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That smirk. Must have been the one Shell spoke of. Evil, cheerful, and excited all rolled into one shit-eating leer. If there was even a cracked window of an opportunity, Copper’d rip that knife from his brother’s hands and cut the damn grin right off his face.
It’d be just the beginning of what Rusty had in store for him. The start of evening the score.
“Not gonna kiss and tell?” Rusty’s pinpoint pupils rolled skyward. His red beard was a scraggly mess, as was the hair on top of his head. Looked like the man hadn’t so much as run a brush through it since he was released from prison. Hell, he smelled like he hadn’t fucking showered in as long. A combination of piss, stale pussy, meth, and booze. The hand stabilizing the knife shook slightly as he said, “So fucking noble, my big brother. S’alright, I don’t mind sharing the details. Musta fucked your girl a hundred times, right in this very bed. Ate her pussy. Choked her on my cock. Made her come again and again. That bitch couldn’t get enough.” He thrust his hips forward and back.
Lies. Fucking lies.
“Damn, I miss those days. Wasn’t sure I’d still want her when I got out, but I gotta say, I’m thinking of starting back up with her again. We got a kid after all. Should be a happy little family, ya know?” He lit the lighter, and the knife went right back in the flame.
Breathing through his clenched teeth, Copper fought to keep himself in check. He stared at the flicker, feeling his own spark ignite deep in his belly. Images of Rusty’s hands and mouth on his woman had him crazed with the need to slaughter. But it was a reality he was going to have to accept. It had happened, so he had to learn to live with it. It’d been Shell’s reality for years. All Copper had to do was listen to the stories. She actually had to live with the sensory memories of the experience.
“Big man, huh, Rusty? Forcing yourself on a teenage girl. Couldn’t find a grown woman to fuck you? None of the club whores willing to spread for your toothpick dick?”
The cords of Rusty’s neck strained as his eyes flashed and a vein popped out across his forehead.
That’s right, fucker.
“Fuck you!” He dragged the flame across the entire length of the blade. Back and forth at least ten times.
Copper steeled himself for the impending pain.
Suddenly, Rusty tossed the lighter on the bed as he shot forward. The Zippo landed directly on Copper’s mangled shin at the exact same time Rusty pressed the length of the smoldering knife against Copper’s abdomen.
“Aggg,” he ground between gritted teeth.
There was an audible sizzle as his flesh melted under the heated metal. Copper breathed through his nose, nostrils flaring and head spinning. Nausea hit, sharp and swift.
“You’re not in charge anymore. Not in here. For fucking once, I’ve got all the control,” Rusty said against his ear. As quickly as he’d spring forward, he jerked back, ripping the knife away and taking a charred chunk of skin with it.
Blackness rimmed Copper’s vision, but he fought the oblivion. “That’s what this is fucking about? Your panties in a wad because you’re not top dog?”
Rusty prowled the small room like a rabid, caged dog. It gave Copper his first chance to check out his surroundings. The bed he was tied to wasn’t large, a double maybe, and the walls were decorated simply with a pale-yellow paint. Across the room, a white dresser held a few picture frames.
Shell with her mother. Shell with Beth. Shell with Sarge as a young kid. Jesus Christ, he was in Shell’s childhood room. Where the fuck was Cindy?
“All my fucking life you’ve ordered me around, taken shit from me, thought you were better than me. You even dragged me to a different country. Didn’t give a fucking shit if I wanted to go.”
“You pissed we left Ireland? Fucking twenty years ago? The men who killed Pop would have come after us. We had a shit life there. You’d have been dead before you turned sixteen. Cry about something else.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Rusty charged forward, ramming his fist into Copper’s face.
Copper spit blood onto the comforter.
“Fucking MC president! Acting like you still have control over me,” he screamed, so red-faced Copper wouldn’t be surprised if he keeled over from a heart attack.
I should be so lucky.
Then like a switch flipped, the anger was gone and the smirk returned. “Shell was just your type. Little blonde, curly hair, big tits, sweet as pie. All American girl. Kind you loved to fuck.”
Christ, his brother was crazy. “She was a fucking kid, Rusty. I didn’t so much as glance at her back then. Not in the way you mean.”
