Little Stranger: A Dark Taboo Romance (The Web of Silence Duet Book 1) - part 2

Leigh Rivers

Part Two

Malachi - 8 years later

Chapter 10

MALACHI

My beautiful Olivia.

My beautiful, smart, and twisted Olivia. You may have everyone else fooled with your kindness, with your warm smiles and soft voice, using them to get what you want in life-but I know you. I know the real you. Not this fake facade you show to those near you-your posture, your style of clothes, the way you let those delicate moans slip free when you ride your own hand, thinking of what we could've had if you hadn't testified against me.

I know the depths of your depravity and the way your mind works. I know you more than you know yourself, you little fucking minx.

My foster sister's touch is like a tattoo on my skin even now, all these years later. The way she whimpered my name against my lips, how tightly her cunt gripped my cock when I fucked her over our dying father's body, coated in his blood.

I'm just biding my time. Waiting in the shadows and watching her receive all the gifts I leave her. They make her nervous. She hates chocolates and flowers and jewelry, so I shower her with them. She's on edge, yet I think she likes to be scared. No—I know she likes the thrill of fear. Her journal goes into great detail about her dark desires; how much she yearns to be stalked, chased, kidnapped, and taken.

So, being the ever-loving big brother that I am, I intend to bring all her fucked-up fantasies to life while she begs for my forgiveness.

She's been waiting for me—the brother who was released from prison six months ago. She looks for me and searches my name on the internet five times a day, trying to find where I am, messaging her friends that if I was going to come for her, I would've already done so.

I still have the voicemails she left on my phone.

Drunken ones. Sad ones. Angry ones. I've listened to all of them, saved them on my computer so I can hear her crying that she hates me yet misses me, that she's sorry for the way everything went when we were teenagers.

Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Fucking sorry.

That damn word echoes in my psyche-a curse that won't fuck off.

Sorry's just a word to try to get out of something, to dodge trouble if you've been caught out. Sorry's a five-letter disgrace that shouldn't even need to be used.

It should be abolished from the fucking dictionary.

Actions do speak louder than words, and if she's as sorry as she makes out in her voicemails, then why does she sometimes look happy? Why is she going out partying with her friends? Kissing guys who-shockingly— vanish days later?Why does she dance around her apartment, singing ridiculous songs about love?

Why is she living her life without me?

If the bitch is sorry, then why is she only looking me up on the internet and not hunting for me? Why isn't she looking for me?

It fucking irks me that she didn't visit me, not once.

I refused any and all visitation from others, but I asked her to come and see me. I wrote to her the first two years, waiting patiently for a written reply, a presence, a smile to my fucking face that never came.

She left me in there to rot.

Well, little sister, no need to look for me anymore. I'm right here, and I intend to stick around until I've broken you.

I'll break her the way she broke me. I'm going to make her terrified, make her scream for help while I fuck her tight ass and force her to show she's sorry.

For those eight years, I didn't communicate with a single soul. I've kept my voice to myself, where no one else can take it, since I was five years old. The one time I tried to use it, I struggled to pronounce her name, and Olivia yelled at me that I was a liar, that she hated me, that we were done, and slapped me across the face before I could get her name past my lips.

I've been stuck in my own purgatory since I was born

—the different one, the black sheep, the fucking mute weirdo who has an intense fascination with his little sister.

I mean, who wouldn't find her fascinating?

Staying behind her-not too far, but close enough that I can see the peachy outline of her ass in that tight, cock-hardening dress—I shove my hands in my pockets and keep my eyes on her.

Her porcelain skin glows in the sun while she walks with her face in her phone, ignoring the outside world like there aren't hundreds of people walking past her.

It's the same routine every morning. Me following behind undetected. Her with those ridiculously high heels, turning left and entering the small coffee shop for her usual morning coffee. While I smoke a cigarette across the road, she'll order, check the magazines for anything new, and then she'll smile at the barista. The same barista I've imagined diced and in small bags in my chest freezer.

The only reason the person isn't dead is that my sister's smile will drop as soon as she leaves, and then she'll take another left to the courthouse. It's not far from where we live. A short walk that brings me joy from being on the same trail as her as I listen to her heels clicking on the sidewalk. With my hood up and my cap hiding most of my face, my head down, she never notices me walking her to work.

My sister works with our mother. An assistant. A fucking hot piece of ass that all the dickheads want whenever she walks in. They don't care that she's engaged-to my own fucking dismay-yet I'm shocked it took this long for Mom to nail her down to someone.

Adam turned out to be gay, Parker still can't walk properly, and all the other suitors she's had over the past six months have mysteriously vanished from existence.

You're fucking welcome, Olivia.

They weren't enough for you. No one is except me. The guy she's supposed to marry is some businessman who made a deal with our parents. They'd invest together, build an empire, but only if Olivia Vize married their son, Xander.

She's hasn't even met the fucker. Mom seems to be giving her some time before the wedding is booked. A wedding I'll blow the fuck up if it goes ahead. I'll make sure I kill my dad this time, and I'll strangle Mom with his intestines and force Olivia to marry me instead, then I'll cage the bitch and feed her my cock when she's hungry.

Once she disappears into the building, I set off to her apartment like I do every day. It's the same routine, the same journey. I'll wake in my flat-coincidentally across from hers- and I'll watch the cameras as she gets washed, dressed, has some breakfast, then I'll grab my coat when she leaves the house.

We spend a lot of time together, me and my sister; she just doesn't know about it.

My favorite time is when she drinks the spiked alcohol in her fridge. I get to come over and care for her. Sometimes, I'll wash her hair and cuddle her in bed, and other times, I watch her stumble around her apartment, in the dark, thinking my shadow is part of her nightmares.

The fucking control I always need when she starts stripping her clothes off while drugged up... I deserve a goddamn medal for not shoving my cock in her cunt or mouth.

I crack open her door and deeply inhale, enjoying her scent, which is all over the apartment. It's the only time I get to smell her, apart from when I'm fumbling around with her unconscious form.

My apartment is on the same level as hers, but across the street. I was kind of shocked she wasn't living it up in some mansion like we were raised in, as if she wants some normality before she's launched into the life of the rich asshole she's tied to. I still need to deal with him, but the heavy protection he has is a bit of a ball-ache.

I check all the cameras are still hidden, pour myself a coffee-the same way she makes hers-and sit down on her sofa. Kicking my feet up, I sigh and look at the pictures littering her wall.

Her graduating college, though she doesn't use her qualification. Her with a dog that died a year ago. Her and a boyfriend she had while I was locked up for eight years-her fucking doing by the way. Some pictures with friends.

And my favorite, the largest on the wall, one of the two of us. Her kissing my cheek when we were sixteen and seventeen, when I was in a state of confusion over why I hit a boner every time I looked at my sister.

She has a necklace over the frame. There's a smaller image of us in that too. Younger. Me on her back at the beach. I'm a slim dickhead in it-no ink, no muscles-and I'm wearing a blue shirt that says something about fucking sharks.

Mom knew I hated sharks, but she bought me it anyway.

Fuck her too. I drew a mustache on her picture, but

Olivia has yet to notice.

Fuck that entire family.

Except the daughter. She's hot and kind of imprinted on my brain.

My dear, sweet, innocent sister. I still see her distraught face while I sat before her in handcuffs, the way she couldn't look at me while she testified against me, ultimately sending me to prison for attempted murder on her precious daddy.

Dad ended up with brain damage-loss of memory and use of some body parts. So she got away without losing her Vize status, since our dad has no recollection of why the fight broke out.

He interrupted my meal-maybe now he'll know better than to take away my food, the fucking asshole.

He should've died. I wanted him to die. I still do.

He takes up so much of Olivia's attention-she's always wheeling him around in his chair, opening his food for him, feeding him. She kisses his cheek every time she leaves the manor. I know this because I have cameras set up there too. I have cameras everywhere she goes.

My girl

never needs to worry about anyone

hurting her, because her wonderful, ex-con, apparently psychotic brother is free and keeping her out of harm's way.

It's a pity I can't protect her from myself. Her betrayal isn't something I can shrug off like everything else.

Her fucking people while I was locked away, having relationships, being happy, was unacceptable, but I let it all slide after squashing each element. But earning my forgiveness won't be easy-I'll have the whore begging on her knees for me to forgive her for all her fucking sins against me.

Her laptop dings, and I drop my feet and walk over to her small desk. The screen brightens, and I watch the messages fly back and forth between her and her friends in a group chat. They're discussing Halloween this weekend, a festival they want to go to. One of her friends, Anna, the one who caused this entire colossal fuck-up, says she's not going to a party while pregnant with twins, and another asked if they're too old to party.

Not gonna lie, Anna is lucky I care about her friend and her opinion of me, because I fully intended to strangle her when I got out. I even went to her address in the middle of the night and made a plan for where I'd stash her body-but, of course, she had to go and get pregnant, didn't she? Olivia would never forgive me if I killed her. I'm mad at my sister, but I don't want to give her any more reasons to hate me.

It's not a fair game yet.

Olivia gives her the middle-finger emoji, and I chuckle while sipping my coffee in her This Princess Loves Hugs mug.

Abigail: We're 26, you asshole! Just because you settled down doesn't mean we need to. Stop being a party pooper and get a costume picked.

Olivia: I already have my costume. Did you get the Poison

Ivy outfit?

Abigail: Yes! I can't wait to see yours. Are you still going as a goth bride as a fuck you to your parents?

Olivia: Wink emoji I'm very mature.

I straighten, glancing over at her bedroom. It's tidy.

The entire fucking house is tidy, the little clean freak that she is. I kind of love watching her putting music on and dancing around in her panties while she vacuums.

One of my favorite pastimes with my cock in my hand.

I pull open her wardrobe and spot the costume that wasn't there yesterday, and my dick hardens at the thought, the fucking image in my head of her dressed up as a bride in black—the black tutu and corset, black netted tights and garter... I rub the material of the veil, gulping at the possibility of losing her to some other asshole when she marries.

I slam the wardrobe door harder than necessary, fist my hands, and screw my eyes shut. Breathe, Malachi.

Fucking breathe and don't wreck the place.

Focus. Repress.

I open my eyes and shake it off.

If my girl is going out for Halloween, it looks like I am too. I can't wait to reacquaint my cock with her cunt—that one time with her over Dad's prone body replays in my mind, but it's not enough.

After reading in her journal that she would love to be taken while unconscious, I've been tempted to fuck her in her drugged-up state, to ram my cock in her ass too, but I want her eyes on me—I want her lucid, watching me fucking take what she took away from me.

I want to hear her screaming in both fear and pleasure while she reacquaints her throat with my cock and cries for mercy.

I won't show her any. That little shit took eight years from me. And this weekend, while she dresses up as a slutty bride, I'm going to make her pay.

Once I eat one of her apples and toss aside the core, I intentionally kick over her laundry basket and leave the toilet seat up, then place the chocolates on her table. I look around her place once more before I leave, then pull on my motorbike helmet and fix my gloves onto my hands as I make my way across the street to my bike.

The closest costume store isn't too far away, and I can't help but feel excitement-she likes to be scared while turned on, and she's going to be fucking terrified while I chase her down and choke the life out of her.

Chapter 11

MALACHI

The costume store smells funky.

Skulls everywhere. Hockey masks. Some blank faces. I contemplate the black one with the spider effect, but I want something more. The Jason mask looks like it's covered in years-old dust, and I squint at the corner of the store, where there's a row of three other masks.

Heavy boots take me there, the light above me flickering like I'm some sort of bad entity haunting the place.

My gaze falls on a black gas mask-two chambers on each side, rusty looking, the eyes covered in mesh. My lip curls at the corner, and I reach for it, feeling the weight of it in my hands, the rough texture of the design, imagining wearing it, my darling Olivia having no idea it's me behind the mask while she sucks my cock.

Nothing else here calls to me, so I pay for it and head back to my apartment. After I shower and cook some dinner, I sit at my desk. Screens litter the wall in front of me, showing everywhere Olivia goes, and I search each one to find her.

She's standing in her friend's kitchen, sipping from a mug and laughing at something Anna's husband is saying. Her friend rubs her pregnant belly, and Olivia presses her hand to it, her eyes widening. I see no reason to be happy here. Why is she smiling like that?

Babies are just reincarnations of the devil in my opinion, so I have no desire to ever become a father. I'd be terrible anyway. I wouldn't ever want a miniature version of me stealing my attention from my sister. I'm an asshole-why would I want another one of me?

When I filled Olivia up with my cum, I loved the way it dripped out of her cunt. I wanted to spread it over her pussy and shove it back inside, not wanting to waste a drop. But I never wanted to get her pregnant-that would've been a fucking disaster.

The first year of my imprisonment, I thought Olivia's silence was because she was pregnant—that I'd got her pregnant from that one time, and I even started asking her in letters if the kid was mine, tricking myself into believing I had a kid out there that was taking all of her attention from me.

She wasn't visiting me because she had a bastard chained to her.

Thankfully, she's still childless and on birth control, so no pregnancies or babies or shitty diapers. Fuck, wait—what if her future husband wants to knock her up?

I sit forward and open up my search bar, hunting to see if there's any way to perform a hysterectomy safely at home, but I fail to find a single article. I huff and lean my elbow on the desk, fist to my temple, and wonder if I can drug the guy and hire a doctor to snip him.

Less invasive than doing it to Olivia. It's a win-win. My girl doesn't want to be a mother anyway.

Olivia kisses her friend's cheek, waves to the little girl in the highchair, then goes to her car. I sigh and watch her drive off, and wait until she drops into another screen. Ten minutes later, she pulls into her usual gas station, pays for her gas and some chips, then gets back into her car.

By the time she gets home, it's dark out. My lights are off as I stand by the window, watching her struggle to find her key to the entrance of her building. She drops her phone and stamps her foot, which makes me smile as I take a draw of my cigarette.

The little things she does make me feel all warm and fuzzy, and I need to remind myself she's a snake with a pretty face and a tight pussy.

She vanishes into the building, and I turn to watch the screens again, keeping the smoke between my lips while I zoom in on all the cameras in her apartment. She drops her keys on the table beside the door, freezing in place when she sees the box of chocolates.

