Chapter 15 Kade
Kade
Ican barely see straight when I slide behind the wheel of my truck and slam the door closed.
Dammit, Allie. She’s been pretending this whole fucking time.
Dinner in Billings. How nice for her. For Emma, too, since she can keep pretending her life is so fucking perfect.
The idea makes me laugh as I peel out, tires squealing.
Loud, pounding music fills the cab. And I twist the knob on the radio, needing to stay focused on the sharp edge of my anger.
Did she smile at him tonight? Laugh at his jokes?
Pretend she wants him like she pretended to want me?
I slam the heel of my hand against the dashboard and push the truck to its limits, moving fast enough to make the engine roar.
That’s nothing compared to the roaring in my head.
All this time, she could have fucking told me. I’d have helped her, done anything to make sure she doesn’t have to marry that asshole, even if she doesn’t want me instead.
Once I’m close to the Porter ranch, I slow down, taking the familiar dirt road I always use when I sneak in. I climb out as soon as I’ve parked alongside the fence and turned off the truck.
No way she does this to me. I won’t let it happen.
I want my fingerprints on her skin when she walks down that aisle if she’s so fucking determined to play the martyr.
I want the memory of us burned into her brain so it’s my face she sees when she’s exchanging her vows.
If I can manage it, I want my cum dripping between her creamy thighs to stain her wedding dress.
I may not be able to brand her flesh, but I will brand her mind. She will never be free of me. That “breakup” was bullshit, and we both know it.
Once again, I use the broken lock to enter the root cellar. It isn’t as late as it normally is when I do this, but I’m not worried. With the women out to dinner in Billings, the staff seems to have decided to take the night for themselves. The kitchen is empty, the house dark.
The light, floral scent of Allie’s perfume lingers in the air when I enter her room, closing the door behind me. She left a mess on her dresser. The drawers stand half open, underwear hanging out, cosmetic bottles scattered.
Like she was in such a hurry to get to her dinner, she couldn’t be bothered to clean up after herself.
Wouldn’t want to keep her future meal ticket waiting.
The thought turns my blood to acid, eating me from the inside.
Was I only a practice run before the real thing came along?
If she is marrying him for the money, why the hell didn’t she turn to me?
I may be a bastard and a bully, but I sure as hell have a bank account, too.
It’s not like I have anything to spend my money on either.
My thoughts stray when I catch sight of her panties.
I hook a finger around the waistband of a lacy white thong and pull it the rest of the way out of the drawer.
I’ve seen her wear this pair before. For me.
The memory of peeling it off her body makes my dick lengthen and thicken, and the idea of jerking off on it plays in my head.
I shake the thought away, refusing to let myself get any more distracted. I’m here for a reason. For her. Instead of jerking off or putting them back, I shove the lace into my pocket. A piece of her to take with me.
The front door opens and closes loudly downstairs while I’m looking through her closet. I stop and hold my breath, listening hard. The echoes of Emma’s voice reach me. She sounds happy. Things went well, I guess. Isn’t that nice?
I duck into the closet to wait for my prey. I’ve barely adjusted the door before I catch the click of her heels coming closer. She’s walking slowly. Dreaming of the big day? Reliving every moment of her romantic dinner? What a load of bullshit.
Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t I give her the chance?
The anticipation is like a drug. My heart pounds a little harder, a little faster, when her bedroom door opens. Should I wait until she gets into bed? She closes and locks the door, then all I hear is her zipper lowering.
My dick stirs again when I imagine her standing in her room, wearing nothing but her underwear, clueless. She has no idea she’s not alone. That I have the power now.
Her footsteps grow louder, the floorboards creaking, then the closet door opens. She freezes in front of me, wearing only a strapless bra and a thong, a dress hanging over one arm.
She doesn’t have time to gasp.
The dress hits the floor when I snatch her close and clamp a hand over her mouth. Her fear-filled eyes search my face in a panic while I drag her across the room to her bed. She bucks and twists, crying out helplessly, uselessly, her voice nothing but a whisper against my palm. No one can hear.
Fuck, I hate the way her body makes me feel, pressed against mine as I shove her onto the bed and straddle her, using my weight to pin her down. I keep my hand across her mouth but make sure she can breathe.
