Planet Heist (The Dunham Archives Book 1) by J.D. Hale Page B

Amy Perkins, ABC News, Signing off.”
    “Delicious?” Salah muttered quietly, “Am I really a tanned hunk?”
    “No.” Rowan snapped back quickly.
    When the report finished, a man came on the screen with a tear-stained middle aged woman, and began speaking in a sad, tenor voice, “Here’s Melinda Bradford, the mother of Jason Bradford, a waiter at an Egyptian Bistro, The Mauve , that Kairee recently killed.” They went on and on about my killing spree and interviewed her about her son and raised money for them, since they were in need of funeral money, and all the classic stuff surrounding my murders.
    I had to sit down. The magnitude of the report slapped me in the face like a ton of bricks. The breath of my lungs was gone and back erratically in hyperventilation.
    “Kairee? Are you okay?” Salah grimaced, sitting down next to me and laying a hand on my shoulder.
    “They know.” I said in a panic, but I attempted to swallow it, and then, failing, “Everyone knows. It’s going to be impossible to get in the Xeron room. We won’t even be able to get in the Institute.” I rambled on.
    “Snap out of it!” Rowan barked, “Kairee.” He looked into my eyes, a mirror of his own, and was so soft that I wanted to cry, “It’s going to be fine. We’ll make it in, and make it our, with our prize. It’ll just take more effort than we’ve ever put forth for something, but as you well know, it’s never impossible. Not for you, and not for us. They don’t know the day, the hour, or even an idea of what we can do. Dunhams never lose. ”
    “But we don’t know what’s down there, we can’t know. It could be protected by the police or even dragons and demons, and everything in-between. For all we know, each of us could be pitted against each other in some unknown challenge of will.” I replied.
    Salah rolled his eyes, “That’s not even possible. Only you can control your willpower.”
    “We can’t dwell on the unknown, but we can rely on what we know – our selves.” Salah told us, “We need to train, I need to be trained. So, until we know all we can, let’s get to work.”
    “Alright then, oh wise one,” Rowan mocked, “Then is it time for our fight?”
    I was confused as they seemed to be mentally bantering about something.
    “I’ll win.” Salah replied with an undertone of some kind in his voice.
    “You wish.” Rowan smiled.
    “Can I watch?” I pique up.
    “Of course,” They reply, in unison – Salah smiling in an almost suggestive manner and Rowan glaring at him.
    “Fantastic, let’s go.”
     
    When we were back upstairs, I sat down on the floor as Rowan stretched and Salah psyched himself up. Rowan and Salah glared at each other as they prepared to fight, giving way to many suspicious thoughts rumbling through my head. I was still baffled at the reason for their hatred, though there have been the obvious rumors about my affection, but those are ludicrous; Rowan knows that he’s my brother, my one true confidant, and Salah knows that he’s my only real friend, if that’s the right word. My affection for them has no overlap, so it shouldn’t be fought over. With these thoughts running around my mind, I almost missed the beginning of the battle.
    There was no countdown of any kind – Rowan simply ran at Salah, shaking me out of my reverie. Row sent out a barrage of moves so fast I hardly followed them. His left elbow hit Salah square in the jaw, a distraction. Salah knew this, somehow, and jumped as Rowan attempted to kick his knees in. Mid jump, Salah landed on Rowan’s ankle and twisted his arm around. Rowan responded fluidly with a shoulder to Salah’s stomach, leaving him winded. The return from Salah was spinning around and punching Row in the throat, leaving my brother coughing. Salah continued to beat him down with hits to his shoulder, stomach, and legs. Rowan was on the ground, retching, when Salah finally kicked him in the side. Salah smiled at me, his lower lip