Page 70 of You Were Always Mine
The silence is the worst part. The engine clicks as it cools, the world outside dark and empty, and in here it’s just me and him and the weight of everything I shouldn’t want.
Kai’s hand drifts across the gear stick, knuckles brushing the bare skin of my thigh where my dress has ridden up. It’s nothing, barely a touch, but it sends my whole body rigid.
I snap my legs shut. He laughs under his breath.
“What’s the matter, little sister?” His voice is low, amused, like he already knows. “You nervous sitting here alone with me?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, staring out the windshield.
His hand doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingertips trace lazy circles higher on my thigh, deliberate, just shy of too much. My pulse skitters, my knees tighten, but I don’t stop him.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, leaning closer so his breath slides against my ear. “Can feel it under my hand.”
“I’m not.” My voice cracks. I hate it.
He chuckles again, darkly, like he’s won. “Liar.”
His fingers still pressing just enough to make mesquirm, then easing off again like it’s all some sick game. I hate how wet I am, how my hips tilt despite myself.
He notices.
“Careful,” he whispers, his lips brushing my temple without touching. “The way you’re moving… makes it hard to keep being the good brother you want so bad.”
I suck in a sharp breath, but he just sits back, smug, hand sliding away like he hasn’t set me on fire, like I’m not about to come apart from nothing more than his voice and the ghost of his touch.
I laugh, sharp and broken, the kind of sound that scrapes my own throat raw. “The good brother?” I spit, my voice shaking, venom spilling hotter than my tears. My chest heaves, my hands tremble, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. “After you fucked me?” My voice cracks, not with weakness but with rage. “There is nothing good about you, Kai. Nothing.”
The words slash out of me, but even as they leave my mouth, the truth coils in the back of my skull, the ugly, filthy truth I can’t silence—because I wanted it. I let him. My body begged for it, even while my mind screamed.
His jaw ticks, his whole body tensing like I’ve just put a gun to his temple, but I keep going, shoving the knife deeper.
“So stop pretending. Stop hiding behind the mask of being my brother. You lost the right to play the saint the second you put your hands on me.”
His head jerks, his eyes go wild, the mask cracking clean in half. He slams his palm flat against the wall beside me, the sound so loud it rattles through my bones.
“You think I don’t know I’m not good?” His voice is a snarl, sharp and shaking. “You think I don’t fucking hate myself for what I’ve done?”
He leans in so close I can taste his breath, bitter and burning.
“But don’t you dare sit there and act like you didn’t want it. Don’t you fucking dare, Scar.” His hand shoots to my chin, gripping it hard, forcing my eyes up to his. “You begged for me. Every whimper, every grind of your hips—you begged. For me.”
My throat locks, my chest seizes, because he’s right and I hate him for it. I hate me for it.
“You say I lost the right to be your brother the second I touched you?” he spits, his forehead pressing hard to mine, voice dropping into a raw, ruined whisper. “No, Scar. You stripped that away the second you let me in.”
His grip on my chin softens, not enough to free me, just enough to make me shiver. The anger in his eyes flickers, warps, and what replaces it is worse—tenderness wrapped in fire.
“Kai—” I try, but the sound dies in my throat when his thumb strokes the corner of my mouth, dragging slowly like he wants to memorise it.
“You think I don’t see you?” His voice is low, raw, a rasp that curls down my spine. His forehead presses to mine, softer this time, like he can’t keep away. “Every time you bite your lip. Every time you run from me. You don’t get it, Scar… you don’t fucking get it.”
His hand slides down, fingers brushing my neck, the faintest drag along my collarbone, never enough but too much all the same. My knees weaken, my stomach tightens, shame burning hotter because my body is already betraying me.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, and it’s sweet and venomous all at once. “Not because I touched you. Not because I broke you. Because you let me. Because youwanted me. And I’ll remind you of that every time you try to forget.”
His lips hover, not quite kissing, just breathing me in, his fingers pressing into my waist like he’s anchoring himself to me.
His ragged breath is against my lips, and his thumb still strokes lazy fire across my waist. His eyes burn into me, that wild blue gone dark, and when he speaks it’s not rage anymore—it’s ruin.
