Chapter 17
seventeen
-Serena-
I'm fixing my hair while smoothing the edges of my dress so I won't look like the mess I really am. My damn pussy is still twitching in anticipation. Poor thing doesn't know she's not getting served tonight.
I watch Set casually open the door like nothing was happening just a second before, but there are obvious signs that betray him.
"Yeah, we're skipping the brotherly hug with that thing pointing at me," Whiro says, stepping inside, staying as far from Set as possible.
"I never realized you were that happy to see me," he laughs, looking down at Set's joggers which do a shitty job at hiding his still very-much-awake hard-on.
Not that he even bothers to hide it. "Did I interrupt you two mid-fuck?
" Whiro asks, eyes on me as he strolls into the middle of the room.
"No, we were..." I fumble for an excuse while trying to fix the mess in my hair. I don't even realize when he had time to wreck my ponytail, but things happened in a blur.
"Don't lie to me, sweetheart, I can see the tension all over your faces. Along with my brother’s dick trying to stare me down through his pants.
" Whiro barely holds back a laugh, while Set rolls his eyes behind him, like he's long past being surprised by his brother's blunt-ass mouth.
Not too different from his own. It's just that Whiro's tone hits different—cocky, maybe even cheerful in some ways, but unstable to say the least. Set, on the other hand, comes off way more menacing.
And even though I know how dangerous my mobster is in reality, his brother seems like a whole different beast, like a ticking time bomb totally out of anyone's control.
"Is something burning?" Whiro asks, scrunching his nose like he's sniffing out the air.
"My sauce!" I run to the kitchen, desperate to save dinner.
I make it just in time. The sauce wasn't burning. It was just starting to overcook. And I can't help being impressed by the man’s senses because I can barely tell it was sticking to the bottom of the pot.
Both Whiro and Set follow me to the kitchen, probably to judge the damage. I manage not to make a fool of myself, and give them a thumbs-up as I taste the hot sauce. Dinner’s not ruined—yet.
"Well, we might as well eat," Whiro shrugs. "You're not getting laid anytime soon. I'm in the mood for a whiskey."
The man drives me insane—and not in a good way. I don't like him.
"So, what's for dinner?" He comes next to me—like we’ve known each other for a lifetime—sniffs around, then steals a meatball.
"This is delicious," he mumbles through a mouthful, then licks his fingers—no manners whatsoever.
Suddenly, he turns to look at me, throwing me a quick wink.
"Set, you should claim this one before someone else does. "
Okay, I rectify that, I might like him a little, not because he just told Set to claim me, but because he appreciates my skills in the kitchen.
"Watch it," I hear Set warn, but he's not serious enough to sell it. I think he recognizes his brother's sense of humor.
"Not me." Whiro lifts both hands in the air like he's backing out of a crime scene. "I'm too good to be in the market. Besides, I don't do relationships."
"Neither did I," Set mutters, like I'm the one who ruined his life, not the other way around.
Still... is that what this is? A relationship?
Sounds weird, even just thinking about it, let alone saying it out loud. But sooner or later, I think I'll have to accept I’m in the weirdest relationship on the planet.
"Sit, I'll pour you a drink," Set nods at a barstool, making Whiro sit at the kitchen island while he gets them some whiskey. And Mr. Cat decides to join in, hopping up on the barstool like he owns the damn place.
"Well I'll be damned... Oh wait, I am damned.
" Whiro grins with that signature hidden madness I think I'm starting to get used to.
"I almost forgot you two had a baby," he says, laughing as he looks at Set.
Then turns to me. "Gorgeous, you actually put a leash on this one. Who would’ve thought?
Bro, you're one succulent plant away from getting neutered," he says, shooting Set a look, then shudders like the mental image actually disturbed him.
"What's his name?" he asks, reaching out to pet the cat.
"Mr. Cat," I chuckle, searching for a tray to throw the meatballs into the oven.
"Eight-Ball," Set says at the same time, making me pause and look at him.
"Eight-Ball?" I blink. I’ve never heard him call the cat that. Come to think about it, I’ve never heard him call him anything before.
"You know... the white balls. Anyway, it’s not up for discussion," Set mutters, just so I don’t argue over it.
"Is this your first fight?" Whiro grins as I shoot Set a death glare.