Her bag slips from her shoulder, and I grin as she walks towards it slowly, lifting the box and reading the little note I left.

You look so beautiful today, sweet Olivia.

As usual, she tosses the chocolates in the trash and crushes the note before throwing it aside. "Leave me alone!" she yells, kicking her bag in annoyance, stopping when she sees her laundry basket tipped over and her clothes on the ground. She rolls her eyes and checks her apples-always ten, but I eat one daily, just to annoy her more.

The toilet seat is up too, so she slaps it down and groans to herself. "Fucking weirdo," she mutters, and my smile slips at the use of the insult everyone used to throw at me.

She opens her wine bottle, fills the glass with the drug-filled liquid, and I wait patiently for her to pass out on the sofa before I turn off my screens and head over.

***

She's snoring lightly when I arrive, the wine spilled on the floor, staining her rug. I clean it up and wipe the drool from her mouth.

I run her a warm bath, add some oils, and wait until it bubbles up, using her fingerprint to unlock her phone and turn on the playlist she listens to while bathing.

She's limp in my arms as I lift her, and I pause for a moment when her head flops into my chest and her hair goes in my face. I inhale, closing my eyes and burying my head in her shoulder, feeling that warmth again and wondering if she'd allow this if she was conscious.

Doubt it. I'd be shocked if she didn't try to beat the shit out of me then call the cops for stalking and drugging her.

I press a kiss to her forehead and carry her to the bathroom, lowering us both to the floor while a Lana Del Rey song plays from her phone. I push the sleeves of her dress down her arms until the material is at her hips then unclip her bra, her perky breasts bouncing as I pull them free.

Ignoring the intense need to capture a nipple between my teeth is harder than my cock right now. I inwardly groan and yank the rest of her dress down her legs, pressing my forehead to her shins and breathing, trying to regain my composure before I sit up and hook my fingers into her panties.

I slide the fabric down her soft, smooth legs to reveal her pussy. Every single time I do this, I struggle not to touch her. She's perfection on the outside - beautiful, stunning, a work of fucking art that was born to drive me more insane than I already am.

My cock thickens even further, and I bite my lip, my thighs tensing. She's lying on the ground, out cold, naked, and I feel like I'm dying inside.

If Malachi was free, I'd want it to be him to make all my fantasies come true, she had written in her journal.

I spread her legs, closing my eyes again and counting to three, keeping my hand on her thigh. Without looking, I glide my palm up, letting out a shaky breath when I reach the apex of her thigh, my thumb on her mound. I dig my fingers into her skin, and my eyes ping open as she whimpers.

She's still drugged up and far from conscious, but her hips rock upwards a little, and she makes a soft noise when my thumb presses to her clit. Short puffs of air escape her lips as I rub the pad of my thumb over it, circling slowly, my mouth fucking watering as I bring myself closer.

She's enjoying this.

I should keep going.

I part her pussy with my other hand, opening her wide for me. My face dives between her legs and I inhale her scent, my dick fucking aching to be released from the confines of my pants.

I want to tell her how intoxicating her cunt is; that her glistening arousal on the tip of my nose is making me delusional, insanity running wild in my mind. If I could use my voice, I'd tell her how perfect she was, that I wish I could stay between her legs forever.

I won't talk. I can barely string a sentence together, even when I was training my voice box in my cell to produce four syllables without pausing.

Pathetic, in all honesty. Wanting to say Olivia's name and struggling to do so made me drive my fist into too many walls.

I know how to fucking talk. I do. But I just... can't without making a fool of myself. I stutter, and my tone is all over the place.

One or two words are fine. As long as they aren't a mouthful or tongue-twisters.

When the time comes, I will find it in me to tell her what I really think of her-how I feel when I look at her.

Olivia lifts her hips, trying to chase my mouth as I pull back. My girl wants me. She wants to be fucked while sleeping.

Her cunt is glistening from her arousal, and I ease my middle finger in, her tight walls clutching as I sink deeper then stop circling her clit and replace my thumb with my mouth.

I hum against her as I suck on her clit, and her hips move slightly again, rocking her pussy against my tongue and finger. I add a second finger, curling them inside her while I flick my tongue.

Delicious, exactly like I remember. I fuck her with my fingers, sucking, biting, grinding my cock against her motionless leg. She cries out softly as she soaks my hand with her arousal, and I stop when I hear the water pouring over the side of the tub.

Sighing, I pull my fingers out of her and get to my knees, turning off the tap and releasing some of the water down the drain.

My anger knows no bounds, because I want to smash the tub up for interrupting us.

I unbuckle my belt and free my cock, fisting the base and giving it a stroke, watching the wetness on her thighs, her hole calling to my cock, begging me to come home.

My balls are heavy, needing a release, and I stroke myself again, my piercing sliding against my palm as I line up the head of my cock to her cunt, gasping as I push into her.

Fuck.

She's so damn tight-her pussy is gripping me like a fucking fist.

I'll make it fit, I think to myself, pushing in a little deeper.

Olivia has a string of drool down her chin. I wipe it away with my thumb and move the hair from her face as I pull out a few inches and thrust back in to the hilt.

Her brows knit together, and I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in as I fuck into her, my balls slapping against her thigh the faster I go.

So wet, so fucking mine, even when she's not aware of it.

I press my mouth to hers, slipping my tongue between her lips as I groan, pounding into her harder, faster, deeper, grabbing her leg and hiking it up to get a better angle than this missionary shit.

I can taste the wine on my tongue as I suck on hers, and I falter when I feel her kiss me back. Or try to. She's rocking against me lightly, nowhere near the way I'm hammering into her, breathing heavily while her eyes flutter.

"Malachiiii."

I pause, nearly releasing inside her from my name slurring from her mouth.

Her eyes are closed. I slap her cheek lightly, but she doesn't wake. Does that mean she's dreaming of me?

I draw back and pummel into her harder, making her inner walls crush my cock.

Fuck. I haven't had sex in eight years, nearly nine, and it all feels natural. The way I thrust, hitting her sweet spot with my piercings, dragging moans from her as I suck on her mouth. I drop my head and take one of her tightening nipples into my mouth, and she's arching completely off the floor, taking me deeper, letting out a strangled moan as she grows warmer, wetter, shaking beneath me.

She chokes on air as I sink my teeth into her nipple, biting hard, making sure it hurts, which only has her pussy clutching me repeatedly, her scream muffled as I fuck her into an orgasm.

It doesn't take me long to follow her. My balls tighten into my body, my legs tense up, and my spine goes stiff as I fill her with my cum, stilling my cock deep inside her clenching pussy.

I let her nipple pop from my mouth and kiss a harsh trail up her chest and jaw to her lips as she falls back into a fully unconscious state.

I pull my cock out of her, rid myself of the rest of my clothes, and lift her into the tub with me. With her back to my front, I lie back, listening to the music with my eyes closed, heart still racing.

Well, this is relaxing. Usually I'm in this position and trying to fight the urge to touch her. But since that's already been covered, I can just... relax.

Olivia's skin has always been soft, a few freckles dusting her shoulders, and I kiss each one of them while I wash her, soaking her hair and reaching for her strawberry-scented shampoo. I love the way her hair feels between my fingers, the way the shampoo lathers in my hands as I clean it.

I use her sponge on her arms and legs, and she whimpers as I drop it between her thighs and wipe away the evidence of me fucking her. I kiss her throat, feeling her pulse beneath my lips, before wrapping my arms around her.

Once I get her dried and into a pair of her silky PJs, I tuck her into bed and kiss her forehead, pulling the covers up to her chin. I stroke her hair, rubbing it between my fingers. It's a bit wet—I could only dry so much of it with the towel before I got fed up.

I clean the tub with a cloth, mop up our cum and the water from the floor, and make sure the small mat is exactly where it was before I fucked her on it. Hands to my hips, I tilt my head and look at the fluffy thing. Was it straighter? Will she realize it's been moved?

Huffing, I turn off the light and head to the kitchen, pausing when I see all the dishes in the sink. My eyes roll before I rinse them off then fill her dishwasher and turn it on. I fix her apple stack, straighten out her mugs, then chew my lip as I glance around for anything else I might have messed with prior to her being drugged.

I already cleaned up the wine, but there's still a little stain on her carpet, so I get on my hands and knees and scrub at it until it's unidentifiable.

I empty the filter in her coffee machine, then empty her trashcan and tie the bag, leaving it by the door for me to take when I leave.

Really, where would she be without me?

Olivia is still asleep when I get back to her room, and I yawn and drop onto the bed beside her, exhausted from tidying up after fucking her.

I grab her phone, unlock it with her finger, and swipe through her photos. There's nothing new, but then I accidentally scroll back to her albums and find one labelled "M" that appears to be locked.

I unlock it with her thumbprint, and loads of images and videos pop up of me, us, the family who raised us, and I spend the next hour swiping through them. She was always taking pictures or recording me. She even has pictures of newspaper clippings from my arrest, the headline that my sister testified, that I nearly broke my lawyer's face when he told me Olivia had turned her back on me.

I didn't hold back when she was in that witness box— my interpreter translated everything I signed. I let the world know how much of a whore my sister was, how she was always on her knees for me, that Mom sold her virginity, fucking everything, but I was silenced and labelled as a madman, though I refused to plead insanity.

Those few days of the trial were like a blur. I was so mad at Olivia, but I do kinda regret letting it all out. Not that anyone believed me-again, madman and all. But what we had was real. We fucked, maybe in a little bit of a messy situation, but we'd covered all boundaries, and I was fully prepared to tell everyone what she meant to me, but then the cops came, and it ended.

I waited for her in that cell-day after day. But it's okay now, because I'm here.

I grin as I shut off her phone and stare at the ceiling, my hand behind my head. Despite everything, I got to have sex with my sister again. It only took nearly a fucking decade.

Turning on my side, I open her drawer and pull out her journal. Total invasion of privacy, but it allows me to see into her head without needing to split open her skull and inspect her brain with a magnifying glass.

She touches a lot on sexual activity-how inactive she is, which makes me smile. After tonight, we are officially actively fucking, my sweet Olivia. I'll be doing this every single night now. She came all over my cock, whimpered my name, and moaned, so she definitely liked it.

What kind of a brother would I be if I didn't give her more?

A few times, she's mentioned the guy across the street—me by the way. She writes about watching me, wondering what I look like without my helmet, and once, she wrote she thinks it could be me but quickly backtracked, because if it was me, surely the last thing I'd be doing is living across the street and giving her space-if it was me- then she'd probably be dead.

Ridiculous-I don't want to kill her; I want to crush her. There's a difference.

She wants to gather enough courage to talk to the biker. She wants to give him her number and somehow ask him out. Which, again, is fucking hilarious and annoys the shit out of me, because she has no idea who he is. He could be a ninety-year-old man or have a face covered in warts, or worse, the biker could look like that fuckwit Parker.

In her recent journal entries, she talks about being lonely and that the marriage Mom's set up terrifies her.

She doesn't find her future husband attractive from all the photos Mom emailed her and thinks he'll most likely cheat on her like her brother did.

Firstly, I didn't cheat. And secondly, we weren't in a relationship either. I was her secret little fuckboy; someone she could teach what she loved.

My eyes fall on the stack of letters I wrote to her—she has them strapped together with a rubber band in the drawer. Some of them are severely crumpled. As if she's gotten mad and scrunched them up, only to try flattening them once again.

I drop her journal and pull the top one out and unravel it. It's the first one I ever sent her. I read over it, shaking my head at my idiotic younger self.

Words like "missing you" and "I didn't think it was possible to be without you, and now there's a huge wall between us" and "will you visit me? I'm sorry for yelling at court" and my least favorite, a very dark time for me,

"I'm not comfortable around these people. They call me a weirdo like the kids at school did because I won't talk.

Please don't leave me in here," yet she didn't reply, even when my letters grew more desperate. No reply. Not to this letter, or the one after, or the fifty-odd after that.

I even begged her in some of these letters, demanding to know why she hadn't come to see me, if I'd done something wrong. I was in a state of confusion for so long, wondering-no, calculating-what error I'd made in the last few years.

I even told her, in a very messy letter-one of my last

—that I had no idea how to control the way I felt about her, and that if I had got her pregnant, I'd step up even though I had no idea how to be a good father, that if she'd visit with my son or daughter, let me see them, I'd do better.

She didn't reply to that one either.

I must've been a depressed asshole.

I twist to look at my girl, my little sister, and brush my fingers through her hair. I hope she isn't sore tomorrow, but at the same time, I hope she's in fucking agony.

When she wakes, she'll be confused, probably think she had a bad dream, and I'll be watching her, either from the shadows or behind my computer screens, waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

Chapter 12

MALACHI

Olivia: What time does the festival start?

Abigail: Seven, I think. Are you still sick? Please tell me you aren't gonna cancel???

Olivia: I'm not.

I smirk while I read the messages between my sister and her friend. She'd woken up yesterday, clouded and a little unsure of her surroundings, and staggered to the bathroom. I'd held my breath in case I hadn't put the small rug in the right place, but she just relieved herself and showered.

Her confusion continued when she saw the empty sink and trashcan, then she sat on her sofa and massaged the inside of her thighs, the same ones I was between. She'd pressed her palm to her forehead, and through the feeds in my apartment, I'd watched her search the internet for answers as to why her thighs were sore-but none of the results filling the screen were the right one.

The reason you're sore, and the reason your thighs are a little bruised, is because I fucked you, Olivia. And you loved it. It won't be the last time either, little sister. I will fuck you again. And again. And again, until you lose your voice the way I did and silently cry until you realize you still love me.

I keep smiling. I also keep talking to myself in my head as if my sister is in there, trapped within the darkness of my mind—it satiates me a little to imagine it; to believe she can hear everything I'm thinking, even though it would take me an hour minimum to actually get those words out.

Maybe I am a little insane.

Another message comes through-Olivia saying she's leaving work early and will head to Abigail's house to get ready before they go to the festival. It's in the middle of nowhere, an abandoned barn on a farm that's now a designated party place all year round.

I hum to myself as I watch Olivia walking home on my screens-which annoys me because she has a perfectly functional car in the apartment garage. Why walk and show everyone your perky tits in that tight dress and your peachy ass? Why smile at someone when they walk past you? Why are you not smiling at me?

