Scarlett
The car hums low, windows down, the wind clawing at my hair as Kai drives like the road belongs to him. With one hand loose on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh, cigarette burning between his fingers.
We’re not going anywhere special. Not a restaurant. Not a movie. Just—out. The excuse was errands, but it feels nothing like errands with the way his arm brushes mine every time he shifts gears.
The silence isn’t empty. It’s thick. Heavy. Pressed down on my chest until every breath feels stolen.
He flicks ash out the window, glances at me once, quick, like I’m not supposed to notice. But I do.
“Hungry?” His voice is low, casual, like we’re normal, like this is nothing.
I shrug, tugging at the frayed seam of my jeans. “Not really.”
He smirks, just barely. “Liar.”
The word lands hotter than it should, curling in my stomach. I stare out the window, the blur of trees and neon signs. We pass a fairground on the edge of town, rides standing silent, closed for the season. Rusted metal, chipped paint, a graveyard of noise waiting to be resurrected.
Kai slows at the light, glances again. “Want to stop?”
I almost laugh. It’s ridiculous. The place is dark, gates chained, only the moon lighting up the skeletons of rides. “It’s closed.”
His jaw ticks, smoke curling out of the corner of his mouth. “Since when has that ever stopped me?”
And then he turns, the car rolling onto the gravel shoulder, tires crunching loudly in the silence. He kills the engine, the night swallowing us whole, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like errands anymore.
It feels like something else. Something I shouldn’t want.
The engine cuts off, but he doesn’t move. Just sits there, one hand draped on the wheel, the other resting too close to the bare skin above my knee, his thumb brushing the hem like it’s an accident.
My throat is tight. “Kai… what are you doing?”
He turns his head slowly, that lazy grin tugging at his mouth like he knows exactly how my voice shakes.
“Relax, baby,” he says, low and drawled, like he’s not parking us outside a locked-up fairground at midnight. His thumb drags higher, barely grazing my thigh. “Don’t look so scared. I didn’t bring you out here to kill you.”
“Not funny,” I snap, but it comes out thinner than I mean it to, my pulse stuttering under my skin.
He leans in closer, the shadows cutting across his cheekbones, his voice sinking. “Then stop looking at me like you’re already bleeding for it.”
My breath stumbles, heat pooling traitorously low, and I try to twist toward the door, but his hand slides higher, firm now, grounding me in place.
“Kai—”
“Shhh.” His smirk sharpens, but his tone softens, like he’s coaxing me instead of taunting. “Come on, Scar. Just breathe. It’s only me.” His thumb strokes slow circles against my skin, his eyes pinning me there.
And the worst part is he’s right—it is only him. That’s what terrifies me.
The silence is the worst part. The engine clicks as it cools, the world outside dark and empty, and in here it’s just me and him and the weight of everything I shouldn’t want.
Kai’s hand drifts across the gear stick, knuckles brushing the bare skin of my thigh where my dress has ridden up. It’s nothing, barely a touch, but it sends my whole body rigid.
I snap my legs shut. He laughs under his breath.
“What’s the matter, little sister?” His voice is low, amused, like he already knows. “You nervous sitting here alone with me?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, staring out the windshield.
His hand doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingertips trace lazy circles higher on my thigh, deliberate, just shy of too much. My pulse skitters, my knees tighten, but I don’t stop him.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, leaning closer so his breath slides against my ear. “Can feel it under my hand.”
“I’m not.” My voice cracks. I hate it.
He chuckles again, darkly, like he’s won. “Liar.”
His fingers still pressing just enough to make me squirm, then easing off again like it’s all some sick game. I hate how wet I am, how my hips tilt despite myself.
He notices.
“Careful,” he whispers, his lips brushing my temple without touching. “The way you’re moving… makes it hard to keep being the good brother you want so bad.”
I suck in a sharp breath, but he just sits back, smug, hand sliding away like he hasn’t set me on fire, like I’m not about to come apart from nothing more than his voice and the ghost of his touch.
I laugh, sharp and broken, the kind of sound that scrapes my own throat raw.
“The good brother?” I spit, my voice shaking, venom spilling hotter than my tears.
My chest heaves, my hands tremble, but I don’t stop.
I can’t stop. “After you fucked me?” My voice cracks, not with weakness but with rage.
“There is nothing good about you, Kai. Nothing.”
The words slash out of me, but even as they leave my mouth, the truth coils in the back of my skull, the ugly, filthy truth I can’t silence—because I wanted it. I let him. My body begged for it, even while my mind screamed.