"Come along, let's steal you a meatball. They're delicious," he says, tearing one apart right on the island and feeding chunks to Mr. Cat—or Eight-Ball. Or whatever his name is. Set knows I can’t fight him on this because he’s the one who took him in, even back when the two of us weren’t on best terms.
Not that we’re on great terms now.
At least if I can’t get to Set, Whiro can. His entire existence seems dedicated to pissing off Set—who’s just returned with the whiskey.
"Not on the fucking table," Set snaps, watching Eight-Ball roll all over the table and playing tricks for his brother. "Don't feed him there. Anywhere but the table."
Not that Whiro gives a damn what Set says. Actually, he's the only person I’ve ever seen defy Set like this and get away with it.
"If you teach him to get on the table, you're taking him when you leave," Set threatens Whiro, like he would ever give up my cat.
"I kinda like him, but I don't think I've been home for the last..." he takes a second to think about it. "Let’s say eight months. So yeah, probably not a good idea unless you want him to starve to death."
"You really need to take a break at some point," Set says with a hint of worry in his voice. And I get why.
Maybe it’s all the superhero movies I’ve watched, but he seriously reminds me of the Joker.
Slightly unhinged, strangely attractive, definitely scary, and certainly evil.
I might even throw bipolar into the mix.
One second he's smiling, the next he's staring into space like he’s planning a murder. And there’s something else—something off.
Almost unearthly, just like Set gets sometimes, but Whiro’s at a whole different level.
Just as I said, I watched too many superhero movies, and these two are definitely the villains.
"This isn't a courtesy visit, so what do you have?" Set cuts straight to the point.
"Heard you put on quite a show last night," Whiro arches a brow, sipping his drink before cracking an ice cube between his teeth.
Set immediately glances at me, checking if I’m okay. He knows I'm still not right after what happened. "He’s not a threat anymore," he responds to his brother, his sight never leaving mine.
"So I guess you found out it was Chen?" It's Whiro who asks.
Set nods.
"How do you want us to handle this?" Whiro goes on, eager to get in on the action.
"His hotel’s not that secure, but he always keeps a few personal guards around, especially since I got an artifact from his safe," Set stirs the ice in his glass while he speaks. "I don't want open war."
"Oh yeah, you and your fucking balances," Whiro mutters, like he doesn't give a damn about Set's politics. He's in it for the kill. "But you do want to make an example out of him."
"You know me too well," Set smiles, downing his glass in a single sip.
They keep talking while I continue to prepare dinner, though I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore.
Just dumping sauce over the meatballs, topping it with parmigiano, and sliding it into the oven for twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes.
The last half an hour has been such a blur, it feels like a week ago when Set grabbed the knife and started chopping my vegetables like a Michelin-star chef.
So much has happened since that moment, I don't even know where to start. Though there is an issue that won’t give me peace.
It's not even the part where someone still wants me dead. Or the fact that we’re casually planning a hit over meatballs.
It's my damn core that still twitches every time I so much as look at Set's.
There's no salvation for me.
The four of us have dinner. Me, Set, Whiro, and Eight-Ball, who Whiro sat next to him in a chair and fed until he curled up into a furry ball, and started snoring.
The conversation is as weird as ever, but I'm starting to get used to Whiro's dark sense of humor. And even though I still think he's pure evil, I’ll admit he does seem to have a few decent bones in his body. Just like Set.
I'm getting a little sleepy, and these two don't seem to be calling it a night anytime soon.
So I walk over to Set to let him know I'm going to bed, just as they retreat to the bar in the living room.
"I'll be in the bedroom," I whisper in his ear—just the way he always does to me—making sure my tone lets him know he’s still got some unfinished business.
"Might be a while," the bastard casually replies, like he's not interested anymore, and goes right back to torture me. I think he found Whiro as an excuse to keep him occupied and get his mind off what happened earlier.
I'm just about to leave without another word, when he catches my arm and pulls me back to him.
"No touching yourself," he whispers in the most sinful tone possible, planting exactly that thought in my mind.
"Don't make me come tie you up." He kisses my forehead like he's giving me a goodnight kiss, then lets go of my hand so I can go to the bedroom.
Alone. Unsatisfied. And with a new idea buried in the back of my mind.
Fuck. My. Life.