When I notice my cigarettes are nearly done, I get dressed, pull on my black hoodie and combats, and grab my motorbike helmet on the way out the door. I keep the monitoring software open on my phone as I walk down the flights of stairs, refusing to take the elevator because I'll lose my signal. I flick through the various feeds, trying to find her, and when I reach the front door, I slip on my helmet and walk out.

My bike is parked right outside. It's new—a black Kawasaki imported from Japan. Fast as fuck and beautiful to look at. It's my pride and joy-after Olivia obviously.

I freeze when my eyes lift to find my main goal in life walking right towards me. Her hair flows in the wind, eyes bright, and her hand is wrapped around a basket filled with fruit.

Wait. She's heading straight for me.

Fuck. My visor isn't see-through, is it?

No. I made sure it wasn't.

Can she see my tattoos?

She has no idea I got one on my neck, right?

Fuck, why am I sweating?

She has that cute grin on her face as she walks up to the side of my bike, her eyes dancing under the mop of hair hidden beneath the hood of her coat—she's just pulled it up to shield herself from the rain now drizzling from the sky.

Seeing her up close, conscious and not through a screen, or in my goddamn dreams, knocks the air out of my lungs. As does knowing that there might be a trace of my cum inside her still, that her milky thighs are tender-fucked and fucked and fucked.

Does she know it's me? Has she figured out that I screwed her while she was asleep? Fuck, I don't know. I'll just look at—

"Hey," she says, her voice like music to my depraved ears. "Do you live nearby? I always see your bike parked here."

Mmmhmm, go away, Olivia, before I crush your windpipe. Or worse, fuck you in public with your stupid basket of fruit rolling down the street. "My name is Olivia." She reaches out her hand, her cheeks reddening as she blushes. "I moved here a little over a year ago."

Can she fuck off? She's ruining my plan.

Her hand drops when I don't acknowledge her existence. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be intrusive.

I'll just...

" She turns around, going stiff as she looks for

her last word. "Go."

But I don't want her to go.

Then again, I'll fuck up my words, and she might realize who I am.

And if Olivia finds out her darling brother is living across the street, stalking her like he has nothing else to do in his boring life, then she might disappear-or worse, call the cops again and get me charged with fuck knows what next.

Come on, Malachi, I urge myself. Say something.

"Kai," I say quietly. The fewer syllables, the easier it is to talk.

She stops and turns, confused.

I clear my throat, my lips moving a few times before I get the words out. "My name...'

" Breathe, asshole. "Kai."

She smiles wide. "Well hello, Kai." Is she... flirting with me? Me?

No, she's flirting with a stranger. Not me.

Not fucking me.

I want to strangle her.

"Hi," I say, not bothering with her name because I'll fuck it up. At least I don't sound like an old man—my voice is quite deep and what people call "husky," and I know she likes that.

She smiles again and turns away, walking towards her apartment entrance. I stare at her ass, the sway of her hips, and wonder how long I can hold my breath before I die.

My bones are shaking-I think I might pass out as soon as she vanishes into the building. Being so close to her like this, with her bright eyes and mesmerizing smile, kinda knocks me off my fucked-up axis. I almost want to abort my revenge-fueled mission and tell her I forgive her, that we can be together now that I'm no longer seen as part of the Vize family—yet I still hold the surname on all my documents and bank accounts.

But she was flirting with me, not knowing who I am.

Why does that fuck me off so badly?

I climb onto my bike, turning the key and reveling in the vibrations all over my body. It's nearly as mind-bending as feeling Olivia come all over my cock. Seeing her on her knees on my balcony while Dad yells from beneath it. Fucking into her mouth—my first ever blowjob-and seeing my cum on her lips.

Tasting her for the first time with my mouth.

The kiss in her bed-the way she wanted me to grab her throat and choke her.

The way she cried while Dad was bleeding to death under her while I fucked her from behind

Depraved thoughts have me fighting the urge to follow her into her home.

But then I see her again, heading straight for me with a piece of paper in her hand, and I frown when she reaches it out to me. It nearly blows away in the wind, but I catch it.

"I know this is forward, but I don't speak to many people." She hands me the paper. "This is my number, and this is where I'm going tonight. It's a Halloween festival just outside town. You should come."

"Thanks"" I say, nearly hissing the word. "I'll..." I swallow, breathing through my nerves, trying to get this right. "I'll go."

"Really?" Her eyes widen. "Awesome! I can meet you outside the main gate at seven? Text me when you're there?"

I nod, and she blushes again before heading back to her apartment. I want to crack her skull open and feed her the gray matter of her brain, because what the fuck is she doing inviting a stranger out?

She's annoying me at the same time as making me nervous. She's basically asked me-someone she's never seen without a helmet—on a date. I could be an ugly motherfucker, a predator, or a murderer, and she's just given me a free invitation to meet with her.

I'm a little lost when it comes to socializing and living normally, but are we not a little old to be going to festivals like this? It's more like a rave with a fairground that teenagers usually swarm. I'm twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nine, and I'm sneaking around, fucking my sister, and planning on going to a Halloween party to chase her into the darkness and fuck her some more.

I mean, I'll go, but the idea of her so easily flirting with someone has me crushing the paper with her number, squeezing my throttle, and speeding down the street.

****

I glare at my phone-the new phone I had to go buy because I can't use my own one. She still has my number after all these years, so she'd know it's me.

Me: Hey, it's Kai.

I roll my eyes at myself. Out of all the fucking names, I picked what people tried to use as my nickname? I hate it. It was either that or Vizey growing up, and I hated both. My name is Malachi, nothing else.

I'm surprised she didn't put two and two together and realize who I was.

The stranger on a motorbike she just flirted with and asked out without knowing who she was talking to.

The phone dings, and I lean back on my bed with my towel around my waist, water droplets sliding down my chest. I just did a workout and ran on my treadmill for far too long, needing to expel some energy before tonight, but I still feel like there's a lot more left to give.

Olivia: Hi! I didn't think you would reach out. Are you coming tonight?

Am I so far from reality that I have no idea how to reply? Do I just simply reply "yes" and that's it? How do I keep the conversation going? Do I ask her if she's interested in sex? If she's just looking for a friend? If her pussy is still tender from being pounded on her bathroom floor?

Me: Yeah. 7?

There. Simple and fine and in no way suspicious, right?

I glance over at my desk, my eyes zoning in on her sitting on her sofa, knees tucked up, chewing her fingernails while staring at her phone. She types but stops and throws her head back, as if she's unsure what to say.

Smirking, I go sit at my desk and watch her fight her own strange little battle. It absolutely does not help my stiffening cock that she's also in a towel, and that with her knees up, I can see between her legs.

When she still doesn't reply, still fighting her demons,

I type again.

Me: Are you single?

She bites the corner of her lip as she grins, a blush creeping up her throat and cheeks.

Olivia: My boyfriend would be furious if he knew I gave my number to some random biker.

My smile drops, and my brows knit together. She's... not single? Since fucking when?

Olivia: I'm kidding. I'm not a very funny person. But yes, I'm as single as they come. How about you?

Technically, she's half single. She's neglected to

mention that Mom's lined her up with a husband. She also has a brother—me, by the way-who she has a fascination with. I can be cocky about that-she does have pictures of me on her phone, and I have more than enough voicemails as proof.

She fancies me but flirts with the biker?

Me: I don't do relationships.

I grimace at my own words. I sound like a knockoff Christian Grey, without the whips and red room of sexual pain. Plus, I'm not a billionaire. I shake my head.

Olivia made me watch all three movies back-to-back one night when we were teens, and I hated it, but I loved watching her watch someone get fucked.

Olivia: What do you do then?

I drug my sister nearly every night, cuddle her in her unconscious state, clean her apartment, and one time, I stuck my cock in her. I probably shouldn't say that though.

Me: What do you think?

Olivia: My imagination is a little crazy. I'll probably overstep and make you uncomfortable if I say what I think.

This is taking a different direction. My little whore of a sister is trying to dirty talk the biker-me, her brother.

Me: Maybe my imagination is crazier?

My gaze is fixed on the screen, the one on my desk, as I watch her chest rise and fall, her knees falling open. Is she... turned on? That easily?

Olivia: Prove it.

Again, I'm annoyed, even though my dick is hard.

She's trying to invoke sex from someone she doesn't know. She's parting herself with her small fingers and rubbing her clit on her sofa, and I'm tossing aside my towel to fist my cock, watching her find pleasure.

Pleasure she wants from a stranger.

I let go of my dick and type, refusing to come unless it's on or in her.

Me: See you at 7.

****

The gas mask sits comfortably on my face as I stare at myself in the mirror. With my black combats and black hoodie, the hood pulled up, she'll never know it's me.

I flip a screwdriver in my hand as I watch her through my screens-she's curling her hair as she sits in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror at her friend's house. Is it normal to walk around naked in front of your friend?

Abigail, disgustingly, only has panties on, and I try to block her from my vision as Olivia finishes her hair and rubs cream all over her naked body.

I imagine her friend chopped up as she rubs the cream onto Olivia's back. When she disappears into the bathroom, my sister fixes her makeup, so her lashes are too long, and paints on black lipstick to go with her goth-bride costume.

Her heels are too high-she still won't be anywhere near as tall as me, but how will she run in them? The game will be over before it properly starts.

The stockings cover her legs to her thighs, and the corset pushes her tits up, the train of the veil streaming down to her ass.

She's not smiling at herself in the mirror as she inspects her art-because that's what Olivia Vize is, a piece of fucking art I want to own. I do own. She just doesn't know it yet.

She looks sad. It could be the hour she spent crying to her friend about me, or while she watched videos of us, or the research she did online that-once again-gave her nothing.

She takes pictures in the mirror, faking smiles from different angles, then she tosses her phone on the bed and sits at the foot of it. There's music playing in the background, another Taylor Swift song, and she's miming the words while she waits on her friend.

I grin when I see the necklace she's wearing-the locket with our pictures in it. It fits with her costume, looking old and rustic. I watched her clip it on earlier, and she stared at the photo of us inside for longer than necessary.

You see how good we are together, Olivia? We could've had the world, and you had to ruin it. I was going to give you everything you ever wanted. Now I need to take. I nearly have all of you.

I have your mind.

I have your body.

I have your soul. The fear I instill in you. The pain I inflict when you defy me.

You have a black heart, little sister, but I'll own that soon too.

Olivia and her friend leave the house, heading to the festival. It's not too far-I've been reading articles about it online. There will be dancing, fairground rides, food, and alcohol, and there's a corn field that stretches all the way to the woods. I fully intend to make use of that space.

I flip the screwdriver in my hand a few times then tuck it into my back pocket, checking to see if my motorbike helmet fits over my mask, but it doesn't, so I chuck it aside and settle on using the gas mask instead.

It's eight by the time I get there. I intentionally made myself late, made her blow my phone up while I watched her through the crowds. She's sexy-far sexier than watching her through the screens. She's dancing, drinking spirits, her and her friend laughing and throwing their heads back to the music. She keeps checking her phone for a reply from me, but she won't get one.

Abigail's mouth is latched to a stranger's, and Olivia goes to get another drink, checking her phone on the way. I stay behind her, my hands fisting at my sides when I see the way people are looking at her. At how fucking hot she is.

If I had a gun, I would've put a bullet in at least ten people's heads by now.

With the gas mask on, she won't recognize me. Not as the biker, and not as her brother. I stay close behind, watching as she pays for another drink, sipping it as she walks off to the side. Her heels click on the concrete, the sound softening as she carefully leaves the dancing side of the festival and heads towards the fairground

Some of the costumes are impressive, and some are downright ridiculous. Before I was in prison and shut off from the world, I never saw the big deal about Halloween, but my sister has always loved it. She likes to be scared, and I guess the entire theme of this holiday is to be scary.

Fine, I'll be scary.

She rounds the corner, and I see my opportunity to pounce. I pull the screwdriver out from my back pocket, closing the distance between us and grabbing the hair at the back of her head, then I press the screwdriver into her back and shove her between two broken tractors.

Olivia screams, but it's muffled as I cover her mouth.

"Shhhhh"" I whisper against her ear, spinning her around and slamming her back against the tractor wheel. I hold the screwdriver to her throat, and her pupils are expanding, her breaths uneasy, but the glaze in her eyes tells me she's enjoying this.

I tilt my head. "Kai," I say, and she relaxes a little.

"This," I start, digging the point of the screwdriver against her pulse, "is what I do."

Will she notice how broken my words are? How badly

I say them?

She bites her lip. "Hmm. What now?"

I smirk under the gas mask, easing off her neck and agging the screwdriver down her chest, scraping her skin.

She's never heard my voice as Malachi. She can't see my face or my hair color or any of my tattoos with my gloves on. The only thing this version of me has in common with my true self is my height.

I stare at her for a moment. So beautiful. So fucking mine. "I'll give you a head start." My voice is rough, but I somehow manage to say those words without stuttering or overthinking the articulation of each syllable. I tip my head towards the cornfield. "Run, little stranger."

Run. I wonder if she'll remember throwing that word at me all those years ago. But if it triggers any memories for her, she doesn't show it. I step back, my pants tenting with my thickening cock as she takes a deep breath and disappears into the cornfield.

I count to five, ten, fifteen, twenty, and flip the screwdriver in my hand before I chase after her.

Fuck, she can run.

I forgot Olivia used to be a cheerleader and has the stamina of a long-distance runner.

Her heels lie discarded in the middle of the field, and I can hear her little gasps of breath the further we get from the festival. Spooky music plays, the cackling laugh of a monster, and I hear her yelp as she trips over something.

I stop behind tall crops of corn, panting as I grip the screwdriver in my hand. She pushes herself back up to her feet, spinning left and right, wondering which direction would be best. The woodland isn't far. I could drag her in there, but I quite like this setting. She looks terrified, but also eager, like she wants me to catch her.

The stranger.

Whacking hair from her face, she turns and runs further away from the music, and I smirk as I take careful steps, letting her go further and further, until I pick up my pace. My boots are heavy on the fallen corn, and I see her glance over her shoulder, spot me, and then her eyes widen as she screams loudly.

