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Chapter Seven

Cyrus

After I beat Bray at a game of pool, we both head upstairs to find Asher. He went to his room over an hour ago to shower off the blood from earlier and never came back. He probably got distracted and started painting.

“Oi, fuckface, you here?” Bray calls as we troop up the stairs, my booted feet loud behind Bray’s bare ones. “There’s a party over at some chick’s place on the east side in a few hours, you want to go?”

We stop at the kitchen, spotting him leaning over the counter with a beer at his side, doodling on a napkin. I snort at the image. It’s a rough drawing of the dancer from the club last night, the young, rock chick one. She was hot as fuck. We all took a bet to see if we could get into her pants, but she disappeared before we could follow through. Seems our brother is still thinking of her, probably wanking off over her too. He’s obsessed with the ‘female psyche,’ as he calls it. It’s a good drawing. The rough, straight, harsh lines showcase her smirking lips and sharp eyes. Her curves are depicted in a softer pen, with some smudges for shadows. She had a tight little body, all curves and muscle.

All the better to fuck.

Clearly she’s an athlete, probably from dancing. I bet she would have been good in bed with how bendy she was. Asher looks up, blinking as he returns to the room. He’s started to zone out more and more, usually when he draws or paints, but recently he’s been doing it when we go out.

Is he bored?

Maybe we need to have some more fun. We have only been back a few nights, and we have been taking it slow for us. We’ve not been stirring shit up, apart from today’s fight after they called Asher a fag. Asher’s black lined eyes meet mine, those deep grey irises bright against the darkness.

“You hear that?” Bray asks, and I tilt my head to listen.

Rock music.

“Isn’t it yours?” I reply.

They shake their heads, and we turn to look down the corridor. If it isn’t ours, whose is it? Bray grabs a bat, while I just roll my eyes and crack my knuckles. If someone broke in to try and get revenge, they wouldn’t alert us by putting on music, but I do like his enthusiasm. I go first, storming down the corridor, ready to beat the fucker to a pulp for coming into our space.

Our fucking space. No one else comes up here, not even father or his whores... or whore for that matter.

It’s coming from the room at the end, so I push open the door and freeze, my brothers close behind me. But the woman before me wasn’t what we were expecting, and we all stop, dumbfounded.

My eyes lock on the tiny blonde who’s twirling around the once empty room. Her tanned, curvy legs are bare, sending a shot of lust straight to my rapidly hardening cock. Her nipples are pebbled against the ripped black top she’s wearing, and her impressive curves are on full display. She moves across the room to the music, her body in perfect synchronisation with the beat.

What the fuck is she doing here?

Her hips sway to the blaring rock music as she turns and takes a draw from her cigarette. She spins again and stills when her eyes clash with ours, the smoke blowing from her mouth in a ring.

“Hello, boys, you must be my new stepbrothers.”

Oh, fuck no.

* * *

Asher

Stepbrother?

I must look as confused as my brothers. All of us remain silent as we stare at this tiny blonde who has rendered us speechless—the same blonde I can’t get from my mind.

It’s the dancer from the club. The one who moved so fluidly, it was like she was watercolour across a canvas. Her body was the brush, and the stage was her painting. It was incredible. Not to mention she’s fucking beautiful, the kind of beautiful you can’t replicate in a picture or painting. Trust me, I’ve tried nearly every hour since, but I can’t quite get her right. I can’t capture the promise of danger in those blue eyes, the shine of her drying wavy hair, or the dip of those incredible curves. The feel of grunge and rocker. Her lined eyes with smoke painted across her lids. Those maroon lips tipped up as she watches us. The many earrings dotting her ears.

No, I know now why I couldn’t get her right. I need to see her in the light and study her, or it will never be perfect.

But right now I’m more shocked that she’s here, in our house... stepbrother?

“What the fuck?” Bray exclaims incredulously, rubbing the back of his long brown hair which is tied back at the moment. I nod in agreement—what the fuck? Since when did we have a stepsister? To be fair, we haven’t seen Dad, but you would have thought he would have dropped us a text or a quick message. Oh, by the way, you have a hot as hell new sister and she’s living right next door to your room?

It’s the kind of warning you need so you don’t storm in ready to kick the ass of whoever has broken in only to find your wet dream standing in front of you, smirking like she’s in on the secret as she watches us come to terms with it.

“Wow, eloquent.” She grins as she takes another draw of her cigarette. “Stepsister.” She points at herself, then at us. “Stepbrothers.” She says it slowly, and I can’t help but grin.

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