Page 45 of Between Brothers

The place was immaculate and smelled like blueberry muffins.

“Get to it.” I waved, not giving a fuck if she half-assed it or not. I wasn’t about to lift a finger to paint, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to kill one of my friends for Birdman.

For what?

A title that meant shit outside of our little town?

President of the Saints. Big fucking deal.

I loved the Saints, but this was too much. Brother against brother?

This shit wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

I realized I was rubbing the bridge of my nose and spaced out a moment. When I relaxed and dropped my hand, there she was, unmoved.

I bugged my eyes at her.

“What?” she sneered.

“I’m just wondering if it’s your hearing or your cognitive capacity that’s fucked. That’s all,” I casually clipped, before raising a shoulder like it didn’t matter to me one way or the other.

She looked shocked, as if no one had ever spoken to her that way before, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping a little.

“Unbelievable.” She huffed, tossing the bags of plastic drapes and tape on the floor. “You’re all the same. Every last one of you.”

“That's why every time my brother stops for air, you try to hump his leg, ain’t it?”

“What the f– I do not! You’re disgusting, Roy.” Her tone raised and thinned with indignation.

“Oh, you definitely do, Darlin’. Everyone sees it, too.”

She glared at me, and I could tell she wanted to say or do something dramatic. I braced myself for the storm, and smiled back at her.

“Whatever,” she lamely spat, before yanking a plastic drop cloth from the bag and starting toward the other room.

“That includes my brother. Don’t ever think he doesn’t see your thirsty ass, Rigs,” I called after her.

I shouldn’t have enjoyed messing with her so much. Her beef with Kennedy was theirs. It had fuck-all to do with me, and yet, I felt like I owed some loyalty to her. She probably hadn’t asked for that beef any more than she’d asked for the bullet my brother intended to put in her tonight.

I blinked, dismissing the fair-haired tart before I lost track of time. I had to stay focused or Kennedy would suffer for it.

An hour later, Rigs had finally given up whining. She’d reduced herself to a pinched glare and the occasional heavy breaths and scoffs to convey her irritation while she worked.

“You know what I wish for you, Rigs? Aside from the ten species of crabs my brother is about to put on you…”

She went from looking mildly insulted, to hopefulness and back again. It was comical to see what even the slightest suggestion of my brother putting anything on her could do to that brainless bitch.

“Fuck you, Roy. For real. Fuck you.”

“What? I was just saying, I hope your face pinches like that. ‘Cause I know you. You’d run to the nearest salon to have all that shit shot into your face to fix it. I’d pay good money to see you shut the fuck up long enough for it to be done. Good money. Remember that.” I winked.

She fixed her death glare on me once again before trotting back to the to her room.

Paxton arrived a few minutes later, a roller tucked under his arm.

“Are you serious?” I laughed. “You brought your own paint roller?”

“Hell, yeah. I wasn’t gonna let that twat leave me with a damn toothbrush again.” He laughed.