Damn, my cock is solid, and I didn't think Olivia could go any faster, but I'm mistaken. Even dressed the way she's dressed, I need to up my speed to catch her.

My hand fists the back of her veil, twisting into her hair, and she shrieks as I throw her to the side, making her roll over the snapped crops. Instantly, she starts crawling on her hands and knees to try to get away from me.

I grab her ankle, and she kicks me in the face, nearly knocking my mask off. She tries to crawl forward again, but I groan in annoyance and grab her nape, forcing her face into the dirt while I position myself behind her. She slaps at me from behind, but her attempts are useless as I rip off her panties, pocket them, and pull my screwdriver back out.

She goes stiff as I run the sharp, flat tip up her inner thigh, digging it in enough to cause a thin tear on her sensitive skin. Little beads of blood trickle down her thigh.

She's still, but I can hear her breath hitching as I move the tip to her other thigh.

Her ass is in the air, and I push her poor excuse for a skirt up her back, exposing her to me, and she winces as I let a gathering of spit drip from my mouth, under my mask, landing on her back hole.

She shakes, pushing back against me as I pull the screwdriver away from her thigh, leaning over her body.

I let go of her nape and grip her hair, tipping her head back. "Open," I demand, pressing the handle of the screwdriver to her lips. She parts them, taking the handle into her mouth and flattening her lips. "Suck." My cock threatens to rip through my combats as it presses against her, but I refuse to let it free. This is about her right now, and I'm going to make her cry.

I want to make her sob in both pleasure and pain. With fear and horror.

No one can see us way out here-the crops are taller than me, and the music playing is faint. I can hear her heaving through her nostrils as I sink the handle of the screwdriver deeper into her throat, gasping as I pull it from her pretty mouth and slide myself back onto my haunches.

Her pussy is soaked, drenched in her arousal, her ass puckered with my spit. I lick my lips, taking careful breaths as I drag the handle up her thigh, over her ass, then back down to her pussy. I tease her opening, her clit, making her whimper and push herself back for more.

"Kai," she moans. "Please."

Kai. Not Malachi. She's moaning another man's fucking name.

Then I see her face, the way she looked at me when she told everyone how violent I was, how she wanted to be free of me, how she was scared of me. My anger builds, and I force the handle into her ass instead.

She cries out, lunging forward, but I hold her in place with a large palm on her back.

Her ass grips the screwdriver, and I push it in more, until her greedy hole devours the full handle. Then I let go of it, watching her pulse around the metal trapped there.

"Kneel," I order, my voice a little rough.

I get to my feet as she glances at me over her shoulder, her eyes wide and wild, the screwdriver hanging out of her ass. She winces as she sits up, a tear sliding down her cheek, and I unbuckle my belt, gripping her hair and dragging her in front of me. "Kneel."

"Fuck you,

" she snaps, whimpering as she gets to her

knees. "Can I take it out?"

I slap her across the face, grip her jaw, and free my cock. "No."

More tears slip out, and the sight of them makes my head throb. Both heads. But mostly the one pressing against her lips. "Open."

Momentarily, I pause. What if she sees my piercings and realizes it's me? Maybe it's too dark for her to see?

She'll definitely feel them in her throat.

I have no fucks left to give at this moment, maybe later.

She opens her mouth, and I don't give her a second to adjust before I fist my hands in her hair and thrust fully into her mouth, making her gasp around my cock, her throat constricting around the girth, the piercings up the underside of my cock reacquainting themselves with her tongue.

The warmth, the fucking wetness of her throat as I force myself deep, using my grip on her hair to fuck my hips forward, choking her.

Her hands fly up to my thighs, trying to push away, but I don't stop or ease off—I thrust harder, faster, knocking her back a little and making the screwdriver go deeper into her ass.

My balls tingle, slapping her chin as I rock my hips, my head thrown back on a deep growl. She swallows around my dick, sucking, licking, and I pause for a moment and look down at her taking over.

Her eyes are on me, her mascara smeared down her cheeks, black lipstick on my dick. She's crying, but she's also rocking her own hips, enjoying her ass being pummeled by the screwdriver. My balls tighten, and as she hums around my thickness, I screw my eyes shut and shove her off me, making her scream when she lands on her back.

I climb on top of her, kick her legs apart, and force my cock into her. The tip of the screwdriver is an inch from my balls, and as I cover her mouth and grab her throat, leaning up so she can watch me in the gas mask, I thrust all the way to the hilt, drawing a painful moan from her.

So pretty, so fucking violent as she slaps at the hand robbing her of air, digging her nails into my skin. She goes rigid as I hammer my cock into her like I'm trying to kill her, hard enough to hurt, fast enough that she must be seeing stars.

"Such a whore," I groan, the words broken but effective as she glares at me before her eyes roll. "Take it.

Fucking take it."

She's clenching around me, and it takes me mere minutes of fucking her before she tenses everywhere and screams against my palm as her orgasm smashes into her.

I follow immediately, filling her with every drop of my cum, watching her drift in and out of consciousness from my grip on her throat, her eyes wide from the strangling pressure, her body starting to go limp beneath me.

She just let a stranger fuck her.

Why does that piss me off?

I release her neck and mouth, pressing my hands to the fallen crops by her head, still sliding my cock in and out of her despite it only being semi-hard.

I want to tell her she's beautiful, that she takes my cock so well, that she was fucking made for me. But I have no idea how to form those words properly without fucking them up, and it only makes me furious with myself and her.

She tries to say something, but she doesn't get to talk.

I don't want to hear her voice right now.

I pull the cloth from my pocket, the one I already doused with chloroform, and hold it to her mouth while she fights me.

Sleep, beautiful sister.

My cock is still buried deep inside her, shallow thrusts until she passes out completely.

I snatch my mask off and toss it aside, shaking my head and breathing. Fuck, it's hot in there, and the sweat in my hair is getting itchy.

I pull my shirt up a little and look between us, watching my cock still sliding in and out, inch by inch, both our orgasms leaking from her cunt as I slip out. I gather up what I can from her thigh, and my eyes close on a groan as I sink two fingers into her heat. Keeping my seed inside her is a must-I've imagined it too many times to be healthy.

I don't want to get her pregnant-fuck that-but I like the idea of her being full of my cum. To know that it'll be dripping down her thighs.

I pull the screwdriver out of her ass, her still body making no movements, tuck it back into my pocket with the cloth, and sigh.

She has blood on her thighs. I cut her with the screwdriver, but they're not deep gashes-little cuts I lean down and lick clean. The taste of her coppery blood has me licking my lips, needing to taste more. I bite down hard on her other thigh, splitting her skin, and my eyes roll as I taste her blood there too.

I think I'm taking the Halloween spirit too seriously.

I'll turn into a fucking vampire if I keep drinking her blood.

Pressing a kiss to her cunt, I slip my tongue through her hole and taste us both, then I suck a little on her clit and give it a chaste kiss.

Getting her on my bike is going to be a nuisance. I stand up, looking around, and when I spot a fence area near the road, I form a plan. After covering Olivia's body with fallen crops, I grab my mask and put it on halfway, then leave her in the cornfield and head back to the festival, grabbing a beer from one of the stalls while I walk to my bike. Smoking, I wait a few minutes before I drive up the side of the field, parking close enough that I'll be able to carry her there safely.

I kick aside the corn and carry my unconscious sister to my bike, wanting to punch myself in the dick for not bringing my helmet to put on her. I keep her in front of me, my hand slipping down to touch her exposed pussy rubbing on my seat while I drive to an old farmhouse I bought a few weeks ago. Specifically for this moment with Olivia in my possession.

Surprisingly, she doesn't fall off, and when I reach the dark, narrow road, I smile at the thought of all the fun we're going to have here. Of the fear I'm going to instill in her when she realizes who's kidnapped her.

My little captive for the foreseeable future. My darling Olivia.

You aren't leaving here without me getting my revenge, you traitorous fucking bitch.

Chapter 13

MALACHI

Why did her biological mom need to give her such a difficult fucking name?

Out of the millions of names she could have chosen, she picked one with four goddamn syllables? Did she not think of all the people out there who would struggle? The ones who need speech therapists or just settle on using sign language?

If her mom wasn't already dead, l'd kill her for calling her fucking Olivia.

I stare at the letters, tracing my finger over them. "O-liv-a," I say, shaking my head. "O-lay-ve-a."

I grit my teeth. Why the fuck can't I say it properly? I know how to say her name, but when I try to sound out the letters, my tone shifts, and I fuck it up.

What if I shortened it? She thinks my name is Kai. My real name is Malachi, by the way, not Kai, but she thinks that. What if I called her Liv?

"Liv," I say, grimacing. "Oli...via." Closer.

I sit up straight and puff my chest and try to say it all as one word. "O1-i-vara."

My confidence drops. Fuck off.

I scrunch up the paper, toss it in the trashcan, and light a cigarette, filling my lungs with the smoky poison while I watch my sister through my phone screen. She's hanging from the basement ceiling, chains on each wrist, a collar around her throat, ankles shackled with a spreader keeping her legs apart. She looks beautiful in her little goth-bride costume with her panties shoved into her mouth.

She's been hanging there for hours while I made sure our bedroom was ready. It is, and I can't wait to share the bed with her.

I pull on a black balaclava, chewing on some gum as I look in the small, cracked mirror on the wall. She might recognize my eyes, so I put the gas mask over the top of the balaclava, slide my gloves on, and head down to the basement with a sandwich and glass of water.

My heart rate spikes when I open the door to the basement and see her, even though she's out cold, her mascara and black lipstick smeared all over her pretty face.

I place the plate down and stand in front of her, tipping her chin back and pulling the panties from her mouth. She breathes, her eyes fluttering, and I smile at her—not that she can see me—and bring the glass of water to her lips.

She gulps down each drop, and I wipe my gloved thumb over her lips and down to the collar on her throat. I was going to attach her to my cock or my wrist, but I want to give her some free will, for her to want to come to our bedroom with me. Just not yet. She hasn't earned it yet.

Her eyes open properly, and she sucks in air as the realization that she's chained up and stuck in place hits. "What the fuck?" she croaks. She looks down at her legs, at the spreader keeping them wide open. "Let me go!" I shake my head and gather the sandwich in my hand, bringing it to her mouth. "Eat," I demand. "It's... good."

I clear my throat, annoyed with myself for fumbling a little on my words. She clamps her mouth shut, so I pinch her nose and shove the sandwich in when she finally parts her lips for air.

You need to eat, darling sister, or this will end sooner than planned. You need to stay healthy, hydrated, and well fed, while I make you suffer for stealing eight years from me.

I mean, I want to say that to her, but I have no idea how.

Instead, while she chews on the sandwich, I lower my free hand to her cunt, gliding my fingers through the wetness there. Always so wet. Fear always turns her on. And pain. I know between her legs and her back hole must be sore, and her jaw probably is too from how harshly I fucked her mouth.

She whimpers around the sandwich as I slip a finger inside her.

It's been around ten hours since we left the festival. I already sent messages to her friends to say she went home with her biker friend and that she'd reach out soon. I also saw an opened email from Mom with details for her first date with Xander.

My dear sister should be meeting her future husband tomorrow, but it's

a shame she'll be sucking her brother's dick instead.

I add another finger, and she tenses everywhere. "Hmm," I hum, forcing the rest of the food into her mouth to gag her then slowly unclipping the front of her corset. Each clip makes her tits spill out the top, and when I get enough of them undone, she's writhing in the chains, trying to rock her hips into my hand, while I pinch her nipple.

I twist it, and she screams around the sandwich, spitting it out and gasping, "Please. Please."

I pull my fingers out of her and walk towards the small table, lifting a knife next to the plate, and I twirl it in my hand as I turn to her. She's crying again, her pussy soaking her thighs, and I smirk under my mask, blood rushing to my dick.

I walk behind her, and she fights against the chains to watch me, to see what I'm doing, but she's trapped. I clench my jaw to stop myself from severely hurting her, causing her more pain than she can handle, as I cut the rest of her corset off then press the point of the blade to her spine.

She trembles in only her skirt, the pathetic scrap of material easily ripped off with my hands and thrown aside too.

Her naked body has always been my heaven. Somewhere I don't belong, somewhere I shouldn't taint or cut, but as I walk round her and bring the sharp edge of the blade to her nipple, I slice carefully, making her stiffen everywhere as a trickle of blood slides down her stomach. I do the same to the other, and she moans in both pain and pleasure.

Her eyes land on me. "Take your mask off."

I shake my head, even though a shock of anxiety hits me. If she finds out it's me, what would she do? I'm having too much fun right now to ruin my hidden identity.

"If you take it off, I'll suck your dick." I frown and stop walking around her. "What?"

My voice is deeper-a warning tone I've never heard from myself before.

She has no idea who I am, and she just offered to blow me in exchange for me taking off my mask. I clasp her chin in a firm hold, bringing the knife to her throat and pressing the sharp edge to her pulse. I want to slice it open, deep and gaping, to see her blood spill down her body. But I also want to kiss her, goddammit.

"I have a brother," she says, her eyes watering. "If you hurt me, he'll find you."

"Yeah?" The thrill going through me right now is fucking ecstatic. She just threatened me with myself-she thinks I'll save her.

My gaze drops to the locket sitting between her breasts, and she gasps as I snap it from her neck. "No!"

I open it, staring at the picture of our younger selves, shoving it in her face. "Him?"

"Y-Yes," she cries. "Please don't break it. Please."

"You love him?" My pronunciation stays firm.

"He's my brother," she replies, her bottom lip trembling. "Of course I love him."

I laugh-really fucking laugh, in a way I've never done before. My laughter is usually silent, a shake of my body while I smile, but this time it's loud, my head thrown back, a genuine grin on my face.

This fucking...

How can she say she loves me after destroying what we had?

I grip my mask and pull it off, and her face falls when she sees the balaclava. "A deal..." I stop, my tone already fucking up. "Is... a deal." She watches me throw the gas mask aside, and I walk to the wall all the chains are connected to and loosen the ones on her wrists and collar, making her drop to her knees, her legs still parted wide from the spreader.

Her hair, if I wasn't wearing fucking gloves, would be so soft in my hold.

I grip it while I stand in front of her.

