Tyrant Twins: A Dark Twin Romance

by Isabella Starling

  I’m hesitant, because after all, it’s his brother we’re talking about. But I need to tell someone, need to pour my pain out of my body, because otherwise, I might just drown in it. Usually, this would be something I’d discuss with Dove, but she’s disappeared off the face of the planet. I’m not getting replies to my texts, and she doesn’t pick up her phone. I assume she’s off hunting some famous rockstar again, and do my best to move on without her.

  “We’ve been…” I sniffle. Parker squeezes me closer and I go on, feeling encouraged. “We kissed. Remember when I came to your place for lunch?”

  His body tenses and I can feel his hands trying hard not to form into fists. “Did he kiss you?”

  “I don’t know,” I lie.

  We lie still for a while, the only sound that of my ragged breathing. But then Parker grabs me by the shoulders suddenly, making me face him.

  “I need to know,” he says, his voice breaking over the words painfully. “Was he…”

  I know what he’s going to ask, but it doesn’t hurt any less knowing what words are going to come out of his mouth.

  “Was he your first?” Parker wants to know.

  His question is shocking. I was expecting him to ask if we slept together, sure, but not this. And the crazed jealousy he regards me with is strange—unusual for Parker. He's not the jealous type. Kade is. I look him in the eyes, and I think of my blissful happiness only hours ago. I nod, and I don’t break eye contact.

  This is my shame, and I'm just going to have to live with it. Parker groans. I can tell I've hurt him, but there's no point in lying anymore.

  “That fucker,” he says quietly, but with such rage it scares me to the bone. “That bastard. How could he do that to you? How could he take that away from you?"

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, scooting to the edge of the couch. “It will be okay, right?” I need him to nod, need him to say it will, because otherwise, I will break right the fuck now. I've lost Kade. I've almost lost Parker again. And after the pain of losing so many other people, I just can't handle another fucking heartbreak.

  Parker doesn't reply. The absence of his answer makes me bite my bottom lip in worry. If even Parker doesn't believe we can make things right... can we even get through this?

  That night, Parker holds me while I cry until my tears dry up. I've never cried this much in my life, not even when Mom and Mark died. Never. Kade did this to me. He hurt me. He made me into a fucking mess crying for the boy he used to be and the monster he turned into.

  I wait for his call even after my stepbrother falls asleep. I stare at my phone, willing it to ring, hoping Kade will reach out.

  And the call never comes.

  5 years ago

  “Are we going or what, little sis?” Parker asks impatiently, smacking me on the butt.

  I glare at him to make him stop, which means I nearly gouge my left eye out with the mascara wand I’m holding in my hand. The incident results with a black smudge over the left side of my face, and I gasp. “Parker!” I say with a raised voice. “Look what you’ve done. Now I have to start over!”

  Parker snickers, and I shoot him a look but end up convulsing in giggles right along with him. I look like a tribal warrior with war paint on.

  “I’ll leave you to your girl stuff,” Parker finally resigns and gets up from behind me, heading for the door. “I’ll be downstairs, find me when you’re ready.”

  “Yes dear,” I say mockingly and stick my tongue out at him, but he just laughs and leaves me to the disaster that is my makeup look. I’m smiling as I reach for a cotton pad and makeup remover, spilling the liquid on the pad and smudging my makeup even further as I try to remove it. Parker and I are going to the movies, and once more, I’m thankful he decided—unlike Kade—to stay close to home when he went to college. While Kade finished early, Parker’s two years behind. He never was very good at traditional education. I have no idea what I’d do without his daily visits.

  I finally manage to take all of my makeup off, and I toss the black-streaked pad into the trash. I sigh and try once again to make myself look presentable. Mascara first, and this time, I don’t fail so badly. But my eyelashes are a little clumpy, and I’m not happy when I investigate in the mirror. Staring back at me is a willowy, dark-haired, too tall girl, with awkwardly long limbs. But I have a pretty face, and I’m told that at every corner, so I’ve started to believe it myself. And I guess I am pretty, if you have a thing for too-big eyes, too-full lips, and a too-small nose. I smirk at myself but end up hopefully staring at my chest.

