Doesn’t matter. Either way, I win.
“Wager?” Kenji’s face morphs into fear, waiting for the double down I offered moments ago. It doesn’t take me long to decide. This is what I’ve wanted, even if he thinks it’s a joke. Either he wins or I do. No matter if he follows through, I’ll end up on top.
“You’re mine,” I whisper, swallowing the dryness in my mouth, feeling the scratchiness of air as I breathe, waiting on a response.
“What the fuck does that mean?” he demands, biting the inside of his cheek.
“That if you don’t kill the bastard, you’re mine. Mine to have, to fuck, to bleed, or anything else.”
“We are brothers, Atlas.” His words are apprehensive, stilted. Fear laces them. Not fear from wanting to give in, no, fear from finally admitting he wants me too.
“Brothers or not, it’s my bet. If you don’t kill Rusty by our eighteenth birthday, you’re mine.” He visibly gulps, his face flushed beautifully.
“What about me?”
“Tell me, brother. If you’re not a little bitch, tell me what you’d want if you finish?”
“You on your knees, bringing me pleasure. But Atlas…” He trails off, backing up a step or two. “That’s it. We go our separate ways. This,” he explains, gesturing to us. “We can’t be brothers once we break what ties us together. No matter how we look identical, we can’t come back from these things.”
“What, me fucking you? Or you enjoying it?”
“Fuck,” he groans, and I see his dick pressing against the zipper of his denim. Mine is equally hard. But there’s no denying it for me. He’s mine. He’s been mine since before we were born.
“Exactly. That’s what I’ll do. Fuck you for the rest of our lives.”
That day solidified my goal. It’s when I decided whether he killed him or not, Rusty would die, and I’d get my brother. Kenji isn’t one for gore; luckily, he hasn’t had to pull the trigger yet.
“So, can I play?”
So can I play? I mock in my head, wanting to ram this ball through his intestines. Or anything really. He grates on my nerves. His blood, life, essence, it’s worthless. It has no value, and neither does his dumb fucking idle chitchat.
“Can’t, Society business,” I answer a moment later, finally turning to him as my dick softens entirely. It’s easy to do with this curly haired loser nearby, but even more so when Kenji’s attention isn’t focused on me. It’s like his acknowledgment of us makes me insatiable and hard constantly. Rusty Johnson is a loser; he’s not part of the Society, he’s trash, and he’ll stay that way until his last breath leaves me. He frowns and I think of the perfect plan.
Kill him before the ball, and have that be our alibi. Not that we need one.
“You know what, Johnson? Yeah, let’s play.”
Kenji watches me as I relax my shoulders. Once the ball hits the ground, my mind goes from my brother to the game. My blood flows for this sport—this game—and it drives me to success. I dribble the ball, twisting when Rusty tries grabbing it. I face off with KJ, allowing his body to brush mine. My dick hums, and I fucking hate the power he has over me. Faking right, I head to the hoop, shooting before either of them catch up. It’s a beautiful shot, swishing the net. Success thrums through me.
Even with two of them, I’m unstoppable. It’s why Silvercrest makes it to the championships every single year. It’s all me. I’m the honorary. The fuckup with tattoos, piercings, and addiction to my brother’s body… I’m the fucking king of the court.
We keep going and going, and in the end I’m twenty-one and they’re seven. I’ve won. My prize stares at me with pride. He’s covered in moisture, much like me. I don’t pay attention to the fucker next to him. I’m too absorbed, entranced with his expression. He wants me. Bad.
If our little voyeurism got him off, I can’t wait to fuck him as Rusty watches. I’m going to gut him and fuck my brother while he bleeds. When he’s crying like the little bitch he is, I’ll make sure he sees my cum leave Kenji’s little asshole, then maybe, if he’s a good little prick, I’ll end him for good.
My dick hardens in my shorts, and it takes everything in me to calm it down before they notice.
Thinking of Rusty dead gets me so hot and I’m not sure why, but I don’t fucking care the why, just the want, and I’ll do anything to make it happen.
“Our house?” I offer kindly, knowing my exact intentions. Kenji must know too because he shakes his head at Rusty and gives me a derisive growl.
“No.”
“Why not?” Rusty questions, smiling from ear to ear, not realizing how dangerous of a position he’s putting himself into. But I do. He’s signing his own death certificate.
My smile widens, feeling like a Cheshire cat even if I can’t see it.
“We have shit to do. Society business,” KJ mutters grumpily. Then his gaze connects with mine, and I know what he wants. My desire to kill has taken over the other needs for my brother.
“Wouldn’t it be great to have a guest?” I question demurely, acting as if I’m the new best friend of the stupid cunt opposite me. “He can help us get dressed and shit.”
Rusty’s face lights up, his own lips turning up and his cheeks rising in response. “I’d love to hang out with you, Atlas.” His words—much like himself—are pathetic. If he can’t see the animal lurking beneath the skin… hell, on top of it. I’m head to toe lined with ink. It’s not even a camouflage, it’s so people are aware that there’s not a single fuck I could ever offer.
Yet, he isn’t like 90 percent of the population. He’s stupid, naive, but apparently kind enough to not think the worst of my tats. Doesn’t matter though—his death is