The basement isn't bright, a shitty lamp to the side giving it a soft glow, so she can't see my piercings or eyes properly. I free my cock, grip her jaw firmly, and shove it into her mouth.

This time, I let her do the work. On her knees and in chains, the blood drying from her nipples, her pussy drenched, she wraps her slender fingers around the base of my cock and takes as many inches as she can.

I'm not small and definitely not of average size, so the fact she can deep-throat my length is impressive.

I close my eyes and bask in the feeling of her sucking my dick, her other hand on my thigh, grasping, her throat contracting around my thickness.

She chokes, but I grab the back of her head and hold her there until I feel myself getting close.

I don't want to finish yet, so I pull back and tuck my cock into my waistband, and tap her cheek with a light slap, chuckling as she glares at me.

"You're pierced."

I stare at her, not gracing her with a reply. Inside, I'm panicking. I don't have a normal piercing either. I have multiple, five bars like a ladder positioned up the underside of my cock and a hoop at the tip. I got my ears stretched a little when I got out of prison, tattoos on my neck and hands, but other than those changes since I was nineteen, nothing about me is different.

She wipes her mouth. "Give me back my locket."

Give me back my eight years, I want to say, but I ignore her.

She tries to stand on shaky legs and fails, so I help her by pulling the chain back into place, taking her off her feet completely. I wet my lips and grab a cigarette, watching her dangle from the ceiling, the collar choking her but not enough to kill her. She's gasping for air while I light a cigarette, inhaling and blowing the smoke against her pussy.

It clenches, and I smirk to myself as I bring my cigarette to her mound, just above her clit, and press the burning end to her skin. Only for a split second, but it's enough to make her scream a strangled scream-then moan as I drag my tongue up her glistening slit and suck on the area I just burned.

She's.. aroused. More aroused.

So she likes that kind of pain too?

I leave a little trail of burns on her skin, all the way to her breasts and brand my initials just under them, and kiss and lick each mark until my cigarette is finished. I palm at her tits, biting her nipples and breaking skin, and her entire body trembles as an orgasm hits her. Her thighs are tense, and I watch her pussy clenching on thin air, her body rattling in the chains as I shove two fingers deep to bring her orgasm to its absolute peak.

She passes out right after, but I keep going. I lick at her clit, adding a third finger, fucking into her with them as I massage her ass.

Then I pull my fingers out and walk behind her to kneel, parting her ass cheeks with my hands and using the wetness from her cum to lube up her puckered hole. It's staring right at me, like it wants to have a conversation, so I silence it by burying my tongue inside.

She screams awake, and I grin to myself as I drag one last orgasm out of her.

This is going to be so fun, Olivia.

***

I'm sitting on my chair, waiting for her to wake up. It's been three hours, and I'm bored.

Standing, I grab another chain and hook it on the ceiling behind her, pulling it between her legs and ringing it through a hoop I installed to use as a pulley. I sigh, watching her for a minute, then yank the chain, making it ride between her legs and bring her off her feet.

The yelp she lets out makes me chuckle.

Her clit is trapped between two of the chain links, and I see a spot of blood. It looks good on her-red is definitely her color.

I lick the spot, and she flinches. "You fucking psycho!" Good-fight back, little sister. Don't give in.

She tries to knee me in the face, but the chains stop her. I pull the chain between her legs higher, and she squeals, even though I can see how soaked she already is.

She's quite the masochist, and I love it, because I think I'm a sadistic bastard.

Olivia is biting back a moan as I drag my tongue up her ribs, stopping at her nipple. I suck on the tip, happy to see both nipples are already hard as stone. "You love pain," I say perfectly, and I want to pat myself on the back. "I love pain."

"Whatever, asshole," she snaps, pulling at her restraints. "You have no idea who you're messing with. When he finds out where I am, because he will, he'll come for you."

I smirk and tap her cheek. Stupid woman. Stupid, beautiful, smart woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.

On her tiptoes, she absently moves her hips forward, so the chain grinds against her pussy, and I sit back on my chair again and watch, lighting a cigarette. "Keep going," I demand, reaching under my waistband to fist my dick, stroking as she rubs herself over the chain.

It's rubbing against her ass too, and her eyes are rolling as she gives in.

She's dirty, and fucking sexy, I'll give her that. I also want to fuck her back hole.

I stand and walk around her—she seems too engrossed in getting herself off, only pausing her hip movements when I step up behind her, parting her ass cheeks so I can watch the chain between them.

I reach forward and loosen the chain, hooking my finger through the links between her ass and moving it over one of her ass cheeks. It's still against her cunt, but now I have access to her ass.

I spit, the saliva rolling down her back to her hole, then shake my head and walk back to the table. I grab my knife, roll my sleeve up enough to show a little tattooed skin, and cut into my flesh as she gasps.

Behind her again, I let my blood trickle down her back, spreading it all over with my palm, watching it seep into the crevasse of her ass.

My cock is pulsing, and I pull it out, stroking it a few times with a bloody fist before lining up with her ass.

She fights against the chains again, but I don't hear her cries or moans or anything as I nudge the head of my cock into her back hole. Little by little, it grips me, and fuck, it's tight. Tighter than her cunt. I've never done this before, never fucked an ass, and I assumed it would be like sliding into Olivia's pussy.

I'm greatly mistaken. This is by far the best thing I've ever felt. It hurts with how narrow the tunnel of her ass is, clenching around each inch I manage to push in. She's crying, begging me-for what, I don't know. I'm more focused on how glorious it looks thrusting into her hole.

Blood is still trickling from my wrist, and I coat her back with it then unfasten her collar and grab her throat, fucking her while the chains rub against her pussy.

She's shuddering in my hold, tears sliding against my hand as my blood stains her chest. Fuck, I can't see properly, and my moans are deep, loud, husky. I think I might need to stay in her ass forever.

It's official. I, Malachi Vize, hereby swear to be an ass man now. Forever and always, I will gratify my needs by burying my cock in my sister's tight back hole.

Her orgasm hits, and I can feel it in her ass. It gets tighter, so much so I fear my dick might get stuck or snap in half, but that's fine. I'd gladly die here.

Do you see this, Dad? I'm buried inside my sister again, and there's fuck all you can do to stop me.

My eyes roll to the back of my head as I fill her ass with my cum. I hold it there-deep, throbbing, pulsing each string of cum from my body-as she sobs her heart out, begging me to stop.

I lean forward and disconnect the chain, and she cries even more when I pull my cock out of her ass. I smile at my handiwork. The blood. The cum. The tears. I'm nearly finished here, and when I'm done, Olivia will swear herself to me forever.

Chapter 14

MALACHI

Mom is trying to fucking annoy me.

First, she arranges for Olivia to have dinner with Xander. Now, she's emailing about setting a fucking wedding date for two weeks' time.

Maybe I should kill her. Would the wedding still go ahead if the mother of the bride had been tragically ripped apart and fed to a pack of wolves?

Knowing my family, probably.

My tarantula is crawling over my hand, and I watch him explore my scent. He's new. I bought him a few days ago, and I think he looks exactly like Spikey, my old pet-who Mom had destroyed when I was arrested.

They killed my fucking spider, the assholes.

I still want revenge for that too, because Olivia didn't even try to stop them-going by her journal, she didn't do much to stick up for me, only herself. In all honesty, everything I've read in that fucking book pissed me off. She talks about me a lot, about how abusive I was to her, yet she liked it. She liked when I was a manipulative dick and forceful.

Then why did you testify against me, sweet Olivia?

Why tell all those people what I did to Daddy then fill my phone up with voicemails of you crying and apologizing; why search for me when I was released?

Why act like you hate me when you miss me?

I'm a hypocrite. I internally rain havoc on any warm thoughts of Olivia, but deep down, I fucking missed her too. Being separated from her was like being thrown into the sea when you can't swim. Drowning—I was fucking drowning until I set eyes on my Olivia again.

She currently has some spider webs on her. My pet crawled all over her body until he decided to try to escape from the basement and made me chase the fucker.

"Olivia," I mutter to myself. I try to whisper it faster and mess up.

I sigh and check her phone for any new messages, but even her social media is dead. Where has your exciting life gone, sister?

The chains rattle, and I lift my gaze to see her waking up. "Ah," I start.

"Good. You awake."

I meant to say "You're awake" but I guess I'm still learning that shit.

I stand and walk towards her while my spider scurries around my palm.

He's still a baby, furry, but the way she's widening her eyes tells me that, one, she has no idea she has webs in her hair and on her body, and two, she's still terrified of anything with eight legs.

Poor little guy. He just wants to be understood, just like me. Don't you, buddy?

"Don't you dare come near me with that thing!"

I smile, still in my balaclava. I fucked her ass all of yesterday, and while she passed out, I went for a sleep in our bed and showered. I tried to sponge wash her, but she got turned on, and I ended up fucking her ass again.

She even begged me to give her pussy attention, and I denied her of it.

I can't help but smile at her. She's beautiful-she has been since we were kids. I think since I met her in the airport, I knew how important she'd be to me, and when she learned sign language, and how to play "Happy Birthday" on the piano for me, I thought I was important to her too. Years passed, but I could never handle being far from her. I always wanted to kiss her and laugh with her, to lie in her bed and watch her sleep, sniff her fucking hair like the drug it is.

I was-technically-her brother. I'm still classed as one, I think. And as much as I wanted to be special to her, to be with her, I never wanted to be her brother. I wanted to be her first kiss, her first love, her first dance at Homecoming. I wanted to hold her hand and kiss her whenever I wanted.

I was never normal enough for her-the freak without a voice.

Our parents hated me—I was the adopted kid they never should've signed for. She was the angel-still is to me, despite everything-and I was the mistake.

My parents were already concerned about my fixation with my sister, but when I was fifteen, I kissed her during a board game and was moved to the other side of the manor, so we had to risk our lives every time we wanted to sneak into each other's room by walking across the roof ledge.

When I was nineteen, I knew the way I felt about Olivia was wrong.

It was like an illness I had no idea how to treat. Olivia Vize was my sister, and I had fantasies of fucking her, of kissing her until we couldn't breathe, of me hurting her and her liking it.

I was so dangerously obsessed with her that I planned to fuck her in her sleep, but I settled for going on a date instead to try to make her jealous.

That was my first mistake everyone made up lies about me. I was the loser, the weirdo, yet all the girls wanted to suck my dick or try to make me fuck them to see if I'd moan their name. I never went near Anna. I didn't kiss her, and I definitely didn't fuck her. Olivia was my first-she's the only person I've ever been with.

I tried to tell Olivia, but she kept grabbing my hands when I was signing, and I couldn't say her name, never mind all those words. She slapped me, yelled at me, then I got sensory overload and snapped.

And I guess I saw red and ruined it all.

Now, my sister is pulling away from me, as far as she can in her chains, while I drag my palm over her tits, my creepy-crawly spider settled on top of my hand. She's shaking so much, and her little whimpers are making my dick hard. I fix it in my pants, tucking it up into my waistband, and she glances down.

"W-Wait..." She hesitates, and the look in her eyes tells me this is a fear she may not get off on. Good thing this isn't about her —this is for me. For the years she took from me.

I tilt my head the way I always do when I look at her and drag my palm up and over her web-covered breast to her throat.

She freezes all over as I let the spider crawl onto her face.

I don't think she's even breathing as I tilt my head further, watching it scurry over one of her eyes. "Beau-ti-ful."

"Pl-Please take it off. Please, Kai. Please. I'll do anything."

I capture my lip between my teeth and walk behind her. "I like the way

-" I stop, gathering my courage to keep the words coming, sinking my teeth into her neck to buy me some time. She whimpers and pulls on the chains. "You scream," I finish, licking a trail from her collarbone, over her nape, and biting the other side of her neck.

I move her hair over to the other shoulder, tugging down my pants to free my cock, and press it to her entrance. "Scream louder," I add as I force my cock into her pussy from behind, and her lungs expel the most arousing fucking sound, her head thrown back.

My pet is crawling up the side of her face, and I can see the fear in her expression—it makes me chuckle. "The itsy bitsy spider," I whisper against her ear, sliding in and out of her cunt. "Climbed up the waterspout."

My tone is surprisingly good, considering. Maybe it's the fact I'm distracted by my body pressed against hers, or the way her pussy clutches at my cock as I keep thrusting, her breaths gasping out of her in both fear and pleasure.

"Down came the rain," I say slowly, biting my lip and groaning as I get deeper into her depths. "And washed... the spider... out."

"Oh God," she moans, the chains rattling as she pulls at them just as my little furry friend crawls up into her hair.

"Out came the sun," I whisper, dropping my hand down the front of her to pinch her clit while I twist her nipple. "And dried up... all the rain." I feel my spider scurry onto my neck, settling there as I fuck my girl with more force, a shiver shooting down my spine to my balls as I force out the rest of the lyrics through gritted teeth. "The itsy... bitsy... spider..."

She explodes around my cock, her inner walls clenching my thickness, and I pinch her clit harder, thrusting deeper and making her scream through her orgasm.

My balls tighten more than they ever have, and I still inside her, my cock pulsing strings of cum with each twitch of my own release.

My vision blurs, and I nearly collapse against her as I catch my breath.

She goes limp again, and I sigh and pull out, pressing my forehead to her back as I spread the sticky substance leaking from her over her cheeks, slapping one hard enough to leave a mark.

The tickling at my nape where my balaclava isn't covering has me carefully reaching back for my tarantula.

I hold him in my palm and chuckle as I grab a chain above me for support, since I'm a little dizzy. "Climbed up... the spout again."

He crawls up my arm while I circle my sister.

I go to smell her hair and frown. It doesn't smell like strawberries like it did when we got here. The burns look like they could use more cream too.

And her wrists are all red and raw from the chains.

Have I had her chained up for too long?

I've been more than happy to clean her up when she wet herself, feed her when she needed food, but I think my girl needs a good scrub. She's covered in dried blood, webs, cum, cigarette burns, and bite marks.

Fine.

Maybe she's had enough.

I know I have. I kind of want to just lie with her —cuddle her, even if she hits me in the process.

I free her wrists and catch her in my arms. My spider sits on my shoulder as I carry her out of the basement. I let him come with us to the bedroom while she snores against my chest, lifting her higher so I can flop her over my shoulder then settling my pet into his tank.

