Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Why do you feel so good?” he utters, his breath broken up by each thrust.
“You know why.”
“Because you’re mine.”
I push back against him, eliciting a moan. “Because I love you. And even if it’s hard to fathom, you know it. In your bones.”
He pushes hard and fast into me and calls out a string of curses as he comes, going in all the way to the hilt.
And a moment later he’s already reaching around, his hand feeling for my cock, wrapping his fist around me and stroking.
Behind me, he’s still inside.
And the sensation is enough to take me to the edge, too. I’m filled by him, I belong to him.
I’ll be his forever, now.
Marked, and cherished.
As long as he’ll have me.
28
Hunter
“That’s beautiful, Hunter.”
Miss Jaela, the art teacher, was giving me a warm smile.
I’d stayed in the art room instead of going to recess with the other kids.
I was eight years old at the time, and already, I’d realized I was too different.
“It’s a witch in a forest,” I told Miss Jaela. “My dad says painting is for girls.”
Miss Jaela frowned. “It’s for anyone. And you’re very talented with color. You make wonderful things.”
Everything in life felt like black and white, to me.
Dad was angry or he wasn’t.
I was bad or I was invisible.
I followed rules or I broke them, and paid a price.
With paint, it was different. I entered another world.
And everything black and white turned to vivid prisms of color. Finally, I could be free.
I’d almost forgotten what that could feel like.
I’m by the fireplace next to Rayne when we get the news.
Weston gets the news, really, but his phone is playing over the speaker, and all of us hear it.
One of the lawyers handling our father’s estate has called us.
And she tells us she has something serious that we need to be aware of.
“While your father was alive, many individuals were under contract not to speak a word of this to either of you,” the lawyer says.
I glance up at Rayne, then at Wes, furrowing my brow.
“Yes?” Weston says.
She pulls in a breath and sighs. “This may come as a surprise.”
“We’re ready,” Weston says.
“Weston, you and Hunter have a brother.”
I feel like I’ve just missed the last step on the stairs.
“What?”
The lawyer pauses a moment, like she knows how shocking this must be. “When your mother left your father, it wasn’t just for irreconcilable differences. He was with another woman. While your mother was pregnant with Weston.”
“Holy fuck,” I mutter.
Rayne’s arm lands around my shoulders, and he pulls me in close on the sofa.
But I still feel like I’m in free-fall.
“The other woman became pregnant, too. Your father was… prolific.”
“We have a brother,” Weston says, still in disbelief.
“He’s nearly the same age as you, just a bit younger.”
“Is he a freshman in college?”
“He is not attending college currently. He’s been a bit troubled, in his teenage years.”
My throat goes a little tight.
Troubled.
Another son of Barrett Knox, troubled, just like me.
If this guy is my half-brother, half of my blood, how similar is he to me? To us?
Wes is running his hands through his hair. “So what happens now?”
“Now that your father has passed, the non-disclosure contracts have been terminated, and all three of you will be receiving inheritances. And you are now legally permitted to know about your brother. I will send over his information after this call.”
“Good,” Weston says.
“It’s my professional opinion to urge you to tread lightly,” the lawyer says. “Your brother has known that both of you exist, but he’s never been allowed to contact you. It may be a sensitive issue for all involved.”
“We’ll be nothing but understanding,” Wes assures her.
After the call ends, she emails us a short document.
All about our fucking brother.
His name is Niko Berlant. He always had his mother’s last name instead of our father’s.
He went to a great private prep school for high school, but despite the fact that he should be a freshman in college now, he isn’t attending.
Our father had been paying him and his mother large sums of money for his whole life, to keep his secret son from contacting any of us.
There’s a photo of him, too.
And he looks like us… but different.
One particular difference is that he must have gotten his mother’s hair, which is dark brown, almost black.
But his eyes are blue, just like ours. And other than the hair color, we really do look like family.
“He deserves to come to Crimson,” Wes finally says after we’ve pored over the small amount of information we have about him. “He’s been forced into silence his whole life. We need to include him, and extend an olive branch.”
“What if he doesn’t want to come to Crimson?”
Wes puffs out a breath. “Everyone wants to come to Crimson.”
Usually I’d want to punch Wes for saying something pompous like that, but after recent events, I almost find it charming.