CHAPTER 1
One week later
Zeke
I grinned as I lowered the dumbbell, my eyes fixed on the shift of my bicep before I raised the weight again. The sudden disappearance of music caused my ears to ring in the silence, but I didn’t allow it to derail my attention.
“How can you listen to that angry-man music?” a sweet, chipper voice called from across the room. “It’s far too early for so much … noise, Zeke.”
“Noise, my ass.” I chuckled. “The band is Underoath, the song is ‘Rapture.’ And there’s nothing angry about it,” I assured my kid sister when she skipped across the room, a huge grin on her wide mouth.
“Whatever you gotta tell yourself, big brother.” Jamie nodded toward the weight in my hand. “Pretty soon you’ll have to graduate to lifting appliances.”
“Well, I won’t be doing it while listening to Lifehouse, that’s for damn sure.”
Jamie giggled. “I happen to prefer Imagine Dragons, thank you very much.”
Keeping my focus, I finished my set and placed the dumbbell back on the rack. “Why are you bothering me on a Friday morning?”
My sister rolled her big brown eyes, something she’d gotten eerily good at over the years. “Because I show up every Friday morning, goober. You owe me breakfast.”
A deep, rumbling laugh came out of me. “Owe you? Why would I owe you anything?”
I couldn’t help but smile at the little girl.
Granted, at six foot even, my twenty-four-year-old sister wasn’t all that little anymore.
However, as far as I was concerned, Jamie would always be that sweet kid with the pigtails and worshipful eyes, who insisted on following me around even when I threatened bodily harm.
Not that I ever would’ve harmed a hair on that kid’s head, but she hadn’t known that.
“Where’s Tank?” she asked, her gaze scanning the basement that I’d set up as my personal play space. To most people, it appeared to be a home gym, but I was privy to the other toys that discreetly filled the space.
“Probably upstairs,” I told her.
“He doesn’t like the angry-man music either?”
I reached for her, but Jamie danced out of the way, giggling like a little kid.
“Uh-uh. Don’t you touch me, you big, sweaty beast.” She put another foot between us. “So, where’re you taking me for breakfast?”
“Your choice,” I told her after grabbing a towel and wiping my face. “Let me shower and we’ll head out. You mind feeding Tank?”
“Nope, I don’t mind,” she said cheerfully before bolting up the stairs.
I found myself smiling as I followed the far-too-chipper-for-six-in-the-morning girl up to the main floor.
Fifty minutes later, I was strolling into the small diner with Jamie on my arm.
She waved at the familiar faces as we headed to the booth in the far back.
The girl had never met a stranger in her life.
Everyone in this little hole-in-the-wall likely knew her life story—something I wasn’t exactly happy about.
There was something to be said for discretion.
However, Jamie was the sort who talked to anyone who would chat with her.
A gene I didn’t share with her, that was for sure.
My kid sister had somehow wrangled me into treating her to breakfast every Friday. While I offered to take her to any damn restaurant in the city, the girl insisted on this diner. Said they had the best waffles in the world. I’d have to take her word for it. I preferred meat.
After we were seated, the waitress came over to confirm our order, wanting to ensure we hadn’t changed it after nearly four years of coming here week in and week out, ordering the exact same thing every time.
Ever since my breakup with the first and only guy I’d ever truly committed myself to, Jamie had made a point to keep me company even on the days I insisted it wasn’t necessary.
“Thanks, Bev,” Jamie called out when the waitress shuffled to the next table. My kid sister turned to me. “She likes flirting with you.”
I grunted. A lot of women flirted with me. “Who? The waitress?”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “Her name’s Beverly and she’s been waiting on us for three years, Zeke.”
“Names are irrelevant,” I told her.
“I know, I know.” She sighed. “Less personal that way. Plus, she’s not your type.”
My baby sister knew I wasn’t into women. Never had been, never would be. I didn’t make excuses for it. I lived my life how I wanted to live it. I spent time with those I wanted to spend time with. And no one could or would sway me otherwise.
“How’s school?” I asked, following the same pattern we’d fallen into for as long as I could remember. I would ask how school was, she would say good, and then we could get on to the real reason she was here. Jamie always had a reason.
“Good,” she said, smiling up at the waitress when she placed a cup of coffee in front of me and apple juice in front of Jamie.
