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And I smile, loving that he loves this. A vibrator can’t give me that.
“These Pirates…” Deacon laughs, rubbing his temple as we listen to the Pirate and the Rebel go at it upstairs, above our heads. “Frickin’ rabbits,” he says, a lit cigarette between his fingers. “Just like her.”
Her.
He looks at me as I sit in one of our cushioned chairs in the living room, the headboard above banging against the wall.
We were standing in the kitchen when she ran in. We heard footfalls on the stairs, muffled talking, arguing, a sense of a struggle, so we stayed close, but then there were moans.
And something like screams, but they were the good kind. The kind men love to hear because they’re doing something right and not something bad.
We should leave now.
Dylan Trent cries out again, and I close my eyes, almost remembering the taste of moans like that. Almost.
Winslet MacCreary didn’t deserve the fun she had in this house.
“Just…like…her,” Deacon coos, smiling at me. “It was so dark in that room, I don’t think she knew which one of us was which most of the time.”
He looks away from Deacon, remembering the first time he and Winslet were in that very same room together where Dylan and Hunter are right now.
She knew which one was which. She always knew.
He descends the attic stairs, pushing the door open into the upstairs hallway.
Deacon sits up against the wall to the right, between the bathroom and our parents’ old room. He wears Army green cargo pants and no shirt, hanging one arm over his bent knee.
He rests his head back against the wall and grins at me. The house is dark, the storm killing the electricity and the streetlights outside. The moon doesn’t even pierce the clouds.
I jerk my chin, telling him to take a walk. It’s my turn now.
His smile widens, and he skips down the stairs, but he doesn’t leave the house. He wants to hear it.
I stop at her door, having only seen glimpses of her since she was traded to us in the prisoner exchange a few days ago. She knows I’m here, but I wanted him to have his fun first. He deserves it.
Opening the door, I stand in the frame, seeing her sit up in bed.
“Deacon?” she asks.
The night is so black, the rain can’t even find a speck of light to spread. It hits her window, and I make out mybrother’s desk and bed. His pictures on the wall, and his nice curtains. He always took the most initiative with the house and making it look nice. His room is comfortable. She shouldn’t have it.
I walk in, pushing the door shut behind me, and stop at the bottom of the bed. I take her sheet and gently tug at it.
She lets it go, and I make out the shapes of her naked breasts, tummy, and the barest hint of panties in the dark.
I see her chest cave as realization hits. I’m bigger than my brother. “You,” she says.
She steps out of bed, but I’m there in an instant, grabbing the flashlight and tossing it behind me, into the fucking wall.
She covers herself with her arms. She doesn’t cover herself with Deacon. They’re both the same. Their hearts stopped working or maybe hers never did, but now that she’s old enough to pay for her crimes, no one holds her accountable.
I will. She’ll be destroyed when she leaves me.
Lifting her chin, she gazes up at me. “Everyone knows about you,” she taunts. “Your brain’s not right, is it? You used to be in a hospital? My dad said.”
I clench my jaw so fucking hard it hurts.
She steps around me, forcing me to turn.