  I’m flat as a board. Mom says they’ll grow eventually. I’ll be a late bloomer, just like her. But that isn’t much consolation when you’re sixteen freaking years old and starting to gain an interest in the opposite sex. I blush at the word. Sex. For some reason, the first picture, the first association to it, is still Kade.

  Ever since Mom caught us in the treehouse, I've done everything and anything in my power to get my stepbrother out of my head. But I'm fighting a losing battle. How can you forget someone when you can't even bring yourself to stop thinking about them for five whole minutes? I shake my head to get rid of the thoughts, scrambling in my drawer to find some lipstick I've stolen from Mom.

  I layer some on my lips, and finally, I’m satisfied with my appearance. I get up and reach for my favorite fragrance—a gift from my stepfather. It’s made in Grasse in France, custom to my liking, and it’s probably my favorite thing I own. I spray it on myself and inhale the well-known, enticing scent. I imagine Kade kissing me on the spot where I just sprayed it. Imagine a world where we could be together, where that would be acceptable. And before I know it, I'm saying his name softly.

  “Kade…”

  I’m so afraid someone will hear me I clamp a hand over my mouth, looking around in panic. But there’s no one here—only I know about my dirty, forbidden crush. And it better stay that way. Finally, I grab my purse and head for the door. Parker is waiting for me.

  But he is nowhere to be found.

  I’ve been to the kitchen, living room, and the lounge, and he’s just nowhere in sight. So I finally head to the garage, thinking he might be admiring his new car, as he so often does.

  But when I come to the polished white doors, I hear laughter from the inside. And it belongs to a woman. I grit my teeth because I hate seeing the girls Parker likes to hang out with. They’re always jealous of me—which I find pretty much ridiculous since he’s my stepbrother. Though if we were talking about his twin...

  I blush violently and realize I shouldn’t intrude, but nonetheless find myself pressed to the wall, peeking into the garage.

  And it’s not Parker in there with a pretty brunette.

  It’s his brother, the very object of my fantasies.

  I gasp ever so quietly and lower my eyes. I shouldn't look. But I can try all I want; my eyes keep going to the scenario unfolding only a few feet away from me.

  I’m in a storage room that leads to the garage. And they’re in there, with Kade’s car parked in Mom’s usual space as though he owns the place. I grit my teeth. He thinks he’s all that.

  Ever since Mom told us off for kissing, Kade has been pulling back more and more. Our talks when we couldn't sleep at night are a thing of the past. Kade barely spends any time with me anymore, probably always feeling Mom's watchful gaze on us. No, these days, he's either at college or using any excuse to get out of the house. Like he's so freaking desperate not to be around me, he'd do anything to be away.

  I want to march out right away and give him a piece of my mind. I don't know what exactly I want to tell him, but I do know I don’t have the guts to do it, anyway. Instead, I just stare at them.

  She’s on the hood of his car, and his hands are all over her. She’s moaning, giggling, saying his name repeatedly. I don't know whether she's fighting him off or pulling him closer, and the thought, the dichotomy of those two acts, excites me.

  The girl is wearing a scandalously short skirt, but
he slides it over her legs until it lands in a heap at their feet. My heartbeat quickens.

  He reaches for her hair, pulling out the elastic that is holding her brown locks in place, and her silky waves tumble down her back as he undoes her ponytail. Her shirt is next, and he unbuttons it so slowly I moan right along with the girl, eager to see more, feel more, pretend she’s me and those moans are ripping themselves from my lips.

  My hand finds its way between my legs, and I push away the fabric of my summer dress, pushing my fingers against the panties I’m wearing as I keep watching. I’ve never done this before, never pleasured myself. I always thought it was wrong somehow… But now... I can’t seem to resist.

  He’s finally done with her shirt, and it ends up with the skirt on the floor. He unclasps her bra, and her breasts spring free, full, and so unlike my underdeveloped pair.

