Jenny opened the nearest cupboard door. She was grateful to find it stuffed full with a number of food items she could put to good use. She selected a chicken noodle soup can off the bottom shelf and then found a box of salted crackers to go along with it.
“Soup and crackers. It's the perfect comfort food.”
“What does that even mean?”
Jenny rummaged around in a number of bottom cupboards and located a medium saucepan. The can opener was easy enough to find in a top drawer. She set to work dumping the soup contents into the saucepan and set the stove on low.
The kettle finally began to boil, and she selected a slightly chipped mug off the countertop mug tree, biding her time before offering a response.
“Well?”
Isabelle didn't like to be kept waiting.
“What does it mean?”
“Comfort food is something you eat when you want to be, um, comforted.”
She smiled at the child nervously as if that would at once break down any barriers between them.
“Alright.”
Jenny let out a sigh of relief, hiding it behind a nervous smile when Isabelle shot her a suspicious look.
“How about you set some crackers out on these plates?”
Jenny reached for another cupboard door but the side plates were nowhere to be found. It took a sheepish nod from Isabelle to point her in the right direction.
She busied the child with the chore, grateful when they fell back into silence. The drive from New York had been long and she was still reeling from the news. Right now she just wanted to get her mind straight so she could get everything to at least seem normal. The concept of normal having recently been updated.
When the soup was warm, she dished it out into two matching bowls. She tasked Isabelle to collect two TV dinner trays from the kitchen table and led her out into the hallway.
“Mom always serves soup at the kitchen table,” Isabelle pointed out as Jenny shouldered the living room door open and set the dishes down on the coffee table. “We are not supposed to watch television until after dinner. It's the house rule.”
“What can I say?” Jenny gave her a small shrug. “I'm a rule breaker.”
Isabelle gave her another one of her suspicious looks. She wasn't sure what to believe, but she relented anyway and took a seat on the couch.
Jenny was grateful that there wasn't going to be any more pushing on the subject, for now. She took a seat beside Isabelle and reached for the remote.
“Now, let's see what's on television tonight, shall we?”
Isabelle didn't say a word.
An hour later, the sun was beginning to set. Jenny stood at the living room window and watched as it slowly dipped below the hills in the distance. She hated Ombrea and its backward, small town ways, but the view was spectacular. She had to admit that much.
The view of the rolling hills and farmland was more pleasing than the view she had of skyscrapers from her kitchen window in the city. From her apartment balcony, she could see a small, city park, but it was just a crowded neighborhood dog park. It didn’t compare to the natural surroundings of Ombrea.
Now sufficiently fed, Isabelle curled up in a ball on the sofa with a couch cushion propped behind her head for comfort.
Jenny left her to the television's care and began to clear the dinner dishes. She was grateful to have a little time to herself. Taking care of Chloe's young child was already tiring her out. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have one of her own.
She ran the hot water in the kitchen sink and left the dishes to soak. She would get to them later when she had more energy.
She opened the fridge and found the one staple she knew she could count on Chloe to have on hand, chilled, white wine.
Jenny turned the blue bottle over in her hands and carefully studied the label. The description left her puzzled as to why Chloe would have this particular wine on hand.
Chloe had always been big on sweet wines, ones that came with a bright, colorful label and a less colorful price tag. Her wine of choice had always been what her dear grandmother had called cheap and cheerful. It didn't break the bank, not unless you planned to have a few cases on hand.
Jenny had tried this particular wine on more than one occasion at her editor's annual, summer barbecue. She decided to pick up a bottle or two herself once but had been put off by the price tag.
Jenny couldn't imagine that there was a high demand for this wine in Ombrea. She made a mental note to check it out when she had a spare moment.
She uncorked the wine bottle with ease and located a clean wine glass in the dish rack. She hesitated for a moment, imagining Chloe standing before the sink, humming along with the radio as she took care of the dishes. Chloe had always been so cheerful, no matter what the day or situation. It seemed unfair to imagine her life cut short.
Especially at the hands of someone she had loved so dearly. Jenny shook the thought from her mind. She was determined not to focus on her brother.
The police had arrested him for the crime, and she had enough faith in the system, such as it was in Ombrea, to trust they knew what they were doing. If they thought he was guilty of murder, then he was. That was all there was to it. After all, he was one of them. To arrest one of their own, they had to have just cause.
Jenny poured herself a glass of the chilled wine and sipped it slowly with her eyes closed. This day had been hell, and the alcohol would help her relax.
A sharp knock at the front door summoned her back to reality.
Chapter 4
Isabelle hadn't stirred from the knocking, and a quick peek into the living room suggested she’d dozed off some time ago. Jenny closed the door gently as she crossed the hall to the front door.
She expected a neighbor with a warm crock pot dish to comfort the grieving, but the man beyond the door didn't seem like the cooking type, much less the owner of a crockpot. He was tall with messy, dark hair that drifted over his forehead and almost into his eyes. His jaw was stubbled and in need of a good shave. His worn-out, navy T-shirt showed off his muscular body in great detail. It was clear that he did a lot of physical labor.