Rather than shoot me a wide grin and ask some off-the-wall question she’d been pondering for the past week, such as What do you think of self-actualization?
Or How does the mind-body connection affect our emotions?
—my kid sister was a psychology major—Jamie turned far too much attention to her apple juice.
“Spit it out, kid.”
Those big brown eyes lifted to mine, and I knew that whatever was about to come out of her mouth was not going to be good. I wouldn’t get lucky enough to debate nature versus nurture with her. I knew her better than she knew herself, and that gleam in her eye was the equivalent of a semaphore flag.
Considering our parents died when I was sixteen—Jamie was six—I’d spent more than half my life raising her.
Not solely, of course. When our folks went out to celebrate their seventeenth wedding anniversary and never came home thanks to a drunk driver causing a three-car pileup involving his truck, our parents’ car, and a semi, Jamie and I had gone to live with our maternal grandfather.
I’d grown up close to Oma and Opa, spending plenty of time there when I was little.
Oma had passed away when I was fourteen from complications after a heart attack, leaving the rest of us reeling.
Although still mourning the love of his life, Opa had done right by us, taking us in and doing everything a seventy-six-year-old man was capable of doing for a couple of distraught young kids.
To thank him for sacrificing so much for us, I had taken care of the man until he died a year and a half ago.
I still missed him. Hell, I missed all of them.
But I still had Jamie. We were the only family each of us had, and we’d forged a bond over the years.
“I have a favor to ask,” Jamie prompted, her eyes still glued to her glass.
I picked up the coffee mug, aware once again that it was the equivalent of a child’s teacup in my giant hand. “What favor?”
I leveled my stare on her, waiting for her to reveal whatever devious scheme she had in the works.
Admittedly, Jamie was a good kid. During her teenage years, rather than chase boys, she had focused on her classes, keeping her grades up.
Every night, she would regale me and Opa with stories of all the shit she’d learned.
She’d graduated high school top in her class, then gone on to college with academic scholarships.
And now she was working toward her master’s degree in psychology, of all things.
Of course, that wouldn’t be enough for Jamie.
She had every intention of going on to get her doctoral degree as well.
Jamie stared at her apple juice, wiping the condensation from her glass. “I was thinking maybe I could…”
The girl knew I would do damn near anything for her. The fact that she was having a hard time spitting it out bothered me. It was usually the precursor to something I was not going to like.
“What is it, kid?” I used the rough, no-nonsense tone I used with irritating submissives.
She heaved out a breath as she sat up straight. Her words came out in a mad rush. “I was thinking maybe I could go to the club with you. You know, just to check it out. See what it’s all about. Maybe—”
Well, hell. That was easier than I’d expected. “No.”
She huffed, her breath causing her bangs to flop on her forehead. “Come on, Zeke. You didn’t even think about it.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I took a sip of my coffee and pretended to consider it. “Still no.”
Absolutely no way in hell was I letting that kid in a kink club.
She flopped back and fiddled with her spoon while trying to kill me with a glare. “Why not?”
I lowered my voice and leaned forward. “Because I’m a misogynistic, hypocritical asshole who thinks you have absolutely no business in a BDSM club.”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Nice try. I know you better than that.”
I shrugged. “Not gonna happen, kid.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she mirrored my position, sitting up straight and cocking her angled chin up. “You know I don’t actually have to ask your permission, right?”
I didn’t respond, swallowing half of my lukewarm coffee.
“I’m twenty-four years old, Zeke. I can go to any club I want.”
I took a sip and glanced out the window, pretending to ignore her.
“There’s another club right down—”
I slammed my coffee cup on the table and leaned forward again. “Don’t you dare go to that club, Jamie.”
“Why not?” She had an extra amount of whine in her tone that time. “If you won’t let me in Dichotomy, I have to go somewhere. Razor Wire’s as good a place as any.”
A strange sensation filled my chest. Disbelief mixed with anger. How could she be so damn naive?
“It may not be as nice, Zeke, but—”
“They had two women file rape charges against the owner, Jamie,” I stated firmly, trying to keep my anger in check. “Don’t you go anywhere near that fucking shit hole.”
The waitress appeared, and I sat up slowly, never taking my eyes off my sister. I could see her brain working, knew she was trying to come up with an argument.
I waited until our food was in front of us and the waitress had refilled my coffee cup before I leaned close to my baby sister again.