“Atlas,” Kenji hisses. When my gaze connects with his, I notice how tight his jaw is. It’s amazing how angled it is, sharp and cut, perfect like his dick. His eyes are nearly closed with how pressed he is, and as hot as it makes me, death is in mind instead. Fuck my conscience, I’m not going to walk away. He’s mine. It’s what I’ve worked for.
“Kenjington,” I rebut, wanting him to admit he’s jealous. Seeing it in the flesh has me aching. It’s such a pleasure I didn’t believe I deserved. Yet, he’s wanting me, hating my time being separated.
Well, too damn bad.
“You know, maybe next time…” Rusty interrupts our silent battle. I let out a huff. “I can see you both have conflicting opinions. So, text me, Atlas.” He winks at me, showing his little dimple. “I’d love to get to know you better.”
“You know what?” Kenji hisses, not nicely, but not harshly enough to give cause. “You should come over. Maybe even share us both.”
That idea has me completely soft in my pants, but he said it with purpose. He’s using my own words from our last bet against me. He wants me to know he’s pissed about my offer. What he doesn’t realize is my intentions had nothing to do with getting my dick anywhere near this prick.
It has everything to do with slicing his throat and watching him choke on his own blood.
Chapter Nine
Kenji
We head home and I glare at Atlas the entire way. His words set my heart aflame, nearly bringing me to my knees in sadness. It crippled me, the jealousy and hatred. Maybe this is how he felt seeing my dick in this dude.
It’s intoxicating. Hatred. It fills the veins, climbing my body irreverently. Giving me some type of God complex isn’t exactly good, but now I understand my brother. His need for Rusty’s blood makes sense.
It’s why I’m pushing this now. Even if it has my brother giving me a questioning glare, it’s payback. He doesn’t realize it, but I’m about to win our final bet. Six days early, no less. My grin widens, churlish, probably ugly and monster-like. But I don’t give a shit. He asked, now he shall receive. Then he’ll be taking it in the ass, and I’ll be the one pounding into him.
He had his fix of me.
Owning me.
Marking me.
Having me on my knees.
Now, it’s his turn to see how his twin doesn’t differ from him much at all.
We walk the short distance home, my body exhausted from the battle with my brother and me, the adrenaline from nearly getting caught with his dick in my mouth, and this untapped energy for blood. Atlas disarms the house, and as soon as we enter, we notice the lights are on. The problem with that, we turned them off. In the front room, the sound of keys on the piano ring out. My gaze connects with my brother, and for the first time in maybe ever, fear lines his forehead.
It wrinkles, stress contouring every plane of his face. We don’t stop staring, not even when Rusty brushes past us and heads inside. Like he owns the place, he removes his shoes and sits on the love seat.
“Oh, hello, child.” A serene voice is directly pointedly at Rusty.
Mom?
Atlas swallows, and I feel a pain ping in my chest, warning me that this isn’t good. Our parents, for all intents and purposes, love us. I know it. They may never be around, but they don’t hide their weird affection for us when around.
They’re like Morticia and Gomez. Fucking creepy, but loving in their own horrific way. We have to say something, he mouths. His eyes are wide when our Mom’s head pokes around the wall we’re currently hiding behind. Virginia and Terrance Grim, our parents. They are here—for once, they are fucking here. And I’m not happy. I stare at the people I idolized as a child, the two that ruined my dreams and stole my happiness. They’re worthless.
“Boys,” Mom sounds out. It’s like we’ve been shocked with a cattle prod. We’re stuck in our spots, unable to move. We share another look, and she narrows her eyes. “Don’t be rude to your mother or your guest,” she chirps.
Atlas is the first to move. “Hey, Momma. Missed you.” It’s always so easy for him now, to go into this role of doting son. He didn’t used to be this way. Before it was me, and he hated them. Something changed, but when we stopped being close, he never told me what. Him being soft with our parents would be funny if you could see how he is with the rest of the world. But it’s charming, seeing him love her the way I haven’t been able to in years.
He lays a kiss on her cheek and sits on the recliner opposite of Rusty. Mom looks pointedly at me, waiting for me to hug her or some shit. I’m the weird child. You wouldn’t know based on my vanilla appearance. Out of the two of us, I’m normal. That’s saying a lot, since I’m far from it.
Hell, I let my brother fuck me four days ago without batting an eyelash. If she knew that, would she kill us? That’d be her role. Taking our lives, bringing our sickness to the surface.
She gives me a raised eyebrow and taps her foot. “You’re letting the heat out.”
“It’s like eighty degrees in here, Ma.” It’s true. She likes it hot as fuck. It’s because she’s an ice queen, without a heart. Or if there is one, it’s so frostbitten, it’d be useless.
Shutting the door at her scalding glare, I kiss her cheek and rush past. She’s dressed in an apron. It’s weird. She never cooks. Ever.
She’s hands-on with most things, but she’s not a cook whatsoever. That’s what Esme—our housekeeper—is for. She’s been around for our lives more than our mother
