She’s the deadliest combination walking. People like to whisper behind my back. Saying I’m dangerous and ruthless. They tend to overlook the real threat in their midst. Ember’s like a deadly virus. Invisible to most. Sneaky. And deadly as fuck.
A threat doesn’t always come in the form of thick muscle or heavy artillery. Sometimes, it’s the mastermind in the background, the silent, patient killer behind it all that’s the most lethal. That’s Ember Cross. Unsuspecting. Underrated. Unassuming.
She’s also my every punishment and penance wrapped in silken skin and bad attitude.
“… so as we move forward without my beloved Marcus, we’ll do so as a strong, united family leading House of Cross into the future. It’s what Marcus would’ve wanted.” As if on cue, a server appears with a tray holding three glasses of wine. I snort, and Michelle cuts her eyes at me. Leave it to her ass to make her final farewell to her husband a production starring her. She chooses a glass, as does Kareem. I give the server a look, and he ducks his head as he moves backward, disappearing from my sight. “If you have a glass, please raise it for one last toast.” She pauses, and more than half the people lift their glasses in the air. “To Marcus. The world of fashion will never be the same without you. You will be missed. I love you.”
“To Marcus.” The room echoes with the toast.
I don’t raise shit.
And as my gaze connects with Ember’s again, neither does she.
“I thought we were doing this reading at the Castle?” Michelle snaps from the chair set in front of Marcus’s desk, her foot swinging like a highly pissed-off pendulum. “It makes no sense for us to move everything here at the house when we had a perfectly good conference room where we were.”
“I’m assuming Sam thought reading the will in Marcus’s home would be more secure,” Kareem murmurs.
“Bullshit,” she mutters. “Sam just loves to inconvenience anyone when he possibly can. If he wasn’t Marcus’s best friend, I doubt he would even have a job with Cross. God knows I tried to tell him that very same thing too many times to count.” Michelle huffs out an aggravated breath, drumming her fingers on the armchair. “Where the fuck is Ember?” she demands, switching subjects with the speed of light. Her foot swings harder. “The little bitch has always been so damn disrespectful. You’d thinkshe could get her shit together on the day her father’s laid to rest. So fucking selfish.”
From the chair on the other side of our mother, Kareem looks at me, eyebrow raised.
Yeah. The audacity of that shit.
Marcus’s study used to be his sanctuary where no one except me was permitted. No doubt he’s cursing us all out for congregating on his holy ground. The room full of heavy, richly upholstered furniture, tall bay windows, dark, velvet drapery, stuffed bookshelves, and art that didn’t move him as much as the price tag did is a far cry from a chapel. And yet, here we are, waiting to hear the benediction of his portfolio. I shift, leaning back against the wall nearest to Marcus’s desk. It’s the perfect vantage point of the entire room—and its inhabitants.
“Mom, it’s all right. Sam isn’t even here yet. Ember still has time to get here,” Kareem placates her.
“God, Kareem.” She flicks a hand in his direction without glancing at him, her body turned toward me. “Always so fucking chivalrous. Don’t you get tired of being the hero?” She spits out “hero” like others would say “hot dogshit.” “I swear,” she snorts, “the way you pant after that girl is fucking pathetic and sad.”
Like always when it comes to our mother, he remains quiet. My younger brother is more of the suffering-in-silence type, while I’m just the make-you-suffer kind. And Michelle takes full advantage of his disposition. Kareem owns a nasty desire and obsession with earning our mother’s approval. He’d have a better chance of turning water to wine. Michelle dangles that illicit fruit in front of him, and he never fails to take a bite, only for her to snatch it away like the manipulative bitch she is. I wasn’t born with Kareem’s affliction.
“I’m sorry. I was unavoidably held up.” Samuel Chavis strides into the study, his tall, lean frame clothed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than someone’s monthly mortgage, a leather briefcase in hand.
The light from the chandelier strikes his immaculately styledblack-and-gray hair and smooth, light brown skin. Sam Chavis, Marcus’s and the House of Cross’s longtime lawyer, is an imposing figure who exudes power, wealth, and menace. Only a privileged few know that the courtroom isn’t the only place where Sam kills. Well, correction. Only a privileged few who are alive possess that knowledge. The others who’re aware are too busy being dead to share that piece of intel.
“It’s about time, Sam.” Michelle huffs out a breath, crossing her arms. “Time is precious to some of us and shouldn’t be wasted.”
Sam rounds Marcus’s desk and pins his flat, unblinking gaze on my mother. I’ve never been face-to-face with a snake—not the animal-kingdom kind, anyway—but I easily imagine his stare might be identical to that particular reptile’s just as it’s about to strike. And like any judicious prey, my mother falls silent and still. Michelle is a bitch, but she’s a smart one.
“As I was saying, I apologize for my tardiness,” he finally says, his low but powerful voice carrying easily as if he’s in a courtroom instead of a nearly empty study. Settling his briefcase on the desktop, he spreads his fingers out across the gleaming leather surface. “I won’t hold you long—wait.” He frowns. “Where is Ember?”
Michelle snorts. “That’s what we would like to know. Can we just move forward without her?”
“No, we cannot. Marcus’s will stipulates that his family must be present. That includes his only daughter.” A slight sneer curls Sam’s lips, and condescension damn near drips from his voice. A good son would’ve checked him, demanding he show the proper respect for his mother.
That ain’t me.
In order for me to be a good son, I would’ve needed a better mother.
“It’s just ten after. Let’s give Ember a few more minutes.” Kareem tries to placate Michelle. “I’m sure it’s been a trying and stressful day for her—”
“Like it hasn’t been for all of us? For me?” Michelle snaps.“Marcus wasmyhusband. But I’m still here, showing the proper respect. No wonder Marcus couldn’t stand the little bi—”
“Did I hear someone say my name?” Ember glides into the room, bringing a kinetic energy that electrifies my skin.
She still wears the suit from earlier, and I imagine it scattered on the study’s floor, and her thick ass propped on the edge of her father’s desk, legs spread and pussy glistening and soaked. Ready to be sucked and fucked. By me.
Is it incestuous to want to beat the lining out of my stepsister’s pussy? Want to grip that slender throat and squeeze while lust and fear darken those honey eyes? Maybe. Now ask me if I give a fuck.