I take Olivia into the bathroom and fill the tub while I sit her on the ground, her back to my front, and run a comb through her hair. She's whimpering in her sleep, rubbing her thighs together, so I lower my hand and cup her pussy, and instantly, the greedy little stranger pushes against my palm.

"Nope," I say, taking it away. "Not yet."

I lift her into the tub, not climbing in behind her like I would whenever I drugged her at her apartment. I wash all the blood from her body with a sponge, then grab her usual shampoo brand and lather her hair with it.

She keeps slipping under the water, and it's fucking annoying me.

Holding her in place, I strip my clothes with one hand-even the balaclava-and climb in behind her to keep her still while I wash her hair.

I sigh in contentment at how perfectly she fits against me, palming her tits and tweaking her nipples, making her cry out softly.

She's still unconscious as I dry her off, brush her teeth, and kiss her, then place her in bed. I don fresh clothes—a hoodie and sweats to hide my tattoos-and pull on the balaclava again, sitting on the dresser with a cigarette while she sleeps.

Naked. Exposed. Branded with my mouth and my initials burned into her, and little cuts from my knife. She looks perfect. She looks like mine.

I stub out the smoke and climb into bed beside her, feeling tired myself, but I can't sleep-she'll wake before me and try to run away.

She can't leave me. Not again. I pull my sister against me— the perfect little spoon, my puzzle piece-wrap my arms around her, and kiss the spot behind her ear. Soft, chaste kisses. She sighs into me, rolls her hips, and I lean back to watch her ass rub against my hardening cock.

I'm reminded of that first time, in my bed, when she thought I was asleep and rubbed her ass against my cock. I was so fucking close to pushing the limit at that point, but I was a virgin, and whether I was a cocky wanker or not, Olivia made me nervous.

She still does.

I push Olivia onto her back and settle between her legs, pulling my boxers down over my ass so my dick springs free. I fist the base, stroke it once, then tap it against her clit, making her tense and part her legs wider for me.

I glide my pierced head against her slick folds and ease it through her opening; she rolls into me, her pussy wrapping around my head and making me twitch.

I fist the pillow beside her head with one hand and grab her throat with the other, and her eyes ping open as I squeeze-just as I pummel one hard thrust into her.

Good girl, Olivia. Be fucking awake while I take you like this.

I haven't had her missionary with her awake, and I want her to look into my eyes while I fuck her.

Her widening gaze flicks between both of my eyes, and I bury my face in her neck as I rock my hips into her, slamming so hard, the headboard rattles against the wall. I inhale, smelling her hair, the freshness of it, and my cock tingles as it thickens.

"Malachi?"

Chapter 15

MALACHI

I pause, my lungs halting, my heart restarting as I stay still, as if I just imagined her saying my name. Did she? Or is it her voice in my heac again? When I was locked up, I always had conversations with her, but never real ones. I was losing my fucking mind and deluded myself into thinking she was lying beside me some nights.

"Malachi," she says again, and I pulse inside her, pushing my arm straight so I can get off her.

But she traps me by wrapping her legs around my waist, her lips parted as she erratically looks at my eyes again. Her shaky hand lifts, and I don't pull away as she slides the balaclava over my chin, my mouth, my nose, then removes it completely.

My black hair, long and falling over my eyes, catches her attention. She brushes her hand through it, her legs still tightly wrapped around my hips as a tear slips from the corner of her eye.

Her gaze follows her fingers, dropping from my hair to trace one of my brows, down the side of my face to my jawline, grazing over the stubble to my lips.

Mesmerized.

Like she hasn't seen me in over eight years.

I mean, she hasn't, but I expected her to scream at me to get off her or hit me, to curse at me for what I've done— not to do... this. She's tracing my facial features.

I'm letting her. Instead of making her pay for ruining nearly a decade of my life, I'm letting her touch me so freely, and I love it.

I'm all warm and tingly and I.... like it.

Her fingertips are soft. I've been so deprived of touch while being locked up that when her palm cups my cheek, I press against it.

"You can talk," she says, her bottom lip trembling. "You can... You can talk, Malachi."

I stare down at her, my lips moving but no sound coming out. I shake my head-then freeze all over when she lifts her head and kisses me. Her lips are so fucking smooth and addictive, and I relax into the kiss and part my lips, allowing her tongue to slip in to move against mine. Her taste, her fucking kiss—I had no idea I needed it so much.

She rocks her hips up, and I meet her movements with a slow thrust, both of us gasping into each other's mouth. She grabs a fistful of my hair and tilts my head to deepen the kiss while I slowly move in and out of her.

She's soaked, gripping my cock, but I'm more focused on her kissing me, the way she whimpers and fists my hair, the way she controls this as she pushes me off her and climbs on top of me.

Olivia looks like a fucking angel as she straddles my hips, lifting to her knees to hover over my cock then lowering herself so I fill her again.

Her hands are on my chest, digging into the thick muscles there as she bounces on my cock. I hold her hips, fucking up into her cunt, gritting my teeth as a deep growl rips from my throat.

She cries out above me, her pussy gripping me like a fist as she slams down onto my thickness, scraping her nails down my chest as her inner walls clutch me through her orgasm. She's shaking but still bouncing on my cock, taking control as she drops and grinds.

"I want to hear you moan again," she says, leaning down to grab my throat, dropping her hips on me faster, making my eyes roll to the back of my head. "Let your little sister hear your voice. I want to feel the vibrations in your throat while you moan for me, Malachi." Her forceful words, the way she cuts off my oxygen, and how hard she's slamming down on my cock makes my balls tighten. I came not long ago, what the fuck is happening?

I go dizzy as I let out another moan and grab her shoulder, keeping her still as I pulse every drop of cum deep inside her.

She collapses on top of me, and I hold her in my arms, my heart pounding in my chest, sweating between us, gasping to draw air into my lungs.

After about ten minutes, she sits up, looking down at me. "Jesus, Malachi. What the hell are you doing?" She could be asking me a number of things here.

Why did you fuck me while I was unconscious?

Why did you shove a screwdriver in my ass?

The chains? The spider? The cuts and bites and burn marks?

So many questions, and all I can do is watch her above me, calling me by my name, willingly on my cock, and looking all beautiful and mine.

But then I remember our reality, and what she thinks I did to her years ago.

"Anna... lied," I force out, feeling the rage already coming when I think about that bitch and how I stupidly didn't snap her neck as soon as I was free.

"She lied?" Olivia asks, her brow furrowing.

I nod, twirling my finger around a lock of her hair. "You w-w-w..." I stop, shaking my head in annoyance. It was way easier to talk with my identity hidden.

"Take your time," she says, smiling down at me, capturing my hand as I pull it away from her hair and linking our fingers. "I could listen to your voice all day. Just... breathe. I'm listening. Go slow."

"You w-were my first. I pr-promise. My... first and... my only."

At least she isn't laughing at the way my speech is. She's being patient.

"I had a feeling it was all lies. My friends went a little weird on me after the allegations about us, and our parents made me deny that we were ever intimate. I... hated you for what you did to Dad, but I missed you. I even had a feeling it was you all along, but I wanted you to punish me.

You wouldn't have been locked away if it wasn't for me testifying."

Then she frowns and slaps my chest. "You put a damn spider on me, asshole!" She points at her body, the burned initials with raised brows.

"Really? And what took you so long? You were released months ago." I grin and lift my hands, signing, I was waiting until the right time to show myself.

She snatches my wrists and shakes her head. "No. Use your voice. Talk to me."

"I'm.." I stop, nervously licking my lips. "Not good at that."

"You were perfectly fine whispering a nursery rhyme in my ear while your monster crawled all over my body."

"You came," I say with a shrug. "You... liked it."

She grins wide. "It's so deep."

"Yeah." I lift my hands again. "Let me….. s-s-sign this."

She nods and watches my hands.

I'm not sorry for beating up Dad. He made my life hell for no reason. I do miss Mom, though, and I know we have a little sister. She seems nice, but I don't plan on speaking to her.

"She is nice," she says. "I think you'd like her. She's quite talkative and full of energy."

Then I'd hate her.

She rolls her eyes. "You were the one leaving chocolates and flowers in my house?"

Yes, I sign. I also fucked you while you were unconscious on your bathroom floor.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't see you sign that."

You wrote in your journal that you wanted to experience somnophilia. You came on my cock and everything. Tick it off your little list.

She flattens her lips. "Fine. Where are we?" she asks, changing the subject.

This is our home. I'll renovate and decorate it. I knew you wanted to live somewhere secluded, and when I saw this, I used the money Mom gave me to buy it. We live here now. I know neither of us want kids, but if you ever do, there are spare rooms I can decorate. I'll even get a dog if you-She grabs my hands to stop me, and I furrow my brows.

"Malachi," she says, her face going ghastly pale. "I don't want to live here."

I pull my hands free. Do you want to live somewhere else? I can sell-it's fine. We can be together wherever you want.

"No." She moves off me. "I mean... I don't want to live here... with you. Or anywhere with you. What's happened since the festival doesn't change the fact you nearly killed Dad. I don't forgive you for that." My heart sinks. "Why?"

"Why?" she asks, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Are you really asking me that? Because I don't love you. I'm... We... No, Malachi."

"Y-You don't lo-love me?" I stutter the words, but I don't fucking care.

She's a liar. She's lying, and I refuse to fucking take it.

I get off the bed and walk over to my combats, pulling my phone out. It takes me less than five seconds to find one of the voicemails she left me, and I play it while she sits up on the bed.

Sniffles, and then...

"Malachi, where are you?" She sobs, as if she's

hyperventilating. "I can't find you anywhere. Mom said you were released a few weeks ago—why haven't you come for me?"

She's crying, and I watch as her frown flattens, her shoulders hunching as she listens to herself, and she looks away as the voicemail keeps playing.

"I'm so, so sorry I didn't protect you. I should have told everyone what you meant to me, and I didn't. I was scared of the backlash, and everyone said you were vulnerable and that you were sick, that your obsession with me was down to you wanting to own something-someone. Me. And I was scared they were right."

She sniffs some more. "I want to know if anything was ever real for you.

Any of it. If you tell me you love me, that I mean the world to you, then I'll admit that I feel the exact same. Because I do, Malachi. I love you so much it hurts."

I shut off the voicemail, and step forward, my body shaking with rage.

"It was r-r-real. All o-of it was r-real. Everyth-thing was real. You mean th-the world t-t-to me. But you won't s-s-say it back, w-will you?"

She lowers her head and shakes it, and I feel like my entire world just collapsed.

Olivia's slipping through my fingers. What the fuck do I do?

"I am sorry," I say, fucking up the enunciation but who the fuck cares?

"The spider. The knife. The cameras. All o-o-of it. I'm sorry." I close my eyes and blow out a breath. "I need you, Ol-" I stop, my heart racing so fast, I think it might stop.

"I don't need you," she murmurs, and I feel like I've been stabbed in the chest. "I'm getting married soon, Malachi-I signed an agreement. I can't back out. I won't. We have no chance in this life-don't you see?" She stands, and I gulp and step back as she wraps the duvet around her body.

"Society would never accept us."

I grip the phone in my hand. "Fuck society." I don't think my words have ever been clearer than right now. "Fuck everyone against us."

"You don't even know how to love properly. Your diagnosis proves that.

Why would I give up a marriage for someone who can never feel the same way about me?"

I stay quiet, because she's right.

My version of love isn't enough for her—I love her, I do, but how am I supposed to know what's normal and what's not? My world revolves around her and always has. And if that's not a good-enough version of love for her, and I can't make her happy, then what's the point?

She goes through the dresser, shaking her head when she sees it's filled with clothes I bought for her over the last few months. She puts on underwear, slides yoga pants on, then grabs some other items.

She pulls on a shirt, buttons it up to her neck to hide the marks I gave her, then sits on the edge of the bed as she fixes her hair over her shoulder and puts on some socks.

I stay against the wall, my hands behind me, and try to think of everything possible to make her stay. Willingly. I want Olivia to choose me.

Please choose me.

Nobody ever chooses me.

She stands, slips on her shoes, and wipes under her eyes. "I won't tell anyone I saw you," she says, her head down. "Mom will want to know where I've been the last few days, so I'll need to lie and make up a story.

If you let me leave, I'll forget this ever happened. Don't be difficult about this, Malachi. I'm leaving one way or another."

I can't answer. I just look at the ground as she moves towards me then

stops. "Goodbye, Malachi. Please take care of yourself. Please."

Something weird is happening to me. My chest is sore, and my eyes feel immense pressure, and they're... wet. I think I might be crying for the first time in my life.

She opens the door, but I rush in front of her, blocking her exit as I drop to my knees and grab her hands. "Olivia," I whisper clearly. "Please don't leave me. Please stay with me."

Her sadness is all over her face-she's looking at me like I'm the one breaking her heart, her eyes following a tear as it slides down my cheek.

"Please," I beg. "Accept my v-version of love. Pl-ease. I love you, O1-1-1-" Olivia doesn't tell me she loves me back, or that she'll stay. She just gives me a warm smile and pulls her hand away before squeezing past me.

I don't turn around to watch her walk out of my life for good.

Epilogue 1

OLIVIA—2 WEEKS LATER

I don't recognize the person looking back at me as I stare at my reflection.

My bloodshot eyes are sunken, the makeup doing nothing to make me look like less of a zombie. Getting zero sleep and crying all night will do that to a person, I guess.

Mom steps in front of me, her expressionless face like stone as she fixes the curls on each side of my face. Her hands are shaking—the only sign she's feeling anything at all as she prepares me for my future husband.

After all, she's been planning this day since she adopted me—she just had to find someone rich enough; a member of the elite.

Lucky me.

The white dress is hanging from a large rack-a corset with two skirts; one for length and another-an overskirt-for volume, which will make it so puffy that I'm definitely going to struggle to walk.

The itchy silk PJs my sister made me wear say "Team Bride," and I can't wait to burn them. I've managed to hide the marks Malachi left on my body with concealer, but I can feel them everywhere. They're reminders of what I'm leaving behind, even though I want to run to him.

Please don't leave me. Please stay with me.

"I don't want to do this," I tell Mom quietly. "Don't make me marry

Xander."

