Page 55 of Under the Bed

“He’s my brother!”

Yes, I heard her perfectly fine. She stood up for me.

When it put her at risk.

When it could cost her.

She screamed at him while I wasn’t there to protect her.

Defending me.

Something that felt a lot like warmth filled my chest. It hurt, that crack in my ribs.

“I’ll call him whatever I please,” he thundered, tearing me out of my trance. Of my awe. “This is my house, and you’ll do well to remember that.”

I swallowed up the distance between us in six large steps.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” She had her hands curled into fists by the time I stood at the doorway. A little ball of fire, stomping and baring her teeth. Her blue eyes blazed. This fucking awe swept over me all over again. “He’s not a freak! He’s. My. Brother!”

“The hell he is.” Fucker’s arm raised. Palm open.

He was launching forward to strike her.

I was faster. Meaner. I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and threw him out of the room. Locked Shiloh and me inside until he quit banging on the door. Until his empty threats about sending me to boarding school simmered into nothing.

Deep down, he loved my mother. Deep down, she knew she owed me.

It’d been her one request entering this marriage. Keep her son under the same roof as her.

A brand-new Porsche pulls up to Shiloh’s building as the memory fades. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen climbs out of the passenger side. Her expression is stony as she waves at Marina.

She’s gorgeous. Infuriatingly gorgeous.

Smiles are overrated.

A person’s genuine expression, that’s real. That’s raw.

That’s my wounded, broken Shiloh. The woman I want to tear apart and put back together again. Until my lungs are no more and my bones turn to dust.

Before I do, though…

Marina speeds off, the Porsche’s obnoxious motor roaring in the quiet neighborhood.

I take off after her.

Minutes pass. I keep a three-car distance between us. Trailing her silently through dark streets into a part of the city I’ve never been to.

My brow furrows when she pulls up to the curb in one of the alleys. What the fuck? This rundown neighborhood isn’t anywhere I’d expect Marina to visit.

Ever.

The street lamps flicker. Trash bags overflow the pavement. The stores are closed and barricaded by roller shutters. The city’s surveillance cameras are nowhere to be found.

Out of every squeaky-clean, picture-perfect part of Seattle, she chose to come here.

She really shouldn’t have, but you won’t see me complaining.

The less evidence of what I’m going to do to her, the better.

---