Raife rolls his eyes. “Don’t let him confuse you, sugar. He’s just as fucked up as the rest of us. Some of us just wear our creep on our sleeves.”
I glance back at Felix. He’s probably a good five years older than me, but he’s got a younger face than the others; soft edges and wide eyes beneath a mop of light brown hair. My gaze lowers to his bright suit—such a contrast to the darkness of the room. His white button-down shirt is layered under the thin straps of suspenders and a crisp, grey vest, but it’s his bowtie that steals the show. The thing is large enough to look like a caricature, and it’s a vibrant shade of blue I’d love to paint with.
I expect Felix to argue or deny Raife’s statement, but instead he shrugs, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. “Touché, brother.”
The tiniest spark of hope that I may have found a decent brother quickly deflates.
“Although,” Felix adds, nodding toward the opposite end of the table. “If any of us have mastered our creepy sides, it’s that one.” I glance to my right, then fight the urge to shrink into my seat at the sight of the third brother. “Emmy, meet Griff.”
Griff doesn’t say a word. Even seated, it’s obvious they’re all tall, well-built men, yet Griff is far bulkier than the others. His massive frame crushes the chair beneath him.
He wears a black and white tux like Raife’s, but his arms are wide enough they threaten to split the material. His brown hair is shaved in a military cut, his lips are turned down in a scowl. His eyes, however, are enjoying a slow perusal of me, starting from my waistline and inching their way up until they land on my chest.
When he runs his tongue over his teeth, I suppress a shudder. The darkness I’d glimpsed in his brothers’ eyes is nothing compared to the black holes staring at me now.
“And then there was one,” Raife murmurs, turning to the man sitting beside him. A hint of amusement is back in his voice as he looks to the remaining brother, almost deviously.
For the first time, I shift my eyes to the silent man sitting across from me. He’s staring straight at me, still partially shadowed as the weak rays of light above the table struggle to reach him. His head is angled a fraction, his thumb stroking a lightly stubbled jaw. Like he’s assessing me. Judging me.
My skin flushes, heat rushing to my cheeks, and I hate it. Has he been watching me so closely the entire time?
Broad shoulders dipped, his posture’s more relaxed than the others. The top of his black button-up is undone, hinting at a sculpted chest. No jacket, no tie. The glass table reveals that his long legs are spread. Comfortable. And yet a wave of tension courses through him, beneath it all. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his crisp shirt, allowing me to see the tendons of muscle straining in his forearms as he clenches a fist, then releases.
His hair—shaved on the sides, longer on top—is as black as my own, blending into the walls that encase us. But where my skin is porcelain, his is olive-toned.
I dart a glance to the other brothers. He doesn’t resemble them. Come to think of it, none of them look alike.
“Well, don’t be shy, Adam.” Raife nudges his brother’s shoulder. “Introduce yourself to the beauty.”
The man, Adam, doesn’t take his gaze off me, but one corner of his lips twitches up. His eyes, though, flash dangerously. Deadly. They’re such a dark blue they almost look black in this lighting. I can’t tell who they mean to threaten more: me or Raife.
His eyelids lower, his gaze burning me from within as it drags down to my lips. Then stays there.
Somehow the subtle movement feels more obtrusive than Griff staring blatantly at my chest. My throat goes dry. I try to swallow but can’t. Suddenly being claimed by any of the others doesn’t seem so bad.
“Of course. Brother.” The words are bitter. The deep baritone of his softly spoken voice prickles my skin as his eyes break away from my lips.
He aims them at Raife, whose own lips curve as though the pair of them are sharing some sort of private joke. A joke only Raife seems to find amusing. A silent dare colors each of their expressions, tainting the air with something dark, heavy.
Felix shakes his head at them as though in warning, but Griff remains far more interested in me. Neither of the men is as sucked into the interaction unfolding before us as I am. Something flips inside my stomach as their stare-down begs me to look away. But I’m stuck, held hostage by the strange and twisted energy filling the room.
What is the joke, exactly? And why does it feel like it’s at my expense?
“I hope you’re enjoying your first day.” Adam’s chair scrapes along the white marble as he pushes back and stands, the motion shattering the intensity and flooding my lungs with relief. The relief quickly turns to ice, though, because then he’s walking around the table, right toward me, and I can’t suck in a breath.
He stops directly beside my chair, then lowers himself just enough to put his lips by my ear. Warm breath strokes my cheek, my neck. When his thumb comes up and brushes my hair from my eyes, a fiery tremor runs down my spine.
“It’s going to be interesting,” he whispers, his voice so soft, so smooth, it would almost sound soothing if I weren’t listening to the words, “watching you break.Emmy.”
