Chapter Eight

M y helmet slams against the side of Mickey's face. He screams like the little bitch he is, his body twisting from the force of the hit. Giving him no time to collect himself, I swing again. The helmet connects with the back of his head, and he crashes to the ground like a dead tree that finally tumbles after the trunk can't handle the stress.

I follow him and pin him down with all of my weight. I toss my helmet aside and punch him repeatedly, barely feeling anything but the need to hurt him. To kill him.

He hurt my sister. The one person I give a fuck about.

Mickey screams, and it ends with a grunt. "You asshole!"

"Jaxon." Dahlia's voice becomes farther away, like Mickey's as he pleads for his life.

I fist his shirt, supporting his upper half while I punch him until black edges into my periphery. It creeps over the crimson, creating an odd combination. Everything dims except for my need to punish Mickey for once again hurting my sweet little sister.

"Jaxon!" Dahlia yells louder than I've ever heard her .

The black in my vision takes over, and everything goes dark.

Arms wrap around me as I come to, and a head leans against my chest, right over my heart. I blink until the black dots stop blinding me. Glancing to the side, I notice we're near the woods, on the shoulder of a winding road at the bottom of Vail Mountain.

How did we get here? Last I recall, we were at the heart of the town in an alleyway, and I was close to killing Mickey with my bare hands.

A small whimper drags me out of my confused thoughts. I look down at Dahlia's head, her bright green hair catching the light streaming through the overcast sky. I realize how tight I'm holding her to me, her soft curves pressed against my hard body. I ease up on my hold and suck in a breath as my little sister nuzzles into my chest, her warm breath fanning through my thin black shirt.

I lean my head into her, breathing in her intoxicating scent. She smells like warm honey and the sweet-pea perfume she's worn since freshman year in high school. I hold back the shudder as tingles shoot up my spine from her heady scent.

She shifts her body closer to mine, like she can't get enough of me, and molds her breasts against my chest and her pelvis flush against mine. Fuck me. My little sister doesn't know the effects she has on me.

"Are you back with me?" Dahlia whispers, her lips moving against the sensitive skin at the base of my throat.

I cup the back of her head, gently threading my fingers through her green-dyed hair. I grate out, "Yes."

"You scared me back there," she says softly.

It's getting harder to concentrate on her voice and hear her every word because all my focus is on her breasts pressing against me. I can feel her hardened nipples, and I don't think she knows. I'll be damned if I tell her to speak up. This is my problem. A very wicked, disgusting problem that I should be ashamed of.

But I'm not.

I squeeze her tighter, not one bit sorry over my attraction to her. Blood rushes to my cock, which presses painfully against my zipper. Her stomach is right against it, but if she feels my erection, she doesn't say anything.

What she said finally sinks into my hazy mind. I lean back while still holding her. My fingers twitch on her back. She tilts her head to look up at me, and I can't tear my attention away from those fuckable parted lips.

"You're not scared of me, are you?" I ask.

She frowns. "No."

"You should be." I lean down until our eyes are level and our mouths are an inch apart. She doesn't know what goes through my mind whenever she's near me. If she did, she would have been long gone by now, never speaking to me again.

Dahlia's tongue peeks out and wets her bottom lip. I drop my gaze, watching the slight movement with longing.

Her black lipstick smudges to one side of her cheek from Mickey beating the shit out of her. I snap out of the lust haze and cup her chin, gently turning her head at different angles to assess the damage. My molars grind together as I study all the cuts littering her skin. I want to get on my motorcycle and head back into town to find the fucker and beat him up all over again. Bruises have already formed on Dahlia's skin, a cruel reminder that I got to her too late.

"Why should I be scared of you?" she asks softly.

I rub my thumb on the outside of her bottom lip, gently cleaning the smear of lipstick mixed with blood. "He didn't touch you, did he?"

Dahlia gives me a questioning look.

"Did he sexually assault you?"

Pink colors her cheeks, and she shakes her head while resting her hands on my chest. Her touch burns through my clothes, and my skin absorbs her warmth, leaving its blessed mark in my bones and soul.

Dahlia tilts her head, concerned about my silence. "Jaxon?"

I drop my hand from her face and pick up the helmet she'd tossed aside while she brought me out of the blackout rage. I stare at her as I hand it to her, and she shyly smiles. It strains her face and looks painful as the discolored skin stretches tight.

The anger I thought I'd contained comes back, and another rush of adrenaline pumps through my veins.

Dahlia notices and throws herself against me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. My fists clench at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. I've been planning to kill Mickey for a long time, but killing him right now sounds really fucking nice. He doesn't deserve to breathe any longer.

"Big brother."

My spine straightens at her soft, breathy plea. I snap open my eyes and look down at Dahlia, who bends her head to look at my face with pleading brown eyes. She must know how I feel about her calling me that. It's not something innocent to me. It's fucking dirty talk.

