Identical

Chapter 17 - Choices

James' POV

It was well past midnight when I made it back to London. Still, I drove straight to my office, phoning Chris to meet me there.

"What's the plan, Boss?"

"First, how is my brother?" Chris chuckles at my question. "Sleeping off the pints he drank. Steve is watching his place."

I nod at his comment, thankful that Chris had assigned Steve to watch him. Steve is young and American, with a strong sense of right and wrong, though he somehow fits into the business. I know if anything were to go amiss, Steve would give his life for Tom simply because he is my brother.

"Right," I say, sitting in my desk chair and rubbing my face. Between the events of the last few days, I've had little time for sleep. Luckily, I'm used to it.

"I guess the plan is to find Mr. Z and kill him," I say, looking at Chris as he takes a seat across from me.

"Do you think that's the best plan?" When I look at Chris, he continues. "I mean, if Mr. Z is out of the picture, who do we have to deal with next? The Chechens may be pricks, but we've always been able to bend them to our needs. Without them, we'd have to deal with the Russians or the Chinese. Maybe even the North Koreans or even the Japanese Yakuza. Then there's the Somalis or Sudanese, the Sicilians..."

"I get it, Chris," I say with exasperation as I stand to pace.

"No, Mr. Z's gotta go," I say, thinking of Cory.

"She's worth that much, then?"

I stare at Chris. "More than all our lives put together," I say.

Chris sighs then stands. "I'll make some calls. By now, word's gotten out about what went down at the warehouse. Maybe someone will be willing to share some information." With that, he leaves my office.

I walk to a bookshelf in the corner of my office, picking up an old toy gun that Dad had bought Tom and I after a visit to the States. He'd brought us both one, a metal toy replica of the kind used in the old west. Tom and I had played with them for hours, taking turns who would be the bad and good guy. It has been two summers before Mum and Dad divorced, then Tom and I had been shipped off to boarding school. I comforted Tom the best I could, repeating over and over that it wasn't his fault. It couldn't have been... it was mine. When we played cowboys, I was the bad guy more than good, after all.

As I place the gun back in its spot, I replay conversations in my head. The one that seems on repeat is Robert's comment that we should find a different line of work. An idea forms in my head, one that I'd thought before then quickly dismissed. Not this time, though.

There's a quick knock on the door before Chris enters.

"Do you want the bad or the worse news first?" He asks.

I rub my face with my hands before responding. "The worse, I guess."

"It looks like we have visitors, though they're trying their damnest to stay in the shadows."

I grumble at his words, wondering how in the hell I'm supposed to get back to Cory undiscovered.

"And the bad?"

"It seems Mr. Z is nowhere to be found," he says.

"Well, Mate, I guess if we can't find him, it might be time for James Hiddleston to die," I say, causing a confused look on Chris' face.