She grins at me, but it's fake. Her eyes shine like glass. "We already signed the agreement, sweetheart. Xander is a very wealthy man who'll look after you."

I fight against the twist in my gut. "Why do you think my hair is blonde now? He's a controlling ass. He thinks I need to lose weight and says I'm to stay silent unless spoken to. He's a sexist pig who needs his balls chopped off."

Her hands, which have been fixing my newly dyed hair, pause. I think she's about to scold me for my language but asks, "He said that?"

"Yes," I reply. "I have the text messages to prove it. He keeps sending me links to weight-loss tablets and even implied he'd pay for breast implants and a nose job."

Molly chimes in, "I'd take the bigger boobs."

"Shut up, you're fourteen." Mom lowers her eyes. "There's no way for us to back out. I'm sorry."

"Tell them the agreement is void. I don't want to marry him. I'll run away or put a bullet in my head. Tell him I have an STD or that I'm pregnant with another man's child. Anything."

"That's dramatic, Olivia."

"Better than being in an abusive marriage. You're sending me away to get beat up for opening my mouth then trampled on when I don't open my legs for him."

"Xander is a nice boy," she says blandly.

"He isn't a boy—he's older than me. And he's an asshole."

My sister hums. "I don't like him either," she says, crossing her arms and popping out her hip. "I vote we ditch here and go for ice cream." My hand raises. "I second that."

Mom rolls her eyes. "Stop it, both of you. We just need to get through this day." Her voice falters at the end. "I'm sorry. I really am. My hands are tied here."

"Can't Dad do something?"

She gives me a stern look. "You keep your father out of this. I mean it." I flatten my lips. "As soon as I walk down the aisle, me and you are done, Mom. I'll never speak to you again."

"Oh, come on, Olivia. You're twenty-six years old —act like it." I take a deep breath, wanting to hurt her, to hit deep where it will haunt her. She's selling me to a monster, so the least I can do is ruin her day. "I was with Malachi when you were trying to call me."

"What do you mean you were with him?"

"I mean, I was with with him." I need to at least keep it PG, since my teen sister is listening in and she isn't aware of the ins and outs of his imprisonment. Not fully. "And I don't regret one second of it."

Her eyes widen. "What?" she sputters, looking for her words. "He nearly killed your father. You're engaged. He's... he's your brother, Olivia!"

"I'm aware of our position and what he's done," I grit. "He lost control. I won't defend him for attacking Dad, but we aren't related by blood, so no laws have been broken. You can't stop me from loving him."

God, that felt so good to say. A weight instantly lifts from my chest, and warmth gathers around my heart.

"I'm in love with Malachi," I say more firmly, more to myself, and Molly squeals with a hand clapped over her mouth. My heart rate picks up. "I hope he's down there waiting for me, and I hope he stops this wedding. I hope he saves me from Xander, since you're not doing shit to protect me.

You've sold me my entire life. You sold my virginity-how cold can you be?"

She grips her necklace. "I was doing what I thought was best for you and the family. I was protecting you."

"Bullshit. The only one who ever protected me was Malachi." There's a knock at the door, and all three of us turn to see Dad pushing it open then rolling his wheelchair in. He pauses when he sees me, something passing through his eyes that I can't quite put my finger on.

Sadness?

"May I speak with Olivia? Privately?"

Mom and Molly leave, but not before the latter leans in and kisses my cheek. "I should be totally grossed out that you have a crush on our foster brother, but I'm not. I think he'll show up."

My face heats, and I smile at her. "I don't think I'll be that lucky." She shrugs. "We'll see."

As she skips out, she ruffles our father's hair and dodges him slapping her hand away, both of them laughing.

The door closes, and I take a deep breath. "I don't want this."

"I can tell. It's written all over your face. Why don't you want to marry Xander?"

My shoulders slump. "He's horrible, Dad."

"The real reason," he counters.

I freeze, not blinking as my hands fist. "He really is horrible—I was just telling Mom how he's already speaking to me like crap."

"Has he hurt you?"

I shake my head. "I think he will though. He... he sent a team to my apartment to dye my hair two days ago-he said I was too dull, and he made them completely change my wardrobe."

His nostrils flare. "Anything else?"

My bottom lip trembles. Admitting to him that his attacker is the one who owns my heart is the ultimate betrayal. But something tells me he already knows.

He clears his throat and rolls forward a little. "You can tell me."

"I love him," I say, the words broken in my throat as a tear slips down my cheek. "Malachi."

The fact his expression doesn't budge tells me a lot.

"I know it's wrong to you-I know that I shouldn't be in love with someone I call my brother, but I can't help it. I've loved him since forever.

I... I can't remember a time I haven't been in love with him. Even when I testified, I regretted it instantly. I turned my back on him when he was vulnerable. I've been living in a nightmare ever since."

Nodding, he sighs. "He's sick, Olivia. He isn't capable of making you happy."

"But he does make me happy." I shake my head. "He nearly killed you, and I still can't fall out of love with him." My face crumples as I let it all out. "I'm such a horrible daughter."

"You're human," he says, softening his tone. "Come here, angel." I move forward, crouching down so he can take my hand.

"I'm going to get you out of this. Not necessarily so you can run into your bro- Malachi's arms, but I want you to be free from this life.

Your mother-she's insistent on power and traditions. She signed the agreement without my knowledge."

"What happens if I don't marry Xander?"

"I really don't know. We can figure this all out after the ceremony. His family is quite dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt if a war breaks out."

"He's going to hurt me regardless. After the ceremony, h-he'll.."

He'll drag me to the honeymoon suite and violently fuck me. No thanks.

I'll happily throw myself from the roof before he can get anywhere near me. Death is a better option.

I take a deep breath, not seeing any other way around this unless it's me in a body bag. "I'll go, but please help me divorce him. And promise me you won't let Mom control Molly the way she controlled me growing up." My voice drops firmer. "Promise me."

"I promise," he replies, smiling faintly. "I promise to do everything in my power to protect you and your sister."

After a minute of me crying, he wipes under my eyes with a napkin.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask. "Because of how I feel about Malachi?"

"I could never be mad at you. Am I dumbfounded by your decision on who you want to be with? Certainly. You really do see the good in him."

I nod.

"I can try to forgive him. From what I know from the PIs I have following him, he started therapy two weeks ago."

Wait, Dad had private investigators following Malachi? Does he already know I was with him then? Perhaps Malachi dodged them, or whoever he hired is terrible at their job because he technically kidnapped me.

"So you already knew I was...?"

"I didn't tell your mother, and I knew he wouldn't hurt you. I pulled my

PI away soon after he spoke to you on his motorbike."

Despite the internal panic, my chest tightens. "You said he started therapy?"

"Yes, angel. He sees a speech-language pathologist now too. He enquired the day you returned home, and I made sure he was seen the following day. That tells me he's trying to be better. We wanted this for him for years. He's even been prescribed medication."

"He never wanted to be medicated. He liked being in control."

"He was never in control," Dad replies. "He was just really good at hiding it."

Someone knocks on the door, informing us that the groom is impatiently waiting for his bride.

I stand, and Dad looks up at me. "I want to try to make amends, but it won't be instant. He turned my life upside down." He gestures to his chair. "I don't think I can forgive him easily."

"If he's trying... could you try too?" I wipe under my eyes and breathe.

"For me—please?"

I know it's selfish to ask, but what else do I do? I'm about to be dragged away from this life-as Xander oh so nicely put it when he stood at my door last night and told me we're moving to Canada for his new business deal next week. If Malachi at least has Dad on his side, maybe he'll be okay.

Maybe, with support around him, he'll adjust.

Dad nods then tells me to take a few minutes to calm down and meet at the entrance of the hall where the ceremony is being held. The door closes with a click, and I glance around the empty room.

My future is waiting for me— a cruel, horrid fate. Why didn't I stay with him in that farmhouse in the woods? Why didn't I kiss him and admit that I'm madly in love with him?

"Are you watching me?" I ask out loud.

Silence.

I turn on the spot, searching for a camera. "Are you planning on stopping the wedding?"

Please. Please, please, please, Malachi. I'm sorry.

Tears slide down my cheeks. There aren't any shadows hiding in the corner either. "I should have chosen you."

Of every mistake I've made in my life, not choosing Malachi has been my worst. He begged me on his knees with tears in his eyes, something I never thought I'd witness, and I walked away from him. I didn't fight. I didn't even try to make it work between us.

Malachi, despite all his craziness, deserves better than me.

Mom won.

She groomed me for this day— and being the obedient daughter, I'm too scared to disappoint her, to ruin her plans after she saved me from my old life.

That's all I can think about as I pull on my dress and stare at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. I should be crying with happiness, excited yet nervous, impatiently waiting to spend the rest of my life with the man I love.

But I'm not.

Ten minutes later, the train of my wedding dress drags down the grand staircase as my dad waits at the bottom, clutching his walking stick as he rises from his wheelchair. It'll keep him on his feet until he's done walking me up the aisle. He smiles when he sees me in my dress, the one Mom made me wear even though I said I hated it.

Everyone is waiting for me-my future husband, who's probably forgotten my name, and my future family, who care more about status than anything else.

Molly is one of my bridesmaids. She joined the family not long after Malachi was sent to prison. At first, the courts were unsure whether to place her in my family's care, but she's had a blast with us.

She wishes she'd met Malachi. She's aware he's a little insane and violent, that he beat up Dad. But she thinks he blacked out —that it wasn't deliberate. She said he looked like he'd be a fun big brother from the pictures I showed her, and I admit, he really was a fun brother growing up. We did everything together. Set aside all the things we shouldn't have been doing, he was also my best friend.

Those eight years without him were torture, but the last two weeks?

Hell.

He broke into my apartment the day after I walked away from him and took all the cameras out. He left a note telling me he'd drawn a mustache on Mom's face months ago and I should wipe it, and that all my wine bottles are spiked.

He turned his phone off-disconnected it.

As much as I can't be with him, I think I would've loved it if he was watching me. But I know he isn't anymore. He's just... gone. There hasn't even been any communication between us.

I made the wrong decision.

Now I can't do anything but hook my arm through my dad's and walk.

"You look beautiful," Dad says. "I promise to get you out of this arrangement. Just smile and stay calm."

I try to smile and fail.

I don't look up as we approach the double doors. There's music playing on the other side. I halt, taking a deep breath as "Here Comes the Bride" starts, and the doors open to reveal everyone seated in their chairs. I scan them, looking for black hair, a smirk, a cheeky grin or a wink, but he isn't here—I wish he was though.

"Breathe, angel."

I make it halfway down the aisle before my lungs give up, and the panic sets in. I stop abruptly, my dad nearly tripping over his walking stick, and I look up at him. "I... I can't do this."

"Olivia,

" a stern voice comes, and I look up to find Xander glaring at me.

"Walk towards me now."

I turn to Dad. "Please let me go."

He looks lost, glancing between me and Mom. Xander's family members are glaring at me like I'm a spoiled brat. Abigail, Molly, and Anna are standing beside Xander in their bridesmaid dresses, none of them looking shocked-more pleased than anything.

Xander shakes his head. "Keep fucking walking, Olivia. Don't embarrass me."

Molly scowls at him.

Mom steps away from her seat, and for the first time in forever, she doesn't force me to keep going. She sighs and nods at me.

"Go," Dad says, kissing my cheek. "We'll deal with them. Be happy, angel."

I drop the overpriced flowers I'm carrying and grab the front of my dress, turning and running out of there. I leave my heels where they slip off and yank my veil off as I rush out the front entranceway.

I spin and look around for him, but I can't see him.

"Malachi!" I yell, unclipping the band around my waist to rid myself of the overskirt, leaving it where it falls as I run towards the gates, pushing out of them and gasping for air as I flag down a cab and give them directions to the place he took me at Halloween.

His house. Ours. Something I walked away from.

My body shakes uncontrollably as I watch the town disappear and be replaced by trees. How far away is it? Ten minutes go by. Twenty. Fifty. An hour.

I only know the address because I had to call a cab when I left him and the driver was able to locate me.

I climb out of the car as soon as I reach my destination and stop when I see Malachi standing by the metal gate, disbelief written all over his face as he pushes it open and takes a step towards me.

He's topless, face and chest glistening post-workout, black hair wild and curly, with a pair of sweats sitting low on his hips.

Malachi has been the one for me since forever.

He's my forever. My heaven and hell.

"Olivia?"

So clear. So clear and pure and full of love.

I laugh out a cry and run at him, launching myself into his strong arms that instantly wrap around me. His eyes are wide, searching my face and lifting to my blonde hair.

"Wh-"

"You're mine, Malachi. You're mine and I'm yours and I love you more than words can explain. Please forgive me. Please. I want you. I want to be with you, build a life with you, and make memories with you. I want to wake up every morning with you by my side. I want you to chase me through these woods and take me against a tree. I want everything you have to give. All of it. Everything. Because I choose you. I-"

Malachi kisses me into silence.

It's a claiming kiss that takes my breath away.

He grins against my lips. "I love you, Olivia."

I giggle and wrap my legs around his waist, my face sore from how hard I'm smiling. "I love you too. Will you take me inside our home and show me how much you love me?"

He shakes his head and drops me to my feet. "I want to rip that fucking dress from your body then make you bleed all over it."

Butterflies are going wild inside me, my chest rising and falling with anticipation. "I dare you," I tease. "I dare you to chase me and make me beg for it."

Malachi groans and snatches my jaw, pressing a harsh kiss to my mouth before shoving me back, grinning and gesturing to the woods.

"Run, little stranger."

Epilogue 2

MALACHI

She vanishes into the forest, that fucking dress clinging to her skin. The dress that'll be ripped from her body as soon as I catch her

I'll let her run, get worked up, and put some fear and paranoia into her before I claim what's rightfully mine.

I inhale, my nostrils flaring as I tamp down my rage at the thought of her marrying someone else. I was giving her space to think about her choice while still watching from afar. I'd planned to hang the bastard with his own tie on their wedding night. Or kick the door of their honeymoon suite off its hinges and blow his fucking head off for even thinking he could have Olivia.

She's mine. She's been mine since the moment we met.

And she'll remain my goddamn property.

