“Zayn, stop! Please. I love him,” Roman pleads.
A muscle pops in my jaw as I pin incredulous eyes on my brother. “No, you fucking don’t.”
“I do.” Tears shine in his eyes as he drops to his knees beside the degenerate. “He loves me too.”
“Fuck my life,” I mumble. If it was true, and if Jarvis was a decent human not a manipulative blood-sucking leech, I would be happy for Ro. No one deserves love more than Roman. But the pathetic excuse of a man on the floor is not worthy of my brother and I want him gone from his life. Roman can’t see what I see, and I’m sick of this dickhead causing issues between me and my little brother.
“I’m seventeen now, and you can’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m your guardian, and that means I can.” The paperwork was signed the day I turned eighteen.
“Not for much longer.” Jarvis spits blood onto our polished hardwood floor.
“I should have reported you when I had the chance.” I jab my finger in his direction.
“I’m only three years older, and it doesn’t make a difference when it’s consensual.”
I hate that he’s right. I did investigate at the time, but it would have gone nowhere. Roman is legal now anyway. “Get out.” I point in the direction of the door. “Get out and stay out.”
“This is my home too.” Roman helps Jarvis to his feet. “He’s my boyfriend. He has every right to be here.”
“He’s not good for you, Ro.” Jarvis enables him, and while Ro isn’t addicted, I’ll never get him off drugs while the asshole is in his life.
Roman crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me. “That’s not for you to decide. This is the only thing I get to choose in my life, and I’m choosing him.”
Jarvis slides his arm around Ro’s shoulders. “You can come live with me, babe.”
“Over my dead body will my little brother live in that shithole you call home.”
Jarvis narrows his eyes. “I live in a luxury penthouse in Chelsea.”
“It’s a fucking drug den,” I snarl, remembering all the times Everett and I have dragged Roman out of there barely coherent.
“Not anymore. I’ve cleaned up my act since someone”—he bores holes in my skull—“reported me to the cops. I know it was you.”
“I’d love to claim credit, but I can’t,” I lie.
“Jar, drop it. I told you my brother didn’t do that.”
I totally did. I’ve been trying to find ways to get him out of my brother’s life without making it obvious it’s me. I’ve put cameras at his place and reported him to the cops, the DEA, and the FBI, anonymously, on three separate occasions and the fucker keeps getting away with it. Daddy’s money and political strings make it all go away which frustrates the hell out of me.
I’ll have to get more creative.
Or else just kill him.
It keeps coming back to that.
“I’m taking a shower, and you better be gone when I get out.” I purposely shoulder check him as I walk past. “And put some fucking clothes on!” I holler behind me as I head toward my bedroom.
I flop down on my bed and sigh. I should just have stayed under the covers today.
After showering, I dry off and pull on a pair of training shorts before padding out to the living area to check the asshole is gone. Ro is snoring lightly when I open his bedroom door. Alone, thankfully. I make myself a grilled cheese and coffee and take it back to my room. I demolish my snack and sit at my desk, powering up my screens as I prepare to do some snooping.
First, I check the camera feeds from the house, ensuring Jarvis wasn’t up to no good before he left. A dry chuckle escapes my lips unbidden when the dick shoves his finger up at the camera before leaving our apartment.
Then I run the facial recognition program and pull up Emery’s profile, loading it through the Rydeville network.
Some might call what I do every night stalking, but I call it protection.
