I’ve been waiting here all these hours because she and I need to talk about the terms of Marcus’s will. What those terms mean for her immediate future. And yet… I shake my head.
Yet, I’m sitting here, slowly drumming my fingers on the arm of this chair, needing that deliberate motion to calm and divert me from going with my initial and instinctive urge.
Snatching her up, gripping that slender and delicate neck, and demanding the name of the person whose death would be on her conscience.
Shit.
Who am I kidding?
Ember Cross doesn’t have a conscience.
“Isaid, what the fuck are you—”
Before she can finish the question, I abruptly shove out the chair and cross the space separating us in three long strides. And I don’t stop until my personal space is all up in the guts of hers. Until that sharp and sweet citrus and fresh, crisp air scent invades me like a stealth bomber, exploding in my chest, my belly… my dick.
“That’s your problem now. Focusing on the wrong shit.”
Knowing my stepsister as well as I do, she would slit her own throat before admitting to the discomfort that flickers in her eyes. But I see it. And knowing it’s because of me? Because I’m so close I can taste the mint toothpaste on her breath? Because the memories of our past and the pain I inflicted are probably playing in her head like a twisted reel?
Nah.
That attitude, the hostility and cutting sarcasm can’t completely disguise the uneasiness my presence stirs.
The knowledge that I can inspire that kind of vulnerability—any kind—inthis womanis a narcotic more powerful than the one we pump out into the global community. And we have some good shit.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” She crosses her arms and edges back a step. I don’t misinterpret that move. A retreat. Smart on her part but still a mistake. Never let the enemy know they have an advantage, an edge. Ember just did, losing a little bit of ground in this war between us—make no mistake; we are most definitely the fuck at war. “What should I be focusing on other than you committing a little B and E first thing in the morning? Or do you start off most of your days with felonies?” She huffs out a small, dry chuckle. “Look who I’m talking to. Of course you do.”
“Go put some clothes on, ma,” I say, staring into her honey-brown eyes.
Her head jerks back, thick eyebrows arrowing down and damn near meeting over the bridge of her nose.
She’s a breathing distraction in these clothes. Nah, she’s not to blame for my body’s reaction to her perfect tits, juicy ass, and thick thighs. Still, I’m not hearing shit she says until I can no longer see her nipples outlined underneath that top. Or feel the phantom rub of them over my tongue.
“The fuck?” She laughs again, and it is just as humorless as the one from moments earlier. “You broke into my house. I never issued an invitation. And last time I checked, this”—she sweeps a hand down her body—“is the appropriate clothing for working out. In case you don’t remember, let me refresh your memory. We buried my daddy yesterday, and unless he’s pulled a Jesus 2.0 between then and now, I don’t have one. And I haven’t voted you into the role.”
Men and women have lost their fucking lives talking less shit to me. One thing I don’t play about is my muthafuckin’ respect, and her being my stepsister isn’t going to save her. Shit, I’ll kill Kareem if he ever loses his mind and lets his mouth get loose.Neither he nor Michelle is that fucking insane. And Michelle is gotdamn certifiable. So, nah, it’s not a familial relationship that has her lungs still residing on the other side of her ribs.
It’s because she’s Ember.
She’s a cancer that no amount of radiation or chemo can eradicate.
She’s the secret enemy set on my destruction.
She’s my weakness.
I’ve lost count of how many times over the years I’ve stood beside her bed like some angel of death, watching her sleep even as the barrel of my Glock hovered only an inch above her forehead. Even after I moved out of Marcus’s house and she remained there, I still returned and snuck into her room, convinced that this time—this timeI would take her life and get rid of thissickness.
This vulnerability.
Obviously, since she’s standing before me, dark blond hair pulled up into one of those buns that should’ve looked sloppy but instead makes her look freshly fucked, light brown eyes narrowed and that fuckable mouth curled into a sneer, I failed to pull the trigger.
A part of me can’t handle that. I’ve never failed at anything I’ve set my sights on. And Ember Cross is my ultimate failure.
So if I can’t kill her, I’ll consume her.
“Let’s get one thing straight, little sister. If I wanted you to call me ‘daddy,’ you would, right after begging me to let you be my good girl.”
Funny how just yesterday, the thought of Aryn calling me that shit annoyed the fuck outta me. But imagining Ember’s sultry, edged-in-barbed-wire voice wrapped arounddaddyas I punished that pussy? That has my dick so hard, it’s a physical ache, and it’s taking every scrap of control not to bend her over the arm of that chair.