I'll be the one who keeps her safe, holds her hand when she's scared, fucks her when she needs my cock. I'll kiss her and remind her that I'm not her real brother; I'm not a sibling with any blood relation.

I've accepted I'm sick, because I fucking love when she calls me her brother while she's taking my cock like the best little sister there is.

The world can fuck off, and our family can just deal with us being together.

I walk back into the house. In just fourteen days, I've got it almost fully renovated. Sleeping has been a struggle, so I needed the distraction, something to keep my hands busy while I watched the monitors lining one of my walls.

I pull open the toolbox and smirk when I see the screwdriver. I study the bulb handle, flip it in my hand twice, then slam the box shut.

Above the fireplace, a picture of us is cradled in a frame I made from one of the trees I cut down. She's smiling at me while I'm trying to push her face away. I remember she'd just whispered something filthy in my ear— probably something to do with our lessons.

The lessons.

Is it possible for me to talk her into teaching me like before? I'll happily act the innocent brother while she forces me to my knees and tells me how to eat her pussy again.

I was never clueless-inexperienced, yes-but never clueless. I'd watched porn with my cock in my hand and felt unsatisfied, yet I'd watched and watched. I'd stayed hidden within her bedroom while she made herself come, learning from the shadows what she likes.

Being a virgin at nineteen didn't bother me. There was something more

important than fucking anyone who threw themselves at me.

Olivia was more important. I knew to wait. I knew that one day, even if we were in our fucking thirties, I'd bury my cock in my sister and make her moan my name so damn loud. I'd have the sound in my ears until the day I died

I've never been afraid of dying—it's inevitable. But the thought of dying and leaving Olivia behind? Of leaving her with all the poisonous toxicity in the world? That terrifies me. She can't trust anyone, especially not Mom.

But she can trust me. She can always trust me.

I push open the back door and glance out into the forest. It's been ten, maybe fifteen minutes. She'll be panicking now that the sun is starting to set and night is nearing. Pretty soon, she won't be able to see much.

Why does that make me uneasy?

I grip the screwdriver and crack my neck from side to side, still feeling the touch of her kiss on my lips.

I need more.

My eyes flicker around my surroundings as I walk slowly out of the backyard. I still need to fix it up. There's a half-built motorbike—a project my therapist thinks will help me focus-and supplies I ended up not using while doing the house.

I push open the small, creaky metal gate and pause, listening, but all I can hear are the rustling leaves as the wind picks up and the drizzle of rain starting to hit the canopy of the trees.

A storm is coming.

"Tell me, Olivia," I say. My words are still a little messy but clearer, since all I've been doing is talking to myself and a speech therapist for the last two weeks. "When you got into that dress, did you imagine him peeling it off? Did you put on a lace garter for him to take off with his teeth?" I'm annoying myself with my words. I'm getting angry.

But I can't stop.

"Did he touch you?"

My voice is low, a threat, and I think my heart might beat out of my chest at the thought of anyone putting their hands on her. I've already dealt with the others who dared to go near her when I was locked up.

Thankfully, and luckily, I made sure I'd never get caught and sent back to prison.

"He'd never make you feel the way I do."

No one could ever make her feel the way I do. Ever. And if they do, I'll kill them.

I hear a branch snapping in the distance, and instead of running straight for her, I taunt her some more. "You cried for me." My steps are slow, calculated, my fingers wrapping tightly around the screwdriver handle as I edge closer to where she is.

"I watched you," I say louder, my eyes on the darkness ahead of me, knowing she's hiding behind a large tree trunk. "You had no idea I was right there. Waiting. Always fucking waiting for you, Olivia." The rain gets heavier, soaking me, drops falling from the strands of hair hanging over my forehead. "It's your turn to wait, little sister. I hope it kills you. I hope you're shaking in your wedding dress, wondering when I'll grab you from the shadows and fuck you against a tree."

My cock strains against my shorts, fucking aching to get inside her.

"I'll take your beautiful mouth first," I say. "Then I'll bury myself deep in your ass."

There's a whimper, and I smirk. "I like it when you're scared-fighting me like you could actually win. You never had a chance of beating me,

Olivia."

I up my pace as I hear more branches snapping.

She's running.

I flip the screwdriver in my palm. As soon as I see the flash of white from her wedding dress, I start chasing her. I grit my teeth and dodge branches, ducking as she stops and tries to throw one at me, missing me by an inch. She screams and turns to run again.

I spot the smile on her face.

My darling sister is nearly as sadistic as me. She likes to be hunted and caught and fucked. She once told me she wanted to be chased through a graveyard, but unfortunately, this forest will have to do. I'll chase her in here every day for the rest of our lives.

The forest edge comes into sight. There's a small drop to a river ahead.

Will she jump?

My heart ricochets in my chest as I stop fucking around and properly chase her. I catch up to her in no time, grabbing a fistful of her hair and dragging her off her feet. She screams and rips her nails into the skin of my wrist, kicking her heels into my shins.

I push her chest against the closest tree and hold her there with one hand while I put the screwdriver between my teeth, yanking at the back of her dress hard enough to rip it.

She whimpers, her hands still slapping at my wrists to get herself free.

I love the fight.

I pull at the dress again, splitting the material to the small of her back, then reach forward and pinch her hard, pebbled nipple and twist.

Her knees buckle, but my hold on her hair keeps her upright.

"I found you," I whisper against her ear. "I'm never letting you go now." I tear more at her dress, making the material fall down her legs and pool at her feet. "You're mine."

"And you're mine," she breathes, pushing her ass against me.

I grin and turn her around, grabbing her jaw. "Yours. You promise you won't run away again? I'll chase you."

Olivia takes my thumb into her mouth and sucks on it. I press down on her tongue and push until I feel her throat contract. "Such a good little sister."

My dick is begging me to fuck her, to free it from my pants and shove into her, but I keep my thumb in her mouth and use my hold to bring her to her knees.

"Take my cock out," I demand, pulling my thumb from her mouth and dragging her bottom lip down. "I want these lips around it."

The rain trickles through the canopy, droplets falling on her face as she looks up at me while reaching for my waistband. She curls her fingers into the material and pulls, my cock springing free.

Her eyes flicker back up to me as she wraps her fingers around my thickness, and I glare at the engagement ring on her finger.

I snatch her wrist and pull the piece of junk off, scowling at it. "The only time you ever wear a ring like this is when I put one there, do you understand?"

She nods. "Yes."

I fist it in my palm and launch it through the forest, not giving a fuck where it goes, then grab a handful of her hair and force my cock into her mouth. She gags around it, taking half before she wraps her fingers around me again, swallowing around my swollen crown.

My eyes roll as she sucks, bobbing her head as I let go of her and press both my hands to the tree behind her. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good, Olivia."

The praise makes her go faster, sucking harder, using her tongue to massage around the tip and taking more of me. I hit the back of her throat and take over, holding the back of her head as I thrust in and out.

She gasps as I pull free. "I'm coming inside you," I tell her, pushing her to lie down on her dress. "Part your legs. Let me see what I own." Her legs open, showing me her pretty little pussy, which is covered with a scrap of soaked fabric. Her eyes widen as I pick up the screwdriver I dropped as I lower to my knees between her legs.

"Wait..." She hesitates, leaning up on her elbows.

"Hmm?" I grasp at her inner thigh and move the handle over the material, rubbing upwards to her clit. "You want me to stop?"

Her lips part, and then there's a slight shake of her head. My girl is so damn brave.

When I lean down and drag my tongue against her pussy, she moans and drops fully onto her back again. I suck on her clit through her underwear, biting and ripping the fabric to make a hole.

I close my eyes and savor the taste of her.

All mine.

She cries out as I force my tongue inside her, then I pull my face away and push the handle of the screwdriver in as far as it can go, chewing my bottom lip and watching her pussy swallow the handle-Olivia's soaked, throbbing, needy little pussy.

She tries to crush her legs together when I press my mouth to her clit again, moaning, fisting her fingers into my hair and tugging.

She's so perfect. I'm starting to think this is all a dream. Maybe I'm still in prison and imagining all this? That's fine— as long as I never wake up, I'm good to stay in this bubble with her.

She screams, her back arching, as I start thrusting the screwdriver.

Knowing her orgasm is coming, I trap her clit between my teeth and pull the screwdriver out, dropping it so I can push two fingers inside her. Her inner walls clutch me as I curl them then fuck her hard and fast with them while I feast on her clit.

Her orgasm hits, and her screams echo through the woods.

The sound is enough to drive me insane. I pull away completely, shove down my shorts and briefs, and position myself between her legs. I grab her face. "You left me for eight years, and then you left me again. There won't be a third time, Olivia."

"Never," she says desperately, rolling her hips so the tip of my cock is pushing through her entrance and making her whimper. "Please, Malachi."

"Are you sorry?"

She nods.

. "I am. I'm so, so, so sorry. I love you. I've always loved you."

My nose grazes hers as I lower my face, kissing her softly. I take her bottom lip between mine, sucking lightly, then I do the same with the top. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she moans as I push into her, feeling her walls strangling my cock, her orgasm still lingering. "Yes. A million times yes. We'll find a way."

Fuck. This is really happening. Olivia is mine.

Her eyes roll as I rock into her, the dress getting dirty and soaked from both the rain and Olivia's pussy. I go deeper, kissing her harder, needing to stay in this moment forever.

Her legs wrap around me as I thrust, my spine already tingling with the tightening heat building in my balls. She moves with me, meeting each thrust, kissing me, loving me the way I always wanted to be loved.

Our foreheads touch and our bare chests rub together, her breasts and hard nipples trapped between us.

"I love you," she whispers in my ear, taking my lobe between her teeth.

"I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough, but I am now. Please forgive me."

My balls tighten, my muscles tensing everywhere as she starts moaning louder, another orgasm washing over her as her eyes glaze over and her grip on my body turns painful. Her nails sink into my skin as she cries, whimpers, fucking begs me to stay with her.

Not that I'd ever leave her.

After I fill her with every drop of my cum, I stay inside her for far too long. She's shaking, trembling from coming so hard. I keep my head on her shoulder, and her hand strokes up and down my back as she tells me over and over that I'm hers.

I straighten my arms, sliding out of her. She grins up at me, tears in her eyes. "You might need to carry me home."

I laugh, kissing her. She giggles as I stand and pull her up into my arms, holding her to my chest as we leave the dress, screwdriver, and my sweats in the forest while I carry her to the house.

She doesn't take her eyes off me.

When we get inside, I run us a bath. We lie in it until the water goes cold, reminiscing about the times we shared growing up. After we eat, I take her to bed and make love to her.

I've never made love before. I had no idea what it felt like.

I've fucked Olivia. I've claimed her, ruined her in ways a brother shouldn't, but I've never made love to her.

It's... different. Slow. Sensual.

I didn't know I could love her more, but I do. Everything is heightened as I take her in our bed. She flips us so she's on top, and even the way she's riding me is slow, emotional, and I can't take my fucking eyes off her.

After we both finish, we lie in each other's arms. There's no other shoe dropping; there's no pause while we wait for something bad to happen.

Is this what it's like to be happy? I like it. Surely our parents will understand?

"I'm worried about what Xander will do."

I narrow my eyes. "He won't get near you. I'll deal with him."

"You're starting to get your life back, Malachi. You were in prison for nearly a decade. Please don't get involved in this. I shouldn't have brought it up. Xander isn't in my life, and he never will be. Just... be with me and forget the world. Please?"

A muscle in my jaw ticks. "You can't ask me to do that, Olivia. From the moment I met you, I swore to myself I'd protect you. I've done a fucking shitty job of that so far, so I'm not going to sit around knowing he's out there and a threat."

She's scared of him. I should do something about that. I couldn't protect my mother from all the drug dealers and addicts who were constantly in and out of my house. All I could do was hide under my bed with my pet spider, who never wanted to talk back to me.

Every day and night, we would hide under my bed. He was my best friend. But he never ever spoke, so why would I? He was happy without using his voice. I could be happy as well. He was my comforter. My protector. If he could conceal his voice and be brave enough to hide under my bed and not cry, then I could too.

It was the start of the new me. They wanted to hear me scream while they pushed the needle into my arm, so I didn't. I was starved, thin, weak, but at least I had power over my speech. They wouldn't take that from me too, because I hid it somewhere only Olivia could find it.

They wanted to hear me beg them to save my mom, and I couldn't.

Just like what happened with Spikey eight years ago, they killed my spider. They thought it was funny to make me watch while my bio-mom was dying on the floor. I couldn't save her, but I can save Olivia.

She grabs my face. "No, Malachi."

Yes, Malachi. It's fine. She doesn't need to know when I remove him from the equation. She'll see the reports that he's missing, and by then, the issue will be solved. She can yell at me while I fuck her.

"Promise me you won't do anything that will get you into trouble? Dad can fix it all."

"Hmm," I say. "Tell me what you want in life." I change the subject and lower my head, kissing the tip of her nose. "Tell me, so I can give it to you."

"I just want you."

I smirk down at her. "That's all?"

"My whole life, Mom has pushed marriage on me to the point that it holds no meaning to me unless I'm marrying you. And kids? I've never imagined myself as a mother—I think I'd be terrible at it. But..." She raises her shoulder shyly. "Maybe one day."

My smile drops. I'd give her anything she wanted. But a kid? "What if they're just like me?"

Her brow furrows. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"You really think that?" Even I know there's a lot wrong with me.

That's why I decided to go to therapy-the meds are a little intense, but I can manage them. I'd do anything to be normal enough for Olivia. "My therapist said I have a lot to work on, but I'll change. I promise."

She grins, wrapping her arms around my neck and bringing my face to hers to whisper, "I love everything about you. I never want you to change."

I kiss her — the only girl I've ever imagined giving my heart to. It might be a little black, a little jagged around the edges, and my mind might be a little wild, but she owns them.

Olivia owns my mind, body, and soul. She did when we were kids, when we were teens, when we were giving in and letting go. Even when I had her chained up in the basement, she had a hold over me.

I had it in my head that I wanted revenge on her—I now know I just wanted her back.

And guess fucking what?

I got her back. She chose me.

Olivia actually chose me, and I intend to keep her.

THE END... or is it?

What next?

Little Liar

Book 2 of The Web of Silence Duet