“No, that’s not true,” I say.
My mom stares at me, her eyes still wild.
“Well, do you still work at that shitty little lingerie store?”
I take a deep breath.
“As a matter of fact, I do—”
“See? They’re not paying you enough if you kept your job! I have to find their millions,” my mom says in a deranged tone, looking around wildly. “I know they keep it stashed around here somewhere.”
This is insane. Angela is now tearing around the house, as if on a treasure hunt. She literally runs up the stairs and surveys the study before slamming the door.
“Mom, Rick and Ryder keep their money in a bank! It’s not going to be here. They don’t have a suitcase full of cash, so I have no idea what you’re looking for.”
But my mom won’t listen. Angela barges into the master suite next, and I’m horrified as she begins pawing through my lingerie drawer, tossing all sorts of filmy fripperies on the ground.
“I know I’ll find it,” she mutters, clearly drunk and out of her mind. “I know there will be money.”
“Angela,” I say in a sharp tone while standing in the doorway. “Stop it right now. This isn’t funny, and there is no money in the house. Ryder and Rick don’t have a safe, they don’t keep cash around—”
But my mom lets out a crow of delight before holding up a five by seven photo. My heart sinks when I realize what it is because Ryder, Rick, and I took some naughty photos together a while ago. It was just one session, but it was really steamy and hot. We developed the photos too, just as a keepsake, and even from here, I can see the one that my mom’s looking at. It’s an image of me, double stuffed. I’m on my hands and knees, my breasts dangling heavily as one of the twins claims my pussy from behind. The other twin is crouched over my back, and he’s clearly crammed my bottom full with nine inches of hard length. But it’s more than that. It’s the sheer pleasure on my face as I enjoy the illicit duality, my head thrown back and my lips parted in a delighted moan.
“Mom,” I begin. “Please don’t—”
But Angela won’t let me get a word in during this confrontation. Instead, her eyes bug out as she continues flipping through the photos while licking her lips.
“Well, well, well, I had no idea I had such a whore-y slut on my hands. Does it hurt when they do that?” she asks, looking curiously at one where I’m taking both of them simultaneously into my pussy. “I didn’t even know women could stretch this way,” she remarks, sounding impressed.
“Mom,” I begin again.
This time, Angela puts the photos down and stares at me, her eyes narrowed.
“Do Rick and Ryder know that you’re their stepsister?” she asks suddenly, cocking her head. “Do they do this to you, knowing that you’re related?”
I take a deep breath.
“No, but I’m going to tell them. Now, if you’d just put those photos back—”
Angela slams the drawer shut, the snaps still firmly in her hand.
“You know what? I think we’re going to tell them. Together,” she says in a venomous tone.
I draw back with horror.
“No, Angela. That’s not a good idea. That’s something that I have to handle on my own. Please don’t interfere. I’m begging you.”
Unfortunately, at that moment my phone goes off on the bedside table, and my mom scrambles over to pick it up. I pray it’s not a dirty text from one of the twins, but her eyes light up, and I know it’s even worse.
“‘Why, you have a calendar notification,” she almost sings, her eyes lighting up. “12:30 – Lunch with Mr. Walsh and twins at the Canopy Restaurant.’” Angela glances at me, her eyes filled with malice. “And let me guess – is that Fred Walsh, my ex-husband?”
I refuse to answer.
“Give that back,” I say in a trembling tone, holding out my hand. “Don’t you know it’s rude to look at other peoples’ phones?”
Angela snatches the cell away, cackling maniacally.
“Oh, I think we’re beyond that, sweetheart, because I just found a way to get rich. Come on, Chrissy. We’re going to tell Fred Walsh just how much you love his sons because this is all about love, isn’t it? Like you said? Get real,” she hisses before grabbing my wrist and hauling me downstairs. I stumble behind her, trying to pull away, but Angela is too strong. Her fingers are like a vise on my wrist and before I know it, we’re in her car on our way downtown. Too soon, we’re outside the Canopy with its gay red and white striped awning.
“Please don’t do this,” I plead once more, tears forming in my eyes. “Nothing good can come of this. You’re not thinking straight.”