Chapter Ten

D ahlia is asleep seconds after I hint at the things I think about her. I leave her bedroom, my hard dick straining against my zipper and demanding that I relieve myself. I can still feel her breasts in my palms and hear the breathy, wanton moans she made while I felt her up.

My poor little sister. She really thought playing with her tits was a part of assessing her wounds.

Instead of heading back to my bedroom, I leave the house. Riding my motorcycle is a challenge when my erection hasn't gone away. I play music in my helmet, hoping that will help replace my sister's moans, but I can still hear them as I pull up to the abandoned mansion I've used for "fun" for the last year and a half.

The moment I go up to the door, adrenaline rushes through me like I'm about to get into a fight. I'm still thirsty for blood after my altercation with Mickey, and what better way to quench it than with his best friend?

I knock on the door, putting space between each rap to let Ryder know that it's only me. It flies open and his tall, bulky body takes up the whole doorway. A skull mask covers his nose and mouth, and a head wrap with a beanie on top covers his hair. He's paired a long-sleeve shirt with cargo pants and boots, and a bulletproof vest rests over his torso.

"You're back," he says in greeting.

"Yeah." I squeeze past him and breathe in the stale scent of cigarettes, booze, and mold.

Once upon a time, it used to smell like fresh paint and bacon—which is an awful combination but better than the one now. I guess the family who abandoned this place had sat down to eat breakfast, then split during the last Reckoning. The whole neighborhood left, and the homes are all in a similar state, with abandoned furniture, clothes, and everything else. It's like a time capsule from when these people thought everything was okay before all hell broke loose.

Ryder's eyebrows draw together, and he folds his arms over his chest. "Something happened?"

"Something like that," I say, and roll my neck until it pops and eases the tension. "Is he in his room?"

We're keeping Kyle locked in the laundry room with nothing but a blanket and a TV that plays static from a lost signal. Ryder glances that way, then returns his knowing stare to me.

"Let me guess," he says. "You ran into someone on our list, and they upset you."

I barely dip my head in a nod, but he still catches it.

He sighs and waves his gloved hand, abandoning the twenty-question game when he's barely getting anything out of me.

"Let me set everything up for you, then," he says, and strides toward the laundry room to get Kyle. "Don't go easy on him tonight, Jax. He bit Aiden earlier."

My fingers curl into a tight fist. Of course he did. Kyle is a biter, and now I plan on returning the gesture.

"Tell him he's fighting for his freedom," I say to Ryder's back.

His laugh echoes through the rooms, and he disappears around the corner.

I swipe blood from the corner of my lip while keeping my gaze trained on Kyle. He holds his fists up in a sloppy position that shows he's never fought a day in his life until recently. His bare shoulders heave as he pants from overexertion. I've worked him to that point, dodging most of his punches.

By putting all of his strength into the beginning of this fight, Kyle has gone into this all wrong and worn himself out. Which means he's making this way too easy and not at all the tension-reliever I need. He was an idiot in school and is still that way now.

Kyle lunges, his fist hooking and missing me by a hair. I twist my body at an angle, dodging his hit and blocking another failed punch. The meathead snarls and rushes me, knocking me to the ground and pinning me beneath him. I grunt under his crushing weight, then laugh with each clumsy strike. His knuckles slam beside my temple with enough force that everything goes dark. Shrill rings fill my ears, and I slowly blink my eyes open, barely able to make anything out.

"Not laughing now, are you, fucker?" Kyle yells. His voice warbles like my head's underwater and I'm desperately trying to catch my breath. His weight on me disappears, and he screams at the top of his lungs.

I suck in a shaky breath and turn my head toward him. I make out fuzzy shapes that are supposed to be people as they dogpile Kyle.

"You cheating bastards!" he roars .

My heart beats faster, then slows until I think it's about to stop. In the back of my mind, I know I'm in shock after Kyle landed that lucky blow. I blink and blink again, clearing my vision until I see my best friend piling on Kyle. I smile as Aiden straddles Kyle's chest and punches into the sobbing pussy, who begs for his life.

"You're all liars!" Kyle cries.

He grunts with each punch and weakly shoves at Aiden, who's laying into him. I'm surprised by how easily my friend can move in all that gear he's wearing. It's like Ryder's, but he has a tool belt loaded with guns, ammunition, and even a hair-trigger grenade I've been nervous about.

I roll onto my side and shakily get to my feet. Ryder comes to my side and, with a hand on my arm, holds on to me until we're both sure I won't topple over.

I gain my bearings and tilt my head at an angle, stretching the tense muscles in my neck and cracking the cartilage. I groan with relief and do the same to the other side.

"I'll admit, you almost had me there, Kyle." I pop my knuckles and limp toward the bastard. "But we don't fight fair. You want freedom?"

Kyle's screams go quiet, and all that's left is the sound of flesh meeting flesh until that stops too. He lies limp beneath Aiden, blood covering his face and chest.

I crouch beside him and rest my wrists on my bent knees. Kyle's good eye turns toward me, pleading for me to show him mercy. Funny that this bastard thinks I'll give him that when he didn't do the same for Dahlia.

"I have so much planned for you," I murmur, and lean into him to ensure he hears my every word. I sniff, twisting my lips to push away the blood dripping from my nose to my busted lips. When that doesn't work, I swipe it away and study the dark crimson stain on the side of my finger. "Close to ten years of a grudge I hold for you"—I look at him and grin—"but it's not just because of me."

A bloody tear trails down Kyle's cheek, and his chin quivers with his soft sobs.

"Please," he croaks.

Ryder snorts. Aiden laughs. And I just keep smiling, though the action is more like baring my teeth than being mildly amused by Kyle's begging.

