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“He threatened you,” he said.
I suddenly felt a panic threaten to overwhelm me, choking me with horror, feeling a cold sweat breaking out over my chest and I gasped, my breath coming in sharp, quick pants.
As it had ever been. For as long as I could remember. Torin with his face beaten for stepping in front of me when Dad wanted to whip me, Torin with a broken arm for stepping in front of me when Dad wanted to box my ears, Torin always back and up for more, until he was big enough that no one messed with him. And then he was big enough to kill everyone who threatened me and had gone to jail for 10 years for it.
I gasped like I was choking, and he reached for me.
“Laoise! What’s wrong?” he cried, far more concerned with me than the guy he had just murdered.
“I don’t want you to go to jail again,” I managed to gasp out, his big hand low on my back.
His face relaxed, and he ran fingers possessively up my back to stroke my neck. “Oh, don’t worry about that. After you were such a clever girl, I don’t think there’s any way they can get me on it.”
“You don’t think so?” I cried, trying to shake his hands off. “What kind of fucking answer is that, Torin?”
I felt like I was shaking all over and he grabbed me with both hands then, put his hands around my waist and trapped me between his legs.
“What’s the matter, sister?” he asked again.
I didn’t want to say anything, because I wanted to say everything, let my fear for him and rage and panic flow out. But it felt like it was trapped inside me.
My brother shook my hips, very gently, and he rumbled, “tell me.”
“God, stop killing people, Torin!” I hissed angrily. “No more.”
“He would have hurt you,” he said again, and I was suddenly filled with such an overwhelming rage at him that I broke out of his arms.
“Fucking stop, Torin! You are such a psycho. You are going to get your ass hauled back to jail, you stupid dumbass!”
I turned and started to run away, back to the kitchen where I could escape out the back door, the panic filling me, choking me.
He was going to jail and it was all my fault oh god oh god. . .
But of course my brother had never let me run away from him. Even when we were kids, he had always headed me off, refused to let me walk away mad at him. And if I managed to get away, he’d just follow me, giving me everything he saw—wild strawberries, sparkly rocks, dandelions—until I stopped being mad at him.
I barely made it through the door to the kitchen when he grabbed me and whirled me around.
“Don’t touch me, Torin!” I yelled, not caring for one brief second if anyone could hear me.
And I pushed and I shoved at his chest, trying everything to get away from him as he pressed me up against the big table, beating ineffectively on his chest with my fists.
“Baby girl, you don’t need to worry,” he said. Both his legs were on either side of me, and I felt his erection hard against my belly.
I ground my teeth audibly, “I hate you!” I cried.
But he had heard that before, many times, and I had never meant it.
“I love you,” he said, his voice low, his hands running up my body, curving up my waist, my breasts, my neck, as I struggled beneath him.
“Then stop doing things that will get you arrested!” I hissed angrily, and he bent into me and put both hands on my face, his big thumbs gently stroking my cheekbones as I attempted to rake my nails down his face. Then he kissed me.
It was like an electric shock that started where our mouths met and shot through my body, making every inch of my skin raise and prickle with energy and heat, my brother above me, over me, surrounding me, making my blood sing for him.
His tongue was in my mouth, curling around mine, the feeling making my core warm and heat with need.
I kissed him with the blood rushing, pounding in my ears, and his hands were all over me, big hands pulling me closer, trapping me underneath his obsession.
I put my hands on his shirt, and I felt him make a noise deep in his throat.