I fist her hair and gentle my hold when she winces. Bending down, I hover my face close to hers and rasp out, "He'll pay with his life for what he did to you."

Dahlia's lips part, shock crossing her face. "It's not worth it."

I smash my lips to her uninjured forehead and pull back. Dahlia's shock lasts all of a few seconds before it looks like she's about to argue with me, so I ease her helmet over her head, silencing her. I put mine on, fiddle with the buttons on the side, and set my phone to play music at the loudest setting.

She shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest while cocking her hip out. I smirk at the bratty display, then get on the motorcycle. Dahlia straddles the seat behind me. Her arms wind around my back to rest her hands on my stomach.

The engine purrs after I turn the ignition. I knock back the kickstand and balance the bike with my feet on the ground. When the music starts and our favorite song comes on, I check the street to ensure it's clear before I put the motorcycle into first gear and we take off. Dahlia's hold tightens as the speed increases. Her breasts press against my back, and my cock twitches as a shudder rolls through me.

I might be a terrible brother for liking this, but I stopped caring years ago when she kissed me. I'm a sick son of a bitch, and my sister is the wrong medicine that I desperately want. She's the very poison that will kill me.

The ride back to our parents' home is quick. I show off to my sister by going faster than the speed limit, leaning the bike around corners and grinning as she squeals with laughter. She may be afraid of the motorcycle, but she trusts me and knows I won't ever let anything happen to her.

I slow down as I drive up the long driveway. Trees loom over us, lining the way until we get to the rustic mansion that's tucked at the back. Lights shine from inside, as well as the bulbs outside that point at the house in a display I never understood. It may be rich-asshole behavior on my dad's part. Our parents don't know what privacy is and never got shades to cover the windows, so everyone can see everything that happens inside.

I drive around the fountain in the center of the mini cul- de-sac. Dad replaced it two years ago, and the new Medusa statue holds the decapitated head of a man who looks at her with terror in his wide eyes. Snake hair frames her heart-shaped face, puffy lips parted like she's just as surprised that she's killed a man. Her sultry eyes stare into the void, unseeing, but they hold so much grief, anger, and pain. Instead of being portrayed as an ugly creature, she's beautiful, with soft, feminine features.

Her body is shaped much like Dahlia's, with large breasts, wide hips, and an apron stomach, which makes me appreciate the fountain more than I should. Evelyn planted rose bushes and other types of flowers around it and in the front yard. During the spring, summer, and early fall, it smells like nothing but roses when in this portion of the yard.

I cut the engine and drop my booted feet to the ground to hold us steady while Dahlia slips off the seat and takes off her helmet.

"I can talk to our parents and tell Mom what happened." Dahlia hands me her borrowed helmet.

I pull mine off and set it and the safety gear on the seat. I shake my head to set my hair back in place, then glare at my stubborn sister.

"No," I say. "Leave it to me."

Her mother won't give a fuck, anyway. If she does, she'll blow it up into a bigger deal just so she can be dramatic and make it about her. I hate Evelyn for many reasons, but the major one boils down to how she treats Dahlia.

The second reason being that she was my father's mistress while he was married to my mother.

They tried to keep their affair a secret, but I saw more than people realized. All the nights he had to work late and phone calls when he thought he was alone. My dad is with Evelyn because my shitty mom left him when she found out about the affair.

When I told Dahlia about it, she wasn't surprised. The anger she tries so hard to hide kindled and burned brighter. It's a matter of time before she snaps and lays into her mom for all the shit she's done to my little sister.

Dahlia sighs and hikes her small bat-shaped backpack's straps higher on her shoulders. She opens her mouth, most likely to argue. I raise an eyebrow and fold my arms over my chest. After seeing that I'm ready to argue with her, she closes her mouth, huffs, and walks away.

My lips quirk, and I follow close behind her like the protective and scary guard dog I am. I look around as we go inside. The lights are dim, and I don't hear Evelyn's loud voice or my father's deep, soft one.

We may be alone for a while, and that excites me more than it should. I don't plan on trying anything with my sister just yet. I need to ease her into the idea of being with me. Which means keeping my dick in my pants.

Dahlia veers straight to the staircase, and I follow. I can't stop looking at her ass, which is practically in my face. She's wearing my favorite outfit: a black crop top paired with black shorts and ripped fishnets. It's such a drastic change from when she was a kid who wore frilly dresses, buckle shoes, and bows in her brown hair.

My mouth waters as I imagine licking the skin on the inside of her thick thigh, parting her ass cheeks, and tasting her pussy and ass from behind. I drag in a deep breath, hoping to smell her, but all I can smell is Evelyn's vanilla-and-sugar air fragrance she plugged into the walls at every turn in the home.

I cock my head as Dahlia heads toward her room, and I gently grab her by the crook of her elbow. She gasps as I bring her to my bedroom instead.

"What are you doing?" she squeaks.

I drag her to my bathroom.

"Tending to your wounds," I murmur.