the counter, studying me like he couldn’t figure out what I was doing here. At least the look in his eyes wasn’t as hostile as Ryder’s.
“S-she is,” Dylan stammered.
Ryder’s tone was filled with disbelief as he pointed at me. “Then why is she cooking and sewing?”
Before either one of us could say anything, an engine cut through the silence outside and relief flooded me. Vincent was home.
Dylan must’ve jumped to the same conclusion, because he bolted out of the kitchen, and I heard the front door swing shut.
An awkward silence ensued as Tyson and Ryder stared me down. A surge of anger was slowly building up within me. Who the heck did they think they were trying to intimidate me like that? I’d done nothing wrong, yet they looked at me like I was a parasite.
Feeling brave, I tossed my head back and met them with a look of defiance. I was a big sister; I was used to petulance from Savannah. I wasn’t going to let these two intimidate me. I didn’t want them to think that they had gotten to me.
I had been through so much in my life; I wasn’t going to let a pair of delinquents get to me. Sure, a part of me was terrified, but another part of me didn’t care. I would never let a bunch of thugs scare me.
There were footsteps behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I was frozen; locked in this staring match with Ryder, refusing to back down.
“Stelle.” The voice was gentle in my ear.
I still didn’t turn around. I was strong. I would not give in. I was strong. I could handle this. Nothing was going to break me down. Not a darn thing.
“Stelle.” Vincent spoke again; this time his voice was firm, filled with authority. This time he wasn’t messing around.
A hand rested on my shoulder, and my entire body slackened as I turn around to meet Vincent’s dark gaze. The look in them was deadly.
He stepped forward and pushed me behind him. My back hit the wall and I closed my eyes. Suddenly, all the bravado left my body and I felt deflated. There was movement beside me and a small hand slipped into mine: Dylan’s.
“Little bro.” Ryder was the one to speak. His words sounded like a taunt, a way to put Vincent down and belittle him.
“You’re back early.” Vincent’s tone was cool, collected.
“Who the fuck is this?”
Was this how the brothers greeted each other? I hated that they were using that kind of language in front of Dylan.
“She’s Estella,” Vincent said, simply. “She tutors Dylan.”
“Are you fucking her?”
My eyes flew open and I straightened up, anger shooting through me. How dare he accuse Vincent of sleeping with me? I wasn’t that kind of girl. I didn’t sleep around with people.
“No, I’m not.” Vincent spoke so calmly that even I wanted to strangle him. How could he stand there and not be affected by what his brother was saying?
“Then why the fuck is she cooking? Why the fuck is she sewing your shirt?” There was accusation in every word that came out of Ryder’s mouth. He said it like doing all that was a bad thing.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
My eyes widened at the apathy in Vincent’s tone, and a crushing weight descended into my chest. The fact that Vincent thought that my doing all these things for them meant nothing, truly hurt me in a way I hadn’t expected. I knew Vincent and I weren’t friends. We weren’t even close to being friends. I knew he didn’t care for me the way Dylan did, but I figured that he at least would appreciate the things I did for them around the house.
“It better not mean anything,” Ryder said, and there was a threat in his words. “No weaknesses, little bro. Bitches are meant for fucking, not for anything else, you understand me?”
A gasp escaped my mouth, and Ryder must’ve heard it, because he let out a low chuckle. Even his laughter sounded evil.
“I know that,” Vincent said, sounding detached. “I’m not fucking her. She tutors Dylan and cooks for him. He likes it, so I let her do it.”
Vincent had to know that I didn’t just cook for Dylan. He couldn’t be that ignorant. It was obvious I made enough food for all three of us.
“Good,” Ryder said, the hardness gone from his voice. “Keep it that way, little bro.”
When Vincent didn’t respond, Ryder spoke again. “Is Dylan studying hard, Estella?”
Surprise shot through me at the fact that Ryder had addressed me, and I stepped beside Vincent so I could see Ryder better. The hostility was gone from his face; now a smirk played around his lips.
“Yes, he’s very bright,” I responded, keeping my voice even.
Ryder gave a few small nods as though he was really considering my words. “See, the thing is, I think all this school stuff is bullshit. I think that whoever Dylan’s dad was, he was some pompous ass prick, because Dil definitely didn’t get this from us.”
My body tensed at the way Ryder spoke so brashly about Dylan’s parentage. This was all news to me, but the fact that Dylan hadn’t reacted proved that he had heard all of this before.
This ten-year-old boy, who had so many aspirations, was well-adjusted to hearing his older brother’s uninformed opinions. It made me ill, and my heart broke for the life Dylan had been born into. He deserved better than this; he deserved a chance.
“I let Dylan keep up this hobby because Vincent’s so damn insistent about it,” Ryder continued. “If you ask me, learning this shit ain’t gonna get Dylan anywhere. He needs to learn to fight and stand up for himself and stop being such a little pussy.” Ryder’s eyes flickered to me. “So don’t get too comfortable, Estella. Don’t make yourself at home. We ain’t used to having a woman in our house unless we’re banging her brains out.”
There were so many things wrong with what Ryder had just said. The fact that he felt that education was a hobby was completely disturbing. The fact that he had just called his ten-year-old brother a pussy was wrong. The fact that he believed that women were sexual objects was disgusting.
I waited for Vincent to say something, but he kept his mouth shut. Their other brother, Tyson, was still leaning against the counter and staring up at the ceiling acting like he couldn’t hear a thing that Ryder was saying.
This entire situation was just wrong.
From behind me, Dylan let out a sniffle and my heart completely shattered. Spinning around, I wrapped up the shaking boy in my arms and held him.
There was a crashing sound, and I glanced around to find that the pot of Bolognese sauce was strewn across the kitchen floor. Tyson was staring at it in complete shock, while Ryder’s face was the picture of innocence.
He approached us, his steps slow and deliberate. That smirk still lingered around his mouth as he pulled out a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and took out a fifty dollar bill.
“Get yourself some real food, Kid,” he said, placing it down on the kitchen table and walking to the doorway. He glanced back at Tyson who still hadn’t moved. “Let’s go, Son.”
Like an obedient puppy, Tyson’s head jerked up and he hurried after Ryder, not looking at any of us as he passed.
The front door slammed shut and an eerie silence descended upon the house.
The silence was brief, because a few seconds later, all hell broke loose.
Chapter Twelve
Vincent
