I stumble into the bathroom, bare feet slapping cold marble. Had it custom done when I moved in. Polished black and white. Real fucking posh. Better than anything back in Manchester. That place is shite now. Reckon it’s run by gangsters. Mob bullshit without the fit lads.
If you’ve got the cash, why not blow it? God knows how long I’ll last. I’m here for a good fucking time, not a long one.
I pop the bottle cap, shake out a couple of paracetamol, and toss them back dry. Bitter chalk taste spreading on my tongue. My reflection in the mirror looks like hell—rumpled black hair, bloodshot eyes—but there’s still that smirk. The one that’s carried me through every fight, every glorious conquest, every time I’ve taken something that wasn’t mine.
It’s time to get sober. Time to get my head straight.
I prop myself against the counter, waiting for the pills to kick in, but all I can see is him. Can’t shake the little bastard out of my head.
The first glance of him is seared into my memory. Nothing could wash it away, not even a dozen drinks. Those pouty eyes, dying for someone to rescue him from my boring brother. Strip off that polite little shell and show him what it feels like to be with a real fucking man.
Get his heart going, tie him up. All four limbs. Gag his mouth. He’d bloody love it—whether he knows it yet or not.
Charlie hovered around him all night, thinking he could protect him and lock him away. It was pathetic. He could threaten me all he wanted to.
Warnings don’t work on me.
Charlie could lock Austin up in some forgotten castle in the arse-end of Scotland, and I’d still find him. Doesn’t matter how high the walls or how thick the bloody gates. There’s nowhere he could stash that boy that I wouldn’t sniff him out. I’d cross oceans, cut through blizzards, burn down half the Highlands if that’s what it took. I’d turn over every stone, every bed, every locked room untilI had him. And when I did, I’d make sure he knew—no one hides from me. Not for long. Not ever. Not while I’m alive.
I saw his scars. Nothing physical, but I could tell Austin’s a broken lad, whether he knows it or not. It takes someone properly fucked up to put that right. Not some golden-boy wanker like Charlie, thinking a plaster and a pep talk’ll make it all sunshine and rainbows again.
I rattled him. Saw it in the way he went quiet, mouth hanging but nothing coming out. Didn’t fancy his first taste of me—perfect. Desire’s always sweeter when it’s laced with a bit of loathing.
I know his sort. He’ll tell himself I’m trouble, that I’m nothing like sweet, safe Charlie. And he’s bloody right.
I’m better. So much fucking better. I’ll ravage him and build him back up the way I want.
First thing to remember. I have to play the long game. Can’t go charging in like some lovesick rookie. Nah, I’ll let him stew. Let him think about me when Charlie’s not looking. When he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the hell I’m in his head. Fucking his brain crazy.
Or I could walk into Charlie’s flat right now and take what I want. But where’s the fun in that? I need to torture Austin, make him crave me and drive Charlie fucking mad. Make Austin go mental for me.
So I snatch up my mobile, thumbs a-flying, shooting off a text to a mate over at the Lumberjacks. Tell him I’m offering to 'demo' this new conditioning programme we’ve been running with the Ice Devils. Total bollocks. No one gives two shits about stretching drills.But it’ll get me a badge and through the doors, right into their little training sanctuary. Right under Charlie’s eyes.
Catch Austin all wrung out, sweaty, and vulnerable when Charlie is off working his form. Praise him. Help him work through those sore muscles.
Nice work out there,I’ll say, offering an authentic cheeky grin. Just a single compliment. Harmless on the surface. I’ll give him another, then another, watch the stiffness in his shoulders loosen just a bit. Praise is a hell of a drug, and I know the amount to dole out to a T.
Then I’ll offer to help him stretch. Nothing dodgy. Just me, guiding him into position, my hands on the backs of his legs, move them up the curve of his spine. Talking about muscle recovery, keeping it professional in tone, all while my fingers slither for a few seconds too long.
He’ll think it’s nothing. But his body will remember it—my touch, my voice. My praise. How gentle of a lad I can be. How loving, so much more than my thick headed twin.
The key to success is patience. He'll shatter once his brain has been reconditioned. Make every pleasant feeling start with me. Show him that he’s with the wrong brother. That there’s only one obvious choice.
So, you best hold him tight, Charlie.
Because the hunt is on.
Chapter 5
Austin
Iwakeuptothe odor of our sweat and the faint throb behind my eyes that tells me I didn’t nearly drink an adequate amount of water before bed. Charlie’s arm is sprawled over my stomach, burning against me like a coal furnace in the slumps of a blizzard. His morning breath rasps against my neck. For a minute I stay in place and try to hold the tranquillizing peace dearly in my chest. Then the memory of the gala replays in my mind.
Drew’s mischievous grin and all-consuming dark brown eyes. So, so, similar to Charlie’s, but nearly pitch black with a manic spark. Pupils fully dilated and ready to gorge on whatever they desired.
Last night I knew he wanted me. Probably just to piss off his twin and free himself of his blessed poison that he couldn’t wait to release in any warm body that moseyed on by.
I bet he'd shag anything with their khakis halfway down.