  “Kade,” she whispers just loud enough for me to hear, and I push my panties aside, gasping as I enter my own body. This is so wrong, but it’s so fucking hot.

  She puts her legs around his torso, and I can see him fumbling with his zipper, but try as I might, I don’t see anything other than his hands guiding himself into the girl. She curses out loud and I lick my lips expectantly, all the while imagining that’s me on the hood of the car. My stepbrother is moving inside her now, clutching her with both hands as she writhes and moans, and my fingers are strumming my clit even harder. I’m just about to come, but I can’t, not without seeing his face when he does.

  Kade fucks the girl, and I fuck myself, and I can see from his expression he’ll be there soon.

  “Fuck,” he moans against her chest. “Fuck, Junebug.”

  The world comes to a standstill. Did I just hear that right? My finger comes out of my pussy, my first orgasm forgotten before it even happened. Instead, I just stare and stare at them. The girl just came, I’m pretty sure, but something seems wrong. Between her moans, she’s glaring at Kade.

  “Junebug?” she asks furiously. “As in, your little stepsister, June?”

  Kade is quiet. The girl pushes him off, and I’m sure he could have stopped her, but he just lets her. She picks up her clothes, humiliated, and throws him a disgusted look.

  “You could have at least called me by another name, you sick fuck,” she spits out at him, and then she storms out of the garage, while I stare with my mouth open. What just happened? Before I have time to think, Kade raises his gaze and his eyes meet mine.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I turn around and try to run off, but he reaches me in two seconds, grabbing my hair and pulling me back. It hurts, and I yelp with pain.

  “Let go of me,” I say angrily.

  He doesn’t. Instead, he uses his free hand to turn me around so I’m facing him, his other hand still tangled in my dark mass of hair.

  “How long have you been standing there?” he demands, and I blush deeply.

  “Long enough,” I reply, not sure why I’m being such a brat. He just stares at me, hard. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to look away.

  “Junebug…” he starts softly, and I’ve never heard him use this voice on me. He’s always rough, never paying me any mind, like I’m some painting on the wall he’s not particularly fond of.

  “Leave me alone,” I whimper, and then I do something I regret in a split second. “You’re sick to the bone. Let go of me.”

  Just like that, his hands, his beautiful, strong hands, are off me. And we keep staring at each other, contemplating what just happened. I just accused him of being a pervert when all I want is those hands back on me. But it’s so wrong. Forbidden. It can never happen. My mom told us as much.

  And as he turns around and leaves abruptly, I know I’ve ended this between us before it even started. Even though it breaks me in half to know that, I know it needed to be done.

  Because Kade and June?

  They can never be.

  In a daze, I finally find Parker in the driveway, the car already running.

  “Took you long enough,” he moans as I make my way to the car, but I refuse to look at him. He looks too much like Kade, and it fucking hurts.

  “Let’s go, little sis,” he says as I sit in the front, and he revs up the engine.

  And all I can think about is Kade fucking that girl on the hood of his car and me wishing it were my body he was abusing...

  17

  Parker

  I come back home that day, knowing she'll mistake me for my brother. I did this on purpose, and truth be told, I can't fucking wait to see June's reaction when she sees me.

  I'm locking up the front door when June comes down the stairs, coming to a standstill on the bottom step as she tentatively whispers, "Kade?"

  "Nope," I reply jovially, turning around to face her with a grin. It hurts that she still hopes it's him. But it also feels damn good to disappoint her. And to see interest flash in her eyes just fucking once when she looks at me... Even though she thinks I'm my twin. "Just me, Parker."

  "You..." She swallows thickly. "You cut your hair?"

  "Yeah." I run my hands through my hair. Shaved on the sides, longer on top—a mirror image of my brother's. "Do you like it?"

  "It's..." June digs her teeth into her bottom lip, looking nervous. "It's just like Kade's."

  "It's just a haircut." I approach her, pulling her into a hug. "But it fooled you, didn't it?" She's rigid in my arms, almost pushing me away slightly as I kiss the top of her dark hair. "What?" I pout. "You don't like it?"