“I should warn you. When you squirm, you only make me harder.” I grind my hips against her mound, and she lets out a guttural moan, half pleasure, half pain, all piss and vinegar.
She doesn’t know what pain is. But I’ll be happy to show her.
“Remember how you used to love getting me hard?” I chuckle at the broken sob she releases against my fingers. “I would be driving, and you’d reach over and stroke me through my jeans. You loved to tease me, didn’t you? You wanted to see how long it would take before I had to pull over.”
I lean in, inhaling her expensive perfume. “You smell good,” I whisper, nuzzling her neck where her pulse flutters out of control. “I like it better when you smell like grass and sunshine, but you had to get all whored up for your fiancé, right?”
She groans behind my hand. “Am I hurting you?” I ask. “That’s a damn shame. It sucks when someone hurts you, doesn’t it?” I don’t mean to say that out loud. I wish I could take it back as our eyes meet and her brows pull together.
Is she surprised to know that? That losing her hurt me. That every day she continues to live, it hurts me. All she has to do is breathe, and I’m tortured. She was the only person I ever opened up to, the only one I ever let in—and she ensured it would never happen again.
Yet she’s the one who gets to move on, while I’ll spend the rest of my life haunted by the memory of how I let her use me. It throws fire through me.
She whimpers again when my fingers dig into her harder. “What? You don’t like this? You think I feel sorry for you, Sis?” I love it when she squirms for me.
Playtime is over. I lower my head until our noses touch.
Her chest heaves fast and hard. “I could kill you right now. End your fucking life. You know I could, too. You know I have it in me.” It would end this torment.
This back-and-forth game we’ve been playing for too long.
Maybe if she were gone, I could finally purge her from my soul.
Her eyes study mine. Is she asking herself whether I mean it? Part of me isn’t even sure of myself anymore. I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m so torn up.
She freezes. Not like she ran out of strength, but more like she’s giving up. Her eyes are still wide open, still fixed on mine, but she’s not fighting anymore.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, threatening her, but she no longer seems scared. “Do you want to die tonight?”
Her stillness unnerves me. This isn’t right. She can’t mean it. No. No, she’s testing me, because she doesn’t think I’ll do it.
But the resignation in her eyes takes some of the edge off my rage. “I’m gonna lift my hand.”
Even releasing her face doesn’t make the light return to her eyes. They’ve gone flat, cold.
“You scream, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. Do you understand me?”
Her head bobs. The first thing she does is take a deep breath, then forces it out in a long, rough exhale. She still hasn’t moved otherwise. I might as well be lying on top of a corpse. What the fuck?
“So.” I brush a lock of red hair away from her forehead. “Did you have a nice dinner with your next meal ticket?”
She narrows her eyes. “Did you have a nice night hiding in my closet? What kind of pervert are you, waiting for your own sister to come home so you can catch her naked and lay on top of her with your cock hard enough to leave bruises between you?”
All of this is said so carefully and coldly I can only blink. It’s like she threw a bucket of ice at my face.
“Wh-what?”
“Stop being disgusting,” she snaps, but there’s no heat at all in it. “You want to fuck your own sister, and you think you’re the strong one here. The one with the power?” This time, I gulp and slowly shift off her. Something isn’t right. None of this is fucking right.
Her chin quivers. That’s a good sign. It’s the only way I can feel any sort of connection with her. Through her strongest emotions. Hate. Anger. Sadness. She can’t hide them, no matter how hard she tries.
“Technically, I’m only your half brother.” And I’m very aware of her body, her soft pink skin, the musky scent of her cunt. She’s so perfect. The outside only masks the rot underneath. “It would be disgusting if you sucked off a closer relation.”
The second the words are out, I regret them. I’d only done it to try to get a reaction out of her and ignite the spark of my own anger again.
She tilts her head to the side slightly and meets my eyes head-on. Not a flinch, but nothing else either. Dead. Completely dead. Like she’s given up inside.
I could tell her the truth, but why? Her own mother never bothered to tell her she’s adopted. It’s not my job to set her straight.
“I wonder…” Fuck, her tits are amazing, and when I stroke one, her nipple pebbles against the lace of her bra. “About the asshole you’re going to marry. Do you think he’ll ever touch you like this?” My thumb strums her nub, and watching her lip disappear under her teeth makes my dick swell.