. Let’s keep them away from her. We had to ditch her clothes, and the thought of any of the others seeing her na**d is enough to set me off. I had a difficult enough time with the doc.”

For the first time, Jack’s expression was leery, as if it might be sinking in that Ken was telling the absolute truth—that his possessive, dominant nature might be too strong to control, as he feared.

“We’ll handle it,” Jack said. “We’ll do it the way we always do.” He indicated the gurney. “Let’s get out of here.”

Ken lifted his end, but hesitated. “If you had walked out into the backyard first and saw mom dead, and him standing there smiling, covered in her blood, would you have gone after him, or done the sane thing and left?”

Jack sighed. “It was a long time ago, Ken. I saw him beating you; he broke both your arms, and I went after him. I don’t know what I would have done had I found him with Mom. Probably exactly what you did. I’m the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kind, remember? You’re out front keeping everyone from bothering me, keeping them safe. You aren’t our father, Ken, and you’ll never convince me you’re like he was.”

Logan Maxwell, leader of the SEAL GhostWalker team, was riding shotgun and Neil Campbell was driving. Logan opened the doors and stepped back to allow the Nortons to shift the gurney into the Escalade. Ken and Jack climbed in beside Mari, Ken tucking the sheet around her carefully so that no skin showed.

He reached for the medical kit beside Jack’s feet. “I’m going to give her another painkiller while she’s out. Drugs don’t stay with her long, but it will give her some relief on the ride. She’d probably try to take me out if I gave her a shot while she was conscious.”

“She’s been giving you a hard time?” Logan asked. “She looks on the small side. I thought you two could handle it all by yourselves, but no worries, Daddy is here now.” He grinned at Ken, studiously avoiding looking at Jack.

Ken always found it amusing that Jack made everyone, even his fellow GhostWalkers, nervous and Ken was considered friendly. He’d cultivated the image carefully, hiding what he was behind a ready smile and a joke. It eased the way for Jack’s more abrasive personality and kept them out of fights—fights Ken knew would turn deadly the moment anyone threatened Jack. While there were plenty of people who should be scared of Jack, it wasn’t Jack they should have feared the most. Jack had tremendous control and discipline, but Ken would never hesitate to destroy any threat to Jack. He would do it fast, viciously, and without remorse—and that inner knowledge kept the smile firmly in place and the jokes coming, because no matter what, Jack would back him, just as he had so many years earlier.

Jack always thought that, after discovering their parents, Ken’s tears had been from both grief and the pain of two broken arms, but it had been grief for his mother and the terrible knowledge that he had put his twin in the position of having to kill their father. Years later, when he had been tortured by Ekabela’s men, Ken had known Jack would come for him. Dead or alive, Jack would come and Ken chose to stay alive to keep Jack from single-handedly trying to wipe out the rebels in the Congo. Ken had always felt responsible for his brother. He knew Jack’s personality, the demons that drove him, and he would always feel responsible for bringing out the worst in his brother.

After injecting Mari with the painkiller, he passed a hand over his face. They’d stripped her of her clothing and her dignity. How could she forgive that? He knew what it was like to be stripped, the fear that accompanied the complete vulnerability a prisoner felt. His fingers tangled in her hair, stroking the strands under cover of darkness. He needed to touch her—needed to be close to her—and that was so dangerous to both of them. He’d worked his entire life to stay ahead of the monster and in one brief moment she had brought it roaring to life, all claws and teeth, raking at his gut and his mind.

He’d known the moment he’d inhaled her scent, taken her deep into his lungs, that he had been paired with her by Whitney. Anger had been his first reaction, anger that he could have so easily been made a victim, but then, when Jack had stepped close to her, he felt the sharp knife of jealousy, as ugly and as dangerous as anything his father had ever displayed. It had been a vicious reaction, knotting his guts, sweeping a black, swirling haze through his mind until he could taste it in his mouth. The need for violence had nearly overwhelmed him. And then he’d been afraid—more afraid then when Ekabela’s men had stripped him naked, laid him out spread-eagled, and begun their slow, meticulous work on his body.

His mouth went dry just thinking about how he’d wanted to wrap his fingers around Jack’s neck to keep him away from Mari when she’d looked at his face—his perfect face. Ken scrubbed a hand over the mask, feeling the ridges and the shiny skin, the edge to his lip. Funny how he’d never really minded before. He’d had pangs, of course, but for the most part he accepted what had been done to his body the way he accepted everything in his life. It was a fact, and one dealt with it. Besides, his face was nothing compared to the damage done to his dick. He closed his eyes briefly, remembering how they cut closer and closer and the bile had risen and the fear—the terrifying moment when they were finally there and made that first gut-wrenching cut.

“Ken,” Jack said, his voice low, “are you all right?”

Ken wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. Jack was far too tuned to him for him to hide any strong emotional reaction. Jack wouldn’t willingly lose his twin, but it was only a matter of time before Jack would be forced to accept the truth—and that would endanger Mari’s life and Briony’s well-being.

Ken held out one hand. As steady as a rock. “I’m fine. Just trying to figure what we’re going to do about this situation.”

“Lily says she’ll be up waiting for her. Flame, Gator’s wife, is working on hacking into Whitney’s computers,” Logan reported. “She’s very skilled and doesn’t leave any trace, so hopefully Whitney won’t catch on that she’s able to access his files. So far, Lily has no real data on Mari. No one really remembers much about her before she and Briony were taken away.”

Ken knew Gator was out of the original GhostWalker teams. The two teams had become much closer after Nico and his wife Dahlia, both members of the original team, had rescued Jesse Calhoun, a member of the SEAL GhostWalker team, stealing his bullet-ridden body right out from under the protection of his captors. They had combined their resources and fallen back on trusting each other rather than the chain of command.