His jaw ticks, his whole body tensing like I’ve just put a gun to his temple, but I keep going, shoving the knife deeper.
“So stop pretending. Stop hiding behind the mask of being my brother. You lost the right to play the saint the second you put your hands on me.”
His head jerks, his eyes go wild, the mask cracking clean in half. He slams his palm flat against the wall beside me, the sound so loud it rattles through my bones.
“You think I don’t know I’m not good?” His voice is a snarl, sharp and shaking. “You think I don’t fucking hate myself for what I’ve done?”
He leans in so close I can taste his breath, bitter and burning.
“But don’t you dare sit there and act like you didn’t want it. Don’t you fucking dare, Scar.” His hand shoots to my chin, gripping it hard, forcing my eyes up to his. “You begged for me. Every whimper, every grind of your hips—you begged. For me.”
My throat locks, my chest seizes, because he’s right and I hate him for it. I hate me for it.
“You say I lost the right to be your brother the second I touched you?” he spits, his forehead pressing hard to mine, voice dropping into a raw, ruined whisper. “No, Scar. You stripped that away the second you let me in.”
His grip on my chin softens, not enough to free me, just enough to make me shiver. The anger in his eyes flickers, warps, and what replaces it is worse—tenderness wrapped in fire.
“Kai—” I try, but the sound dies in my throat when his thumb strokes the corner of my mouth, dragging slowly like he wants to memorise it.
“You think I don’t see you?” His voice is low, raw, a rasp that curls down my spine. His forehead presses to mine, softer this time, like he can’t keep away. “Every time you bite your lip. Every time you run from me. You don’t get it, Scar… you don’t fucking get it.”
His hand slides down, fingers brushing my neck, the faintest drag along my collarbone, never enough but too much all the same. My knees weaken, my stomach tightens, shame burning hotter because my body is already betraying me.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, and it’s sweet and venomous all at once. “Not because I touched you. Not because I broke you. Because you let me. Because you wanted me. And I’ll remind you of that every time you try to forget.”
His lips hover, not quite kissing, just breathing me in, his fingers pressing into my waist like he’s anchoring himself to me.
His ragged breath is against my lips, and his thumb still strokes lazy fire across my waist. His eyes burn into me, that wild blue gone dark, and when he speaks it’s not rage anymore—it’s ruin.
“I’m not your brother.” The words land like a match dropped into gasoline, slow and deadly. His fingers slip lower, curling around my hip, pulling me into him until I can feel the sharp line of his hard cock pressed against my stomach. “I can’t be.”
“Kai—”
“Not when I want this,” he cuts me off, voice breaking into a growl. His hand drags up my side, grazing the swell of my breast through my shirt, teasing just enough to make my body arch into him even as my mind screams to run. “Not when I want you.”
And then his mouth is on mine.
Not gentle, not tentative. Hot and filthy, his tongue pushes past my lips like he owns me, like he’s starved and I’m the only thing that could ever fill him.
His other hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so he can devour me deeper.
The kiss is wet, desperate, cruel in its sweetness—his teeth scraping my bottom lip, sucking until it hurts.
I moan into him, broken and breathless, my hands clawing at his shirt even though I swore I’d never give him this again. Shame floods me, but it’s drowned by heat, by the way his kiss feels like a promise and a punishment all at once.
He groans against my mouth, low and wrecked, whispering between bruising kisses, “You taste like mine, Scar. You’ll always taste like mine.”
The second his mouth crashes to mine, I forget how to breathe. It isn’t soft, it isn’t careful—he kisses me like he’s starving, like I’ve been keeping something from him all along and he’s finally taking it back.
My fists slam into his chest, but instead of pushing, I’m clutching, dragging him closer until there’s no space left between us. His hand knots in my hair, yanking just enough to make me gasp, and he swallows the sound like it belongs to him.
Every swipe of his tongue, every bite of my lip, it’s too much and not enough. My head spins, shame colliding with heat until I can’t tell them apart.
“Fuck, Scar,” he groans against my mouth, his breath hot and broken, his words sweet and filthy all at once. “Tell me to stop and I will. But don’t lie to me. Don’t kiss me like this and pretend you don’t want it.”
His other hand slides to my waist, squeezing hard, dragging me flush to him, and the world tilts—just his mouth devouring mine, his body pinning me like I’ll never escape, like I don’t want to.