3

I stare at Ebony from across from me, my little pet snake, Ouija, slithering slothfully around my hand. Her smooth black scales glide through my fingers, a calming distraction from the madness of my thoughts. But even as she winds herself into knots, my focus is locked on Bunny.

My beautiful little sister.

Too beautiful for her own fucking good. For my good.

Being here was a mistake. A massive fucking mistake. Two years of forced banishment should have been enough. Enough time to forget the way she feels under my skin. How she smells. Enough time to carve out the part of me that still craves her, despite everything. But I hadn’t stayed away because I didn’t want to see her—God, I wanted to see her. No, I stayed away because the last time we were together, she made it painfully clear where I stood.

She wasn’t willing to fucking fight for me the way I wanted to fight for her. She didn’t want us the way I did. She shattered me that Christmas, every fucking piece of my heart breaking apart and leaving nothing behind but a hollow, black void in its place.

Still, distance didn’t keep me from her completely. Nothing could. She was a siren call, a compulsion I couldn’t shake, a sickness I didn’t want cured. I watched her every chance I got. Hacked her fucking computers, her phones, every goddamn camera she owned. I watched her when she didn’t know I was there—every moment stolen through a lens.

I saw her undress, her skin glowing in the dim light of her room. I watched her touch herself, her heavy, blue eyes glued to whatever pitiful porn she thought could satisfy her. I read every pathetic message she sent and received. Listened to her pointless conversations.

And every single time, it drove me closer to the edge. How many nights did I sit on my bike, ready to ride here and kidnap her? Too fucking many to count. Too many nights spent staring into the darkness of what we could never have and wanting it anyway. Then Blaise happened three months ago.

She didn’t choose him. That was obvious. Her dad made sure of it, forcing her into some half-assed arrangement with that worthless fucker. But it was then that I made the choice to stop. To stop watching, stop waiting, stop torturing myself with every glimpse of her life without me. It was killing me—slowly, fucking heartbreakingly.

Not being near her was one thing, a pain I’d almost grown used to. But when I started to have to watch her with him—that was unbearable. Every kiss he stole, every touch he dared to lay on her that wasn’t mine, it made me want to ride off a fucking cliff.

But the truth is, none of it dulled the itch inside me. The one only she can scratch. The one that digs deeper every time I try to ignore it. Every time I tell myself this is wrong. She’s like a fucking fire burning through me, and no matter how much it hurts, I can’t put it out. Ebony isn’t just my sister. She’s my goddamn soulmate. She always has been. She always fucking will be.

And that’s what makes it insufferable. Knowing she’s mine in every way that matters—except the only way I want her to be.

I watch as she shrugs off her fur jacket, the soft material sliding down her bronzed, sun-kissed skin, which gleams with a golden shimmer under the glow of the Christmas lights. I notice she’s finally got ink, which surprises me. A full sleeve painted up her right arm and it only makes her even more perfect.

Her glittery black dress clings to her curves, sculpted to her body like it was made for her, the neckline plunging low enough to reveal the swell of her big tits.

She’s always had those—melons—round, full, fucking impossible to ignore—but now, she’s more than just the girl I knew. She’s grown into herself in ways that make it difficult for me to look away.

Her hips are fuller now, her body softer in all the right places, and I can’t stop myself from taking in every small detail. She’s not just beautiful. She’s the kind of breathtaking that makes my chest tighten and my dick hard. Every inch of her radiates the confidence and sexuality of a woman who doesn’t realize just how intoxicating she is. She’s never seen herself the way I do. Always the introvert, the quiet one, shrinking back into the fucking shadows like she doesn’t belong in the spotlight. In her mind, there’s always someone better—prettier, smarter, louder. Someone more deserving. But not to me. To me, she’s fucking flawless.

But speaking to her now, it’s clear—she’s not the same girl I left behind. I see it in her eyes, that harsh glint. I hear it in her voice, the strictness. It’s the same tone she used the last time I saw her, the one that gutted me when she gave up on me.

She doesn’t take bullshit anymore. Life has hardened and reshaped her into someone who stands taller and speaks louder. And I can’t help but wonder if losing me did this to her, the same way losing her crushed and rebuilt me into something darker, something angrier.

Maybe she’s been walking through her own kind of silent hell, just like me. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why she looks so damn untouchable now—like she’s wearing her pain as armor. But that only makes me want to touch her more. To put her in her place and destroy her in the process. It’s a twisted need I’ve had for so many years, and it seems it hasn’t stopped. I want to dominate her all over again, to take her beneath me and remind her who she belongs to, make her surrender.

I think back to the years that molded us—the time that warped everything into what it is now. When I first met Ebony, I was twelve, and she was ten. I hated her on sight. She was the fucking daughter of the man I despised with every ounce of my being. Ryker—the motherfucker who tore my father’s club to pieces and pissed on its fucking ashes the second he got the chance. The man my father loathed until his dying breath. And then, as if the universe wanted to spit in my face, I was forced to live under Ryker’s roof.

I avoided her at first. She was just another piece of his legacy, a reminder of everything I’d lost. But the years had their way of changing things. Ebony went from an annoyance to the only thing keeping me sane. She became my world without me even realizing it. I loved her. Not like I loved my mom or anyone else. No, it was a fierce, consuming kind of love. I protected her at all costs, maybe aggressively so. But then, everything started to change.

By the time we hit our late teens, that love—brotherly love, I had—morphed into something dark and obsessive. I was jealous. Every guy who looked at her, every friend she made, every moment she spent away from me—it burned me up inside. I found myself watching her when she didn’t know. Thinking about her riding my cock, her titties bouncing, when I should’ve been doing something else.

Even in the kitchen in the mornings as she ate her cereal, half asleep, no make-up, hair like she has been yanked through a fucking bush backward, I wanted nothing more than to bend her over the table and ram my cock inside her. It wasn’t enough to be near her anymore; I wanted to possess her completely.

Then, finally, I wanted to ruin her for anyone else. To touch her, claim her, make her understand she was only ever meant to belong to me. The idea of taking her innocence—making her mine in a way no one could undo—consumed me. It was forbidden, dangerous, and utterly fucking mind-altering.

So, I started testing the waters. Made small moves. Pushing boundaries. Showing her, in ways I hoped only she’d notice, that I didn’t see her just as my little sister anymore. That she was something so much more.

I knew the risks. Knew Ryker would kill me in a heartbeat if he ever found out. But I didn’t give a flying fuck. I would’ve died for her then, and I still would now. Because in my dark, broken world, Ebony wasn’t just everything to me—she was me. And there was no way I was letting anyone else take her before I do.

That Christmas night in the cabin wasn’t just a mistake or a moment of weakness—it was fucking fate. I’ve played it over in my mind a thousand times, and no matter how much she might hate me for it now, I know the truth. She loved it. Every filthy second of it. The way her body responded to me, the way she surrendered. The way we collided that night was everything I had fantasized about.

She wasn’t just the girl I thought I knew; she was so much more. She gave herself to me in a way that made everything—every risk, every fucking consequence—worth it. She was everything I knew she would be. She consumed me that Christmas, just like I fucking consumed her. I fucking lost it that night.

And no matter how much time has passed, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. About her. About the way she tasted, the way she sounded, the way she felt around me. That night was the point of no return. It wasn’t just a moment—it was a reckoning. One I’m not sure either of us can ever escape.