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“To answer your question,” he continues, “I’ve got a private investigator looking into Keith. He’s the best in the business. I need something on him personally, something I can use to make him back off. If I went to the cops, there’s a chance Keith would hear about it.”
“Okay, roomie,” I murmur, returning to my cleaning task.
I don’t know how to feel about this. One half of me yearns for it, and the other knows it will be a disaster.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Brian
“Are you sure it’s not best to call the cops?” Roger says, standing at the bedroom door.
The annex opens directly into the yard, the night dark behind him and, beyond the stretch of lawn, the house shining its bright lights. It’s difficult to look into my friend’s sharp eyes without remembering everything I’ve done, each betrayal I’ve committed against him.
“We could,” I tell him, “but I’m concerned that Keith and his uncle might have contacts with the police. My CIA guy said it’s a possibility.”
“All this because of some squabble,” Roger groans, “but I trust your judgment.”
He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew I was judging his daughter as the best future wife, future mother, future everything a man could ask for.
“Do I need to be worried about my family?” Roger says.
“If I were looking at this situation from the outside, I’d say no.”
Roger laughs darkly. “That sounds like a riddle.”
“It’s different when you’re in something, but objectively, Keith doesn’t want to go to prison over this. Maybe he can grease the cops for his little business, but a murder charge? No. He didn’t know I was going to be at the studio. He just wanted some douchebag revenge, but until I know for sure, I’ll be here, Roger.”
He enters the room and claps me on the shoulder. He’s got the same expression he had back in the day when he pulled me up from the dirt when he was the bigger one.
“You’re a good friend,” he says. “A loss to the Corp, it’s true, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” I tell him, wishing I could enjoy this moment with my best friend.
“Do you think you’ll finally be able to get the tattoo done?” Roger asks, grinning. “Seems destined for something to get in the way.”
I swallow, thinking of the intimacy that came before the storm both times.
“Third time’s the charm,” I tell him.
Once he’s gone, I pace the small bedroom, then go out to the adjoined kitchen area. Roger sometimes rents this out as cheap accommodations for holidaymakers, but he’s never had somebody live here long term. I look out the window in the small living room—more just a couch and a tiny TV.
Across the yard, to the second floor… It’s Evie, standing at her window, wearing a tank top. Her braid drapes over her shoulder, and she toys with it, her hand coming close to her breast with each motion. I can’t make out every detail from here, but I know her nipples will be poking through the material, enticing me hungrily.
I’m tempted to take off my shirt, hoping she gets the message that she should do the same. Then I’ll stroke my bulging manhood as she massages her breasts for me, softly pinching her needy nipples, pushing her fleshiness together until…
I turn away. I storm through the annex, drop onto the bed, and stubbornly close my eyes.
It’s time to behave.
“I’m your perfect virgin,” she says, looking over her shoulder at me.
I’m sitting in the tattoo chair, my woman naked, bouncing her juicy ass up and down as she rides my length. Her come is dripping down my rock-hard dick, thick white blobs of her release squirting on my balls, then spreading everywhere when she pushes down.
My tip aches deep inside her, and I reach forward, meaning to grab her hips, but suddenly, she turns. Somehow, she’s straddling me. I can’t move my hands. She bucks her hips up and down, breasts bouncing as she rides. Leaning forward, she moans in my ear.
“Uncle Brian, that’s it, Uncle Brian. Oh, yeah, fuck, yeah. Uncle Brian.”
Stop, I try to tell her, but I can’t speak. All I can do is sit here as my young virgin brings me closer and closer to the end.
“Call me kiddo—”
I jolt awake, covered in sweat, panting. Running to the bathroom, I repeatedly splash cold water on my face, the iciness pulsating through me.
The dream—nightmare—whatever it is, clings to me, the last moments repeating.
I wish I could go back in time and make it so I never knew her when she was a kid. I wish I’d met her as she is now, a confident, fully formed nineteen-year-old woman. My subconscious knows how powerful the guilt is inside me, the pain, the agony of it.
“Brian?”
It’s Evie, her voice drifting through the open window. I walk through the annex and open the door. When her eyes open wide, I realize I’m only wearing shorts. She stands on the welcome mat in the sunny yard, wearing a bright dress that adds to her vivaciousness. Her breasts are outlined gorgeously. Her cheeks turn deep crimson as she looks me up and down.