But it was his blue eyes that distracted her most. They were deep in a way that drew her in and left her unable to immediately look away. She felt a distinctive fluttering in her heart that she couldn't deny. Even in his sweaty, disheveled state, he was the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on.
“Can I help,” Jenny began, but he cut her off abruptly.
“Are you Jenny Dale?”
“Yes. But,”
“Then you’re just the person I came here to see.”
With one hand, he forcefully pushed open the door leaving Jenny no choice but to move aside and allow him in.
“What are you…”
“I just told you, I came here to see you. We need to talk about your brother. It's important.”
Jenny shook her head. This once handsome stranger was beginning to anger her. He was behaving like a massive jerk, and if her brother was what he came to discuss, he would have to leave.
“I'm in no mood to discuss him right now, whoever you are.”
“Roy Peters. And when would be a better time, exactly?” he snapped, his face reddening. “When he's going up against the death penalty?”
“Hold on now.”
Jenny stepped up to him, never one to back down from an argument.
“You have no right to barge in here and try to force a conversation about my good-for-nothing brother. What he's done…”
“That's just it,” Roy interrupted, pointing a finger in her face. “He hasn't done anything. He’s been set up.”
“Don't be absurd!” Jenny said, pushing his finger away angrily. “Who would have any reason to set up my brother?”
“The very people he worked for. Did you ever think about that?”
Jenny was confused and wished Roy Peters would turn around and walk out the door and back to where he had come from.
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“You're his sister. Surely you're wondering why he would suddenly go this far? You can't honestly believe that he would commit such a crime, can you? And his own wife, at that.”
“It's because he is always guilty. He's my brother, and I know from experience. He is always found guilty, and he always will be. If he weren’t guilty, the police wouldn't have arrested him in the first place.”
Roy laughed in a way that made her skin crawlIt was he thought she were being absurd.
“You can't honestly be that naïve.”
Jenny folded her arms over her chest and stared him down, willing herself not to break underneath his steely glare. It had been too long a day, and no doubt there would be more to come in dealing with the fallout of her brother's actions. She burned with hatred for Joey, for what he had done in stealing the precious life of her friend, his wife, Isabelle’s mother. It was a cruel injustice.
For this stranger to march in and throw such accusations around was ridiculous and out of line.
Jenny suddenly realized the door was still open and pointed to it, hoping he would take the hint and get the hell out.
His face was shadowed with anger as he stepped back outside.
Just as she was about to slam the door behind him, he put his foot back inside the door frame.
“You are completely wrong, you know. He's innocent. And even if I have to do it alone, I'll prove it.”
“Then you can just go right ahead.”
“Have you even seen him yet?”
“I don't need to see Joey to know he's guilty as sin.”
She slammed the door, securing it quickly behind him. Leaning against the wall, she willed her nerves to settle. As she regained her breath, she heard the soft click of the living room door closing.
Isabelle had been listening to the whole thing.
Roy Peters trudged back to his busted up, green truck.
What a stupid, stupid woman, he thought. Roy cursed heavily under his breath. This had been a big waste of time.
Joey had never mentioned his sister, and now Roy understood why he hadn't. The woman he just met was as naive as they came and completely disloyal. He hadn't known what to expect when he decided to approach Jenny about Joey’s innocence, but he thought she would be more receptive than that.
If one of his siblings had been accused of such a vile crime, Roy would swear in court that they were innocent, no questions asked. He would fight tooth and nail to prove their innocence. That this woman had accepted her brother’s guilt without a second thought infuriated him.
Joey and Chloe had problems, but what couple didn't? They could fight for days if the mood struck them, but never once had he known his friend to lay a hand on his wife. In fact, Joey would be one of the last men to ever do something like that. As far as police officers went, Joey was one of the good ones, and there was a real shortage of good ones, especially in this town.
* * *
Roy was angry that night as he lay in bed. No woman had ever infuriated him as much as Jenny had that day.
Man, what a bitch, he thought, as he lay tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep.
Someone should teach her some manners.
He imagined lifting her tiny frame in his powerful arms and throwing her over his shoulder.
He imagined being the one who knocked some sense into her.
He’d carry her right into the bedroom and throw her down on the bed.
“Roy,” she’d cry.
He smiled, despite his anger, at the thought of her looking up at him, her infuriating, defiant eyes bright and flashing.
As he pictured himself looking down at her, breathing heavily in anger, his hand started to creep down toward his crotch. He grabbed his cock, which was thick and large in his hand, even though it was still semi-soft, and imagined what Jenny’s breasts looked like.
He pictured himself ripping her clothing off, tearing it to shreds as he tore it from her body and flung it on the ground.
“How dare you,” she’d say.
She was always saying things like that. Things that sought to put her in control of the situation.
How would she like it if he took control for a while.
He felt his cock stiffen and throb in his fist at the thought of how mad she’d be if anyone, least of all him, took control of her.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he’d say to her.
