“Yes, I know how it works,” Bray drawls. He turns to Cyrus, the big bastard is still staring at the blonde in anger. “Did you know about this?”
“If I did, you would too,” he snaps, swiping a giant hand down his face. His beard is getting wild, and his eyebrows are slanted down in fury, giving his dark eyes a menacing look. The ladies love him as much as they fear him. He’s a mean motherfucker, a giant and a beast. There is always anger in his gaze, one I have tried to paint since we were children. There is something so captivating about the utter rage always running through his veins.
“When did Dad get married?” I ask and look at the girl.
“Oh, you’re talking to me now instead of stroking each other’s cocks?” she teases. “Not married yet. Soon, though, if my mother has anything to do with it, the bitch.” We all blink at that, sharing a confused look. She blows another ring and leans casually into her bed, uncaring that she’s half naked. “Didn’t I see you guys at the club?”
“Sure did.” Bray smirks. “And we saw all of you.” He runs his eyes down her body, turning on the charm like he usually does with anything with a vagina, making me roll my eyes. In response, she simply raises her eyebrow as if unimpressed, and he looks at me in shock.
“So you live here?” I ask, trying to be polite.
“No, I thought I would just move my stuff in for fun,” she deadpans and then winks at me. “Yes, I live here, genius, now can I put on pants, or do you want to watch me dress? I don’t charge as much for that as I do for getting undressed.”
Cyrus snorts and storms away without a word. She watches him go and then looks back at us.
“Wow, he’s such a talker. Does he ever shut up?”
“Usually when he’s beating the shit out of someone or pounding into a pussy.” Bray shrugs.
“And you know that how?” She laughs. “Do you tag team cunts?”
“Sometimes,” he teases. “Why? Want to sign up?”
She purposely runs her eyes over him, and he puffs up under her gaze. “Nah, I’m okay,” she offers, and it’s obvious she’s astonished him again. He isn’t used to girls turning him down or not falling at his feet. She looks at me then and grins. “You’re more my type—rocker, artist, and all deep souled.”
I can’t help but grin wider at that, even as she grabs some shorts and starts to get dressed, unbothered that we’re still watching. She has an intricate tattoo on her thigh and side, and I ache to trace the waterfall of colour there with my tongue. Shit, I blink and shake my head to dislodge my thoughts. No. I can’t think about her like that, not if what she said is true...
Stepsister. Who would have ever thought?