Kai
The second the seatbelt clicks free, Scarlett shoves the door open and bolts for the house. My pulse is still a roar in my ears, my knuckles white on the wheel, but I can’t let her run. Not after tonight. Not after what she did to me.
I slam my own door and stalk after her, boots heavy on the gravel, fury and hunger twisted so tight in my chest I can barely breathe.
The front door swings open, warm light spilling across the porch — and there they are: Mum and Dad.
Scarlett freezes mid-step, hair wild, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from the things I said — the things she did — and me? I’m behind her, fists raw, shirt torn, blood smeared across my skin like evidence.
‘Where on earth have you two been?’ Mum gasps, relief flooding her voice as she pulls Scarlett into a hug. ‘We were worried sick.’
Scarlett stiffens in her arms, eyes flicking up to mine over Mum’s shoulder — wide, burning, accusing.
Dad claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, smiling like I’ve done something good. ‘That’s my boy. Looking out for your sister, making sure she’s safe. You’ve really stepped up.’
The words hit like a punch to the gut. I nod, force a tight smile, let them see what they want to see. But inside, I’m rotting — because I don’t want to look after her.
I don’t want to be the big brother who keeps her safe.
I want to pin her against these fucking walls and make her scream.
I want her to forget every man’s name but mine.
I want her on my lap again, trembling, soaked, whispering filth in my ear.
Their praise feels like poison, coating my skin, choking my throat. As Scarlett slips from Mum’s arms and runs upstairs without a word, I know one thing for certain: if they knew the truth about me, about us, about what I almost did in that car, they’d never call me a protector again.
The sound of her footsteps fades up the stairs, the slam of her bedroom door a gunshot in my chest. I want to follow; every muscle in me strains towards the staircase, but Dad’s hand squeezes my shoulder again — heavy, grounding me where I stand.
‘You did good tonight,’ he says, voice warm with pride. ‘This town’s rougher than it used to be. She’s lucky to have you watching out for her.’
Lucky.
If he knew where my hands have been, what I’ve whispered in her ear, what she’s done straddling my lap, he wouldn’t be looking at me like this.
I force a nod, jaw tight, a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. ‘Yeah. I’ve got her.’
Mum fusses with the kettle, her back to us. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you, Kai. You’re such a good influence on her — keeping her steady.’
The words make bile rise in my throat. A good influence. They’ve no idea how close I came to snapping that seatbelt, dragging Scarlett down on me until she screamed my name. They don’t know she’s the reason I’m shaking, the reason my palms are bruised from gripping her too tight.
I nod again, shove my hands into my pockets to hide the tremor. ‘She doesn’t make it easy.’
Dad chuckles like I’ve made a harmless joke — like Scarlett’s just a stubborn teenager, not the obsession eating me alive.
‘Get some rest,’ he says finally, clapping me on the back. ‘You’ve done enough for tonight.’
Done enough.
I swallow hard, teeth grinding. Done enough would’ve been breaking every man in that bar for looking at her.
Done enough would’ve been dragging her upstairs, locking her door, making sure she never walked out dressed like that again.
But all I do is nod, take the mug Mum presses into my hand, sip the tea that tastes like ash, and sit at the kitchen table like I’m human.
Like I’m not a monster.
The tea cools in my hands, the kitchen warm and quiet, the tick of the old clock loud in the silence. Mum hums as she sets out biscuits; Dad flips through the paper like it’s any other night — like nothing’s wrong. But everything’s wrong.
Scarlett’s upstairs, door locked, her body still burned into mine, her voice echoing in my head, and I’m sitting here playing house, sipping tea like I didn’t almost lose control in the front seat of my car.
Mum smiles at me across the table, soft and proud. ‘She’s been different lately. Restless. But I can tell she listens to you. You’re the one steady thing in her life.’
My stomach twists. My hand tightens round the mug until the ceramic creaks. Steady. Protector. Brother.
I force a smile, the mask cracking at the edges. ‘Yeah. I keep her in line.’
Dad grins, nodding. ‘That’s family. Blood or not, she’s your sister. She’ll thank you for it one day.’
The word burns like acid.
Sister.
Scarlett Everly is many things — a curse, a fire I can’t put out, a sin I can’t stop craving — but she is not my sister.
Not in the ways that matter. Not in the way I think of her when I can’t sleep at night, when I’m hard and angry and aching.
Not in the way she trembled on my lap tonight, whispering filth in my ear that no brother should ever hear.
I nod again, but my head is loud with the truth.
She’s not my sister.
She’s mine — and one day soon, I’ll stop pretending otherwise.
The tea’s gone cold in my hands, but I sip it anyway, nodding in all the right places as Mum and Dad talk — about the bills, the neighbours, Scarlett’s future, as though she has one separate from me.
‘She’s smart,’ Mum says, her voice soft with hope. ‘University applications will be coming up soon. She could really make something of herself.’
‘Yeah,’ Dad adds with a smile. ‘She just needs a little guidance. That’s where you come in, son.’
Guidance.
My grip tightens on the mug until I feel the ceramic bite into my palm.
They’ve no idea that while they dream about Scarlett’s future, I’m picturing her mouth open under mine, her legs trembling around my waist. They don’t know every word they speak sounds like static against the hunger roaring in my skull.
I hum, forcing a polite smile. ‘She’s stubborn. But I’ll keep her on track.’
Mum beams, pride shining in her eyes. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you, Kai.’
What they’d do without me? Maybe they’d still have a daughter untouched by obsession. A daughter who could smile without shame, laugh without fear, walk into a room without me stalking her every step — but I’m here, and I’m not letting go.
My leg bounces under the table, restless, blood hot. I glance towards the stairs, towards the dark hallway leading up to her room. My body aches with the memory of her heat, the ghost of her breath against my ear.
They think I’m her protector. They think I’ll keep her safe — but all I can think about is dragging her door open, pinning her to her bed, and proving what I already know.
She’s not my sister.
She’s mine — and no amount of small talk or tea will ever change that.