I swipe my fingertip over a smear of blood on the corner of his mouth and draw an upside down cross in the middle of his forehead. It reminds me of that band all the girls are crazy for—Satan's Priest. Tilting my head, I admire the symbol and can't help but widen my grin. Fitting for what my group is called. Satan's Deplorables. We were once the losers in school, but the losers turned into bitter, angry men who formed a gang with a long list of those who wronged us and Dahlia.

"Let's get you back in bed, hm?" I say.

Kyle sobs quietly until the whining turns louder and grates at my every raw nerve. I don't know how he has it in him after being beaten to the last inch of his life.

Aiden stands and grabs Kyle by his wrists, then drags him back to his room. If I listen close enough, I can hear the static that plays twenty-four-seven. He's been in that room for three weeks straight, with nothing but that sound and the occasional shitty food we give him to keep him alive. I don't want to just kill Kyle Rife. I want to drive him mad before I send him straight to hell.

"You need stitches," Ryder says.

Touching the tender flesh where Kyle punched me, I wince at the sharp sting that pulses through the rest of my skull and down my neck to my shoulders. I follow Ryder to the kitchen we keep stocked with canned items and medical supplies we use for ourselves and the people we bring here to torture. I fold myself into the chair, and all the heaviness from the last thirty minutes settles deep into my bones until I can barely keep my eyes open.

I let Ryder do his thing as he grabs the first-aid kit and pulls out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. It reminds me of earlier today, when I did the same for Dahlia. Even through my exhaustion, my body responds to the fresh memory. I bite back the groan threatening to slip past my lips as blood rushes to my dick.

"You lost your shit back there, man," Ryder says as he cleans my wounds.

I wince with each dab of the cotton ball soaked in peroxide. Fuck this. I fish in my pocket and pull out the rolled joint that miraculously made it through the fight. After sparking my lighter, I hold the tip to the flame, suck in the skunk smoke, and relax further into my seat.

Ryder sighs and finishes cleaning my wounds before he pulls out the needle and thread to stitch me up. I take another hit, forming donuts with the smoke and inhaling it. Ryder turns to me, warning me with a look before he stitches the wound at my temple. The sting of the needle piercing my skin and his gloved fingers holding the flaps together become a faded memory as I get high.

Ryder shifts and his eyes flick down to mine, like he's mentally preparing himself to have a talk with me. I inwardly sigh, not in the mood to be scolded like I'm his child.

"I'd be careful about who you allow to see you break. Eventually, one of them will have enough brain cells to figure out that Dahlia is your weakness," he says.

If I didn't know better, I'd also think he's prying for more information.

I cut him a dangerous look. "Are you implying that I shouldn't trust you?"

"Not at all." He pops the needle through my skin, and the thread snakes through with tremors as it pulls the flesh taut. It's an odd sensation, especially when I'm smoking. It's like my skin is wax with very few nerve endings. Thank god for the Indica strain I'm inhaling.

"What's your point?" I mutter.

"I don't understand why you're so protective of your sister." He finishes the last stitch and ties the ends before he snips it off his needle. "What will you do when she dates?"

I stiffen and curl my fingers into tight fists until my knuckles turn white. Red fills my vision as an uninvited image of Dahlia sleeping with another man pops into my mind. I refuse to allow some other man to touch her.

"You're her brother, dude," Ryder whispers, pulling me out of the spiral.

He gives me a knowing look, full of sympathy and understanding. He's been nothing but a great friend since we were five, so it's not surprising that he knows how I really feel about my sister.

There are a lot of complications and history between Dahlia and me. She and I are two atoms colliding and creating a new universe from the explosion. It's only a matter of time before we're discovered.

I wait for him to say it aloud, to point out the big elephant in the room. Instead, he turns his back to me and cleans up the area he used for first aid.

Once upon a time, I gave a shit about my weird fascination with Dahlia. I used to be embarrassed, but I can't bring myself to give a damn anymore. The world might not understand the level of obsession and love I have for my sister, and I'm fine with that. She just needs to come around and accept it, too.

I unfold myself from my seat and fix my jacket lapels. I glance at Ryder's back and consider ending his life. The thought is fleeting, and one that I should feel guilty over. Maybe deep down, I feel awful, but when it comes to Dahlia's safety—including her mental health—I'll do anything for her. If she doesn't want anyone to know yet, then I'll silence everyone for her. I'm her hand, and I'll do whatever she asks of me.

And if Ryder's dead, then no one else will know about me and my sister.

Feeling my glare, Ryder peeks at me over his shoulder. His eyebrows rise and he faces me. "Come on, bro," he says slowly, like he's talking to a large dog that's foaming at the mouth. "You know I won't tell anyone. All I'm saying is that you need to loosen up on your big-brother act. One of these days, she'll date someone, and it won't be?—"

"It won't be who ?" I wait for him to finish what he's saying, but he stares at me with a terrified look. "She won't date," I finally say. Not anybody else but me, that is.

Ryder shakes his head. "You can't deprive her of that."

"For her to be used like a fuck doll and have her heart broken?" I clench my jaw. "That's a hard pass."

Ryder sighs and leans his head back, looking to the ceiling for patience. "She's stronger than you give her credit for."

Ignoring him, I walk away, because if I stay any longer, I'll black out again and possibly kill my best friend.

My motorcycle waits outside for me. I don't take my time while I ride through the abandoned street. Music plays through the headphones in my helmet. It's ironic that the song talks about a big brother and his little sister.

I have so much planned for Dahlia. To make her mine. No one can have her but me, even if it means killing those who get in the way.