Despite her fury, one look in his eyes would tell her he meant business.
She’d do as she was told and get on her hands and knees.
“Good girl,” he’d say. “Was that so difficult.”
“Fuck you, Roy.”
“Fuck me? Why yes, that’s exactly what you’re about to do.”
She’d turn around, flashing those angry eyes at him, and he wouldn’t care. He’d grab both thighs firmly in his grip and hold her perfect, round ass right in front of him.
She’d struggle a little but her heart wouldn’t really be in it. He knew she’d want this every bit as much as he did. She’d pretend to protest, but really, she’d be wetter than she’d ever been in her life.
He’d lean down and kiss her ass cheeks, each in turn, before running his tongue down the crack of her ass.
“Roy!” she’d gasp.
She wouldn’t be used to this kind of treatment, but she’d like it.
He felt his cock throb, fully erect now in his powerful hand. He stroked it, gently at first, but harder and faster as his fantasy took over his imagination.
He’d slide his wet tongue over her asshole, pressing it against her rosebud, making her squirm in anticipation for what was coming.
“What are you doing?”
He’d smile and say nothing, just sliding his tongue over the mouth of her pussy, and then sliding it right inside, as deep as it could go.
“Oh my god,” she’d moan.
He’d make out with her pussy, sliding his tongue in and out of it, and then make out with her asshole, trying to make her squirm. Trying to make her blush. He was supposed to be teaching her a lesson after all!
When she was really soaking wet, dying for release, practically begging him to fuck her, he’d reach up and slap her ass as hard as he could.
“Ouch,” she’d protest, and that’s when he’d rise up and press the head of his massive cock against her pussy lips.
“Roy,” she’d moan. “Do it, please.”
He’d toy with her, tease her, taunt her. He’d press his head into her pussy, just the first inch of his massive cock, and let her imagine the pleasure she was about to feel.
“You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you?” he’d say.
“Yes,” she’d say.
“And you know what we do to naughty girls?”
She’d nod, but she’d be wrong.
Not so fast, Jenny.
He’d pull his cock out of her pussy lips and lean back down, this time focusing all his attentions on her beautiful, virgin asshole. He’d slide his tongue over it. Then he’d press his tongue into it, making out with it. She’d squirm in embarrassment, mortified at what he was doing to her, but secretly she’d want it. She’d be dying for it.
He could make her beg for it if he wanted.
“Roy, fuck me. Fuck my tight little asshole.”
He almost came just imagining her saying those words.
When her asshole was all wet and slippery and ready for him, he’d rise back up and grab a butt cheek in each hand. He’d grip her tightly, leaving her no room for maneuver, and press his cock against her asshole.
At first, he wouldn’t be able to enter. She’d be too tight. She’d squirm and resist.
But he’d be patient with her. He’d take his time.
He didn’t want to hurt her, just show her that he was in charge.
He’d press his cock against her, and if it didn’t fit, he’d slide in a finger. Just the tip at first, and then more and more of it. He’d slide it in and out, lubricating her thoroughly with his saliva.
She’d squirm against his finger, begging it to fuck her ass, and as she got looser and more ready, he’d bend back down and make out with her asshole again. He’d press his tongue inside her, loosening her, taunting her, bringing her to the point where she was ready to cum.
Then he’d rise back up, grip her ass tightly in his large, powerful hands, and then carefully slide the full length and girth of his cock deep into her asshole.
“Oh, Roy,” she’d cry, and he’d slide all the way in, and then all the way back out.
In and out, again and again, he’d slide. Each time, she’d moan louder, and his cock would throb harder. He’d be growing inside her with each thrust, his cock getting ready for its moment of climax.
As he fucked her in the ass, he’d maintain his powerful grip of her, leaving her in no doubt that he was the one who was in charge.
He’d thrust and thrust, harder and harder, faster and faster, until the pleasure became so unbearable that he’d cry out her name.
“Jenny, oh my god, you’re an angel.”
He’d scream as he came.
His cock would explode in ecstasy, pouring itself deep inside her. With each surge of his orgasm, it would throb and pour more cum into her, until he was completely spent.
Then, as his cock was pumping its cum into her, he’d reach around to her clit and start stroking it rapidly. The fingers of his other hand would reach around and fuck her pussy, in and out, over and over, until she was screaming also as wave after wave of orgasm crashed through her.
“Oh, daddy,” she’d coo when he was finished.
“You’ve been a naughty girl,” he’d say.
“Oh, yes I have, daddy. But you taught me some manners.”
Roy was breathless in his bed. He looked down under the sheets and realized he’d just cum all over his hand. The sheets were soaking with the mess he’d made.
But he didn’t care.
He did feel a little guilty, however! How could he allow himself to have thoughts like that about his best friend’s little sister! It just wasn’t right.
There was a code of ethics among men like him, and fucking your best friend’s sister in the ass to teach her some manners certainly crossed the line!
Bad Boy Brother Page 3