  "It looks... good on you," she finally manages. When she pulls away, her expression is hard to read. I know I've confused her, and it suits me just right. Now she's even more torn between the two of us, and I'm going to work it in my favor. "Come with me. I wanted to show you something in the attic."

  I follow her up the rickety stairs leading to the top layer of the house. There, she's laid out a fuckload of new art supplies. There's a canvas, acrylic paints, and oils, and too many paintbrushes to count. I pick one of them up, eyes shining brightly as I turn to face June.

  "You did all this for me?" She nods. "That's fucking amazing, little sis. You didn't need to do this."

  "I wanted to." Her smile is warm, the awkwardness from a few moments ago already forgotten. "You deserve it. For putting up with me while I was in a foul mood this whole time. And you can always come up here and paint. The light is great because of the skylights."

  I agree with her. I step toward the blank canvas. I've always loved them—just bare, blank whiteness stretching over the easel. The desire to paint fuels me, rushing through my veins and filling me with the need to express myself. I haven't felt this way in a long fucking time, and with a start, I realize I've missed it. I've been so preoccupied with Kade and our stepsister, I've totally neglected my talent. It's a damn shame because I was really fucking getting somewhere with my art before Kade ruined everything.

  "Are you going to paint?" June asks, barely able to hide the excitement in her voice. "I won't bother you, promise. I'll stay out of your hair." She squeezes my forearm with a soft smile playing on her lips. "I'm so glad you're getting back to it. You have so much talent, so much potential."

  I smile in response, but my attention isn't on my stepsister anymore. Instead, it’s on the blank canvas before us. Wordlessly, I pick up a wooden palette and begin mixing colors. June lets me be, walking downstairs and leaving me in peace for the next few hours.

  I paint without a goal in mind this time, and it's oddly fucking freeing. Art has always been a way for me to express myself. I started painting after Dad's first lesson in June's bedroom. I needed to get the pain, the emotions, out somehow. But Dad never gave a shit about my paintings. He would just grumble when someone mentioned them. Mostly, he did a good job keeping up pretenses, acting like I was still his son even though he'd told me plenty of times I was nothing but a fucking monster. But not when it came to my painting. He never supported it, but Rachel did.

  June's mother was creative herself, and she loved w
atching me work. She told me I had the talent she'd spent decades wishing for. Even though she was artistic, Rachel couldn't paint or draw for the life of her. It made us form our own special little bond. And what did I get from that? It only hurt fucking more when we lost her, too.

  I paint on the canvas in angry, sharp strokes. Color fills the surface, shades of black and purple and red bleeding into one another like a fresh, blooming bruise. I remember Dove then. June's little friend, whom I haven't heard a peep from, whom June hasn't mentioned once since I've been staying here. I imagine her, confined to her room, living with the shame of what she let me do to her. It makes my cock impossibly fucking hard, and inspiration pours from my fingers, painting the canvas in thick splashes of color.

  It must be hours later when I finally step back to admire my work. It's a portrait. I didn't even realize I was drawing her until I took a step back. Dove looks beautiful. Hair is falling over her face, but the scar is still there, visible, exposed. She looks vulnerable. Pretty.

  For once, I'm pleased with my work, and I clean my paintbrushes and palette in satisfied silence before joining June again downstairs.

  She startles when she sees me—probably the haircut again. I don't know what possessed me to get my hair cut like Kade's. I don't want to look like him, but it does make it extra fucking easy to sneak up on June, scare her. And that makes my cock fucking throb.

  I sit next to June on the white leather sofa, and she settles into the crook of my arm. I inhale her strawberry scent, wondering whether she knows the effect she has on the opposite sex. It's not just my twin and me. Every man June meets wants her, and I can fucking tell, because every time they look at her, the urge to hurt them awakens deep within me, demanding I hurt the offender. But I've been so good. Apart from the pretty memento I carved into her friend's cheek, I've done nothing to rouse June's suspicion to what I really am—a fucking monster, just like Dad used to say.