Page 74 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
I should murder him.
I’ve thought about it many, many times before. I’ve even planned it more than once, gotten a gun, walked into his room, stood over him and stared down at him with his lips gently parted in sleep, passed out from too many sleeping pills.
Each and every time, I find myself with gritted teeth, with my fingers wrapped around the butt of the gun, and I just can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t. I’ve tried. So I’ve given up on that, too. If my brother is going to die, someone else is going to have to do it.
“Goddamn it.” I curse and rub at my face again, feeling exhaustion sweep over me in a wave. I have one nice moment in a sea of shit, and this is what I come home to. The expletive makes Yua flinch, and I storm past her, down the hall and into the formal living room where my brother sits on the sofa, his arms thrown out across the back of it on either side.
One of our new maids—one of the ones he hired for a very specific purpose—is between his legs, sucking his cock as he fists her hair, pushing her down harder and groaning unashamedly.
“Aspen,” he calls out cheerily, mimicking me even as he’s getting head from a girl who gets paid minimum wage to wait on him assiduously, hand and foot and pussy. I squeeze my hands at my sides so hard that I feel like my bones might break.
I consider grabbing the decorative vase just ahead and to the right of me, perched delicately on an elegant, slender sofa table, hefting it up, beating my brother’s face in with it until we no longer resemble each other, until he’s nothing but pulp and bone and blood.
“Welcome home,” he continues, grunting and thrusting his hips up several times before shoving the maid girl away and scowling at her as she tries to frantically wipe droplets of cum from her lips with her hand.
The whole thing makes me sick, but I know better than to stand up for the poor girl. It’ll only bring her worse trouble in the end. My brother never comes for me because he knows that I can take him on personally. Instead, he goes for everything and everyone around me, most especially those that I love and care about.
Just like my first and only girlfriend.
Because I had her, because she liked me for me, he had to prove that he could take her regardless. And take her he did. He fucked her and used her for months, paraded her around in front of me, even toyed with the idea of asking her to marry him before he cast her aside like so much trash.
I could never love a girl who didn’t hate my brother the way I do.
As he tucks himself back into his slacks and then uses his foot to shove at the maid girl, I find my mouth filling with bile.
“Get us some tea—and hurry up,” he snarls out as shivers take over me and those violent urges start to drown out everything else, until I’m worried that I might have another blackout. Sometimes, when I go dark like that, I do horrible things, and then I struggle to remember doing them at all.
My brother rises to his feet, looking me over and tsking in disappointment.
“Where have you been?” he demands, as if he’s my keeper, as if I’m not allowed to do a damn thing without his permission. I would rather cut my own tongue off before telling him where I went tonight, so I shrug instead.
He smirks at me as the maid girl scrambles to her feet, bows her head at me, and takes off. Likely, she blames me for this entire incident the way that Yua does. Fantastic. Yet more dark marks to my name.
“What have you done now?” I ask, and then I realize something strange.
The fish in the large tank, the one that separates the living area from the informal dining room, are still. More so than that, they’re floating near the surface. Dead. They’re all dead.
My throat gets tight and a muscle in my neck jumps as my brother throws his head back and laughs. The sound of it digs into me like claws, and I force my mind back to my kiss with Scarlett, the warmth of her body, the violent tangling of our tongues.
I think about that as I try not to scream.
My thoughts stray back to the time I told my brother in a rare fit of honesty that the fish our father likes to keep, that they calmed me down, quieted my mind, that when I looked at them, I could recall memories of our mother that I thought were otherwise lost.
