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Chapter Seventeen
Cyrus
Asher doesn’t speak to me the whole next day, even Bray is annoyed at me. It’s quieter than normal as we eat dinner at our favourite restaurant in the city. Surrounded by businessmen and women in fine dresses, we stick out like a sore thumb, but we bought this place when we were sixteen from our father, so we get to dress however the fuck we want.
“You can’t still be fucking mad,” I snap at them as they stare down at their plates sadly like kicked fucking dogs. “She’s fine, she’s a big girl and not our fucking problem.”
“You didn’t have to be so mean.” Asher sighs.
“Mean? You think that was mean? Brother, you know me better. She needed to be taken down a peg, she needed to hate us, I just made that happen.”
“Or you did exactly what she said.” Bray snorts. “You pushed her away and accused her of all that shit because it’s like looking in a mirror.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I snarl and smash my fists into the table. “Will you two stop? We have more important things to deal with than the fucking fragility of our stepsister’s ego and emotions.”
“She’s not fragile.” Asher shrugs. “She wasn’t upset, she was pissed. I’m betting she’s going to get her own back on you.” He smiles as if he likes the thought.
“You think?” Bray asks almost dreamily.
“Do you think she’s the type to let an insult like that stand?” Asher laughs. “Nope, Blair is planning something to get back at this arse, only time will tell what.”
“Idiots, both of you. She’s pussy, have you forgotten that? Do I need to organise you a fucking orgy of all the free pussy in this city so you can get her off your mind?” I snarl, exasperated. What is it about our new stepsister that’s got them in a twist?
Even the namestepsisteris a fucking mockery. We all know she’ll be gone before long, all of Dad’s gold diggers are. He’s always searching for love, but instead, he finds users. Even our mother was a bad fucking idea, but he was too blind, too in love to notice her flaws.
RIP to the bitch. May she rest in fucking flames.
“I’m just saying, brother,” Bray starts, twirling his fork in his tuna, “you should be nicer to her. We aren’t as different as you think.”
“What does that mean?” I roll my eyes, nursing the scotch.
“You saw the way her mother was with her.” He raises his eyebrow at me pointedly. “Remind you of anyone? She drinks, does drugs, and races cars to forget, to feel and be out of the house. Maybe you don’t hate her because she tests you, because you want her, but because she reminds you of yourself—angry, withdrawn, broken, and fucking wild.”
My heart hammers as I stare into his knowing gaze. He looks away and continues eating like I’m not reeling from that.
Fuck, is he right?
Even if he is, it doesn’t matter. I have to protect them from her. She’s bad news and has them in her sights. They aren’t like me, they are soft and capable of feeling, and she could break them so easily.
I can’t let that happen again.
If I have to be the bad fucking guy—to her or to them—then so fucking be it.
