“Chill, Stace,” Whitney responds as she outlines her lips for the thirtieth time. Bitch is going to have more liner than lips at this point. “I’m sure Lacey just went to hook up with Sam or something.”
My fingers tighten around my lipstick tube as I pull it from my clutch. I don’t like to think about the two of them together, and I certainly don’t need this bitch talking about them.
“She better not be,” I growl as I apply the frosted pink shade over my lips. “She has a job to be doing.”
Lacey fucking up and disappeared as we were supposed to be finishing set-up. Bitch had one fucking job todo and she couldn’t even do that.
“I wouldn’t mind if she’s busy tonight.” Whitney giggles as she pulls up the chicken cutlets she attempts to use to fool people into thinking she actually has tits. “Gives me the opportunity to get at your brother.”
I blink for a moment, trying to process what she just said. My hand hangs in mid-air, my lipstick twisted from the tube. All the blood rushes to my head, my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. I rear back and glare at Whitney with her fake as fuck face.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask her.
Her gaze flits to mine in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. She cocks her head and gives me a quizzical look.
“Don’t tell me that you really care if Sam cheats on Lacey?” she asks me.
My blood boils more and more with every word she speaks. I can feel myself losing control, the gentle band of restraint getting close to snapping.
“I could give two shits about Lacey,” I say calmly as I snap the lid back on my lipstick and slide it into my clutch.
“So, then why do you care if your brother sticks his thick, meaty cock in my—”
She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. My hot pink, stiletto shaped nails slide through her brown locks. Grabbing a handful tightly, I pull her head back. She shrieks, her hands flying up to try and remove my hold but it’s no use—I’m not letting this bitch get away.
“You don’t get,” I say slowly as I pull her head backwards withmy grip on her hair. “To talk about.” And, with a sharp jerk, I shove her head forward. Her face collides with the mirror, shattering the reflective surface on impact. “Him ever again.”
Blood sprays across the mirror as I pull Whitney back again by her hair. She shrieks and attempts to claw at my hand. I push her forward again, her face again slamming into the jagged shards of glass.
“He.” I pull her back and slam her face forward again. “Is.” And again. “Mine!” And again.
I let my fingers slide from her hair. She slumps down on the floor in a heap of bloodied flesh. I stare down at the mangled mess of meat that was once her pretty face. Serves her right for being such a fucking whore.
“Stace!” a startled voice says from behind me.
I spin on my heels, blood dripping from my fingers and falling against the cheap laminate flooring.
“Stacey, what the hell?” Sam asks as he stands in the doorway taking in the scene. His gaze slowly slides over the bloody mirror, the scarlet stained sink, and the hunk of dying flesh on the floor that was our classmate. “Did you kill her?”
I take a tentative step forward, trying to gauge just exactly how mad my twin is. Normally, we’re completely on the same page. He’s my other half—my womb mate, my life mate, my soulmate. Usually, I can tell exactly how he’s feeling, but right now, I can’t read him.
“She wanted you,” I explain as I take another step forward. His gaze flicks to mine, his emerald gaze an exact match for my own. “And I couldn’t let her have you.”
His eyes roam down my form, taking in the way my dress hugs me in all the right places. I know what he likes. I know everything about my brother.
“And what if I wanted her to blow me?” he asks. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip and I can’t help the way my core clenches in response. “You really gonna ruin that for me, little sis?”
I take another step, then another, until I’m close enough that I can smell him—cool cologne and the gentle herbal scent of the weed I pretend to not know he smokes.
“Can I make it up to you, big brother?” I ask as I reach out and skim my bloodied fingers along the waistband of his tux pants.
Before I can react, he strikes out. His strong hand wraps around my throat. My eyes go wide as he cuts off my air, but I don’t fight him. I’d never fight him. He uses his grip to push me backwards, then down to my knees. Part of me wants to resist, but the flare of heat in his irises has me submitting to him readily. I kneel down on the blood soaked floor, a steady stream of red pooling from Whitney’s destroyed face.
“You want to make me happy, little sis?” he asks with a smirk that has the space between my thighs dampening. “Be a good little whore for your brother?”
I nod and lift a hand to pull down the bodice of my dress. My breasts spill out. My nipples harden in response to the cold air and my brother’s heated gaze.
“Fuck, Stace,” he groans as he takes in the sight. His hand releasesmy throat and I suck in a breath. His hand brushes against my cheek, cradling my face. “Look at those tits.”
