He slipped his fingers through the lining of his boxers and whipped them down. The girls descended on his cock like piranhas.
“Fucking hell!”
Paris seized my shoulder and spun us both around. Why me too?
“Dammit, Cairo! Someone bleach my eyes.”
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Course I do. That’s General Assface himself.”
“That’s Ass— That’s your brother?” I twisted, tearing from the moaning girls and sticky abs, and traveled up his face as he raised his head. Our eyes locked across the room.
“I’ve had enough of this, de Souza. Go home. Now.”
“Please, just listen.” My scuffed shoes squeaked on the linoleum, growing louder and more piercing as I chased him. “Listen! I’m telling you something isn’t right. I—”
A wall of black appeared before me. I slammed into a hard body and bounced off, falling flat on my back. Brilliant pools of green captured me, holding my reflection in their depths, and flicking away before I could capture him.
Stepping over me, his dirty boot came down on my hair, and he walked off.
“Asshole!”
He didn’t bother to turn or slow his stride. I was dismissed as quickly as I crashed into his life.
I straightened—headache fading, pulse slowing. “Cairo.”
He frowned, as if hearing his name. As if sharing the memory.
“You know my brother?”
I almost forgot Paris was there.
“You can’t live in Bedlam and not have heard of the Bedlam Boys,” I said, too soft for her to hear me.
He shook the girls off. Yanking up his clothes, he barreled straight toward us.
“Here it comes,” Paris muttered.
Five foot ten worth of muscles, ink, and sharp cheekbones stormed into the kitchen. Our second meeting, and his beauty struck me numb—even as anger rose to burn it out.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Evie?”
“I told you I was coming, but I guess now I know why you didn’t want me here. You’re not happy unless you’re mentally scarring me for life.”
Seeing the two of them together, it wasn’t surprising I didn’t immediately peg them as brother and sister. Cairo was bronze, where she was porcelain. They were both gifted with green eyes, but hers set in wide, round orbs while Cairo’s were hooded. And angry.
“Get out.”
Flipping her hair, Paris rolled her eyes. “Make me.”
Cairo hefted her screeching over his shoulder.
Bluff called immediately.
“Put me down! Put me down right now, Cairo.”
He turned to go and paused, locking on to me. I backed up on instinct.
“Hello, who is this?” Cairo dumped his sister on her feet, then came for me.
I scooted away fast.
Bang!
His fist slammed on the counter, rattling the vodka bottles, and blocking my retreat. I swallowed hard as he molded to me, gluing our bodies together with honey, closer than the day I slammed into him.
“Evie, you know where the door is,” he tossed over his shoulder.
“Where did you come from?” Cairo’s nose skimmed my cheek, stealing the breath needed to answer. “I know, and tasted, every woman in this town between the ages of eighteen and twenty-six. How did you slip away?”
He doesn’t remember me. Again, rage and awe battled for dominance. Rage pulling ahead. Asshole steps on me like trash on a sidewalk, and can’t be bothered to remember.
“Rainey transferred in today,” Paris said. “She got her associate’s online like me.”
“That explains it.”
“Can— Can you give me some space, please?” I shoved on his chest.
Cairo held my wrists fast. “Don’t tack please at the end of a demand. It weakens the command and cheapens your fake politeness. But since you asked so nicely, no.” A smirk stretched across his lips, revealing long, gleaming canines. He dropped my hands down to his waist, nudging his thigh between my legs. “I won’t give you space.”
I gaped at him. Was this guy real?
“Back off, perv.” Paris elbowed between us. She didn’t need tips on making demands of him. “Your queen bee has arrived. She’ll be wanting your honey.”
Paris whisked me away. I scraped up enough dignity not to glance back for one more look.
Amy and the girls were staked out on the patio chairs, flirting with a group of guys trying to appear aloof and unaffected by standing six feet away.
It wasn’t much quieter out here. Speakers were rigged to pump Years and Years throughout the whole town.
“I’m sorry about him.” Paris ignored the interest flashing her way and sat us in an armchair. “I tried to warn you.”
“I didn’t realize he was Cairo Sharpe.”
“So you do know him.”
“It’s better to say I know of him,” I explained. “I do know your dad though.”
“Ah.” Paris dropped her eyes. “His dad, not mine. Sharpe and Keller. He’s my half brother.”
I read her expression. “I won’t ask if you don’t want me to.”
She smiled a smile that wasn’t one at all. “It’s okay, I don’t mind talking about it. Mom was married to his dad when she cheated on him with mine. We were eight and nine years old, and Mom packed me up in the middle of the night and rushed out to meet my new dad idling at the end of the street. The divorce was, to put it kindly, messy.”