FOSTER BROTHERS - A MFM Menage Romance

by Samantha Twinn

  It's old, browned around the edges and smudged from handling. There are six kids, all in a duckling row, in shabby hand-me-down clothes and with scruffy hair. They look like rag dolls. Familiar rag dolls.

  I look at the guys standing at the bottom of the stairs. They’re both watching me, waiting for my next move. I reach and grab the framed photo from the wall. Right in the center is the smallest rag doll, a smidge of a girl with uneven blonde pigtails, a gap-toothed smile, and big eyes the color of the sunlit ocean. I know her, I know that little girl sitting there with a big grin, clasping the hands of the dark-haired boys sitting on either side of her.

  I know her because she is me.

  13

  RIVER HAS ENTERED THE CHATROOM

  River: Hey, little bird.

  Raven: Hey. I was about to give up on you.

  River: Don’t do that, please.

  Raven: I just meant that you were late. That’s all.

  River: I know what you meant. Still, don’t give up on me.

  Raven: I won’t. I promise.

  River: Tell me something good about your day.

  Raven: I made it through?

  River: Always such a smartass. You know what I mean.

  Raven: Yeah, okay, let me think a minute.

  River: You need to think that hard to figure out if something good happened to you?

  Raven: Usually, yes.

  River: I don’t like to think of you being unhappy.

  Raven: I know, you finally showed up to talk to me. That’s something good that happened to me today.

  14

  HUDSON

  I cannot fucking believe...

  …I don’t know what the fuck to do.

  I fucked Missi.

  I fucked Missi.

  Oh God. I stride from one end of the room to the other and back, kicking at the enormous sectional sofa. I slam my hand into the wall and lean on it, breathing hard, relishing the distraction of the pain. A growl leaves my body involuntarily. What the fuck have I done?

  Flint has to be wrong. That can’t be Missi. That girl up there…she’s too sexy. Too raw. Frayed at the edges in a way that made me feel at home with her like I’d never felt with another woman.

  Missi is gone. After our foster parents were arrested and the state split us up, I swore I’d find her again someday. I was only thirteen, but Flint and I never forgot about Missi. We left foster care when I turned eighteen, and we tried to find her but the system was too closed and we didn’t have the money that would have given us a chance. After I started playing for the NFL and had more cash than I knew what to do with, I hired the best private investigator I could find. He found a trail for her. Past homes where she’d lived, old friends who hadn’t heard from her in a while, but he never found her.

  Even as I tell myself all this, I know in my heart that I’m a liar. The worst kind too, to lie to myself. Those little flashes of familiarity should have been enough for me to realize. I beat my fist against my forehead, trying to knock the image of Missi writhing and moaning under me from my brain. I should have asked her name, at least. I should have talked to her more when I felt those nudges of recognition.

  But I didn’t. I let my dick do the thinking. It's been over a year since I made my rule. I kept it all this time, and the first time I let my fucking cock take over, this shit happens. I hurt the one person I swore I'd always keep safe.

  Dropping onto the sofa and cradling my head in my hands, I go over and over what happened, remembering how it felt to sink into her and seeing her eyes flash from blue to green. I should have known. The giggles when I'd chased her around the room. I should have known. The moaning sighs when I'd tasted her between her legs. I should have known before any of that.

  I should have known. How did I not see that she was my sweet little Missi? My own sister.

  I’ve ruined everything for good. I’ve stolen the chance that we’ll ever be a family again because once she realizes who I am, she’ll never forgive me. Not when she realizes her foster brother, who promised to protect her, picked her up in a club and brought her home for a one-night stand. Didn't even ask her name. Just fucked her until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

  Pushing off the sofa and stumbling towards the liquor cabinet, I search for the fresh bottle of high end vodka I know Red keeps stocked. I can still taste her musky sweetness around my lips. I have to get the taste of her out of my mouth.

  I turn the bottle over in my hands, my thoughts rushing through my head in a roar. I remember how on top of the world I felt when I first went pro. The adrenaline spike I got every time I ran onto the field and heard the crowd chanting and screaming. It was fucking incredible, like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I was so high then. I thought nothing could ever bring me down. Then all of that changed overnight. I was so high and I fell so far, and I never thought anything could feel worse than that.

  I was wrong.

  Right now, the pain tearing though my chest at the thought of what I’ve done to Missi is worse than any pain, physical or emotional, that I’ve ever experienced. It’s just one more thing that I’ll never come back from. I just hope she doesn’t realize. If she thinks I’m just an asshole, it’ll be so much easier for her in the long run.

  All I want to do now is tip back this bottle and pour oblivion down my throat. Erase her taste from my lips and last night from my memory. I want to start over with my sweet Missi, but I can't change what I did. It’s too late now. She’ll never forgive me if she finds out.

  Fuck. Flint won’t be able to keep his mouth shut. Not now, not now that she’s showed up on our doorstep after all these years. He’ll be so happy to have her back, like it’s a fucking dream reunion.

  She saw my face, though, and I know she saw the shame written there. And I am ashamed. Not of her, but of myself for being so stupid.

  I stumble against the sofa as pain lances across my temple like a bright light knifing across my vision and making my head throb. Shit, not now. The last thing I need is for Missi to walk in here and see me like this. I don’t want her pity.

  The pain pounds across my forehead and I hit the sofa hard when I sit down. Still, it's no comparison to the pain in my chest.

  My sister.

  I cradle my head, rocking slowly back and forth. Maybe if I just sit for a minute, stay calm, the pain will go away. I try not to think about Missi. I want to call out for Flint or Red, but at the same time, I don’t want them knowing. They’ve got it bad enough already without having to see this. I take a few deep breaths and the pain eases off. The liquor bottle is still clasped in my hand and I twist the seal because it would feel so good to forget, just for a little while.

  I toss the cap across the room and tip the bottle back, letting the cool liquid burn down my throat. I may be a bastard for doing this but I can’t be any different. For the next few hours I can forget. I need to forget. As warmth spreads through me I wish I could turn back time. I wouldn’t ask for much. Just a few hours. Just enough to change things for Missi.

  15

  RAVEN HAS ENTERED THE CHATROOM

  Raven: I thought about you all day today.

  River: What kinds of thoughts?

  Raven: Mostly about how I don’t really know enough about you.

  River: There’s not much to know.

  Raven: People are like tapestry, River. Stories interwoven. Tiny details that shape the whole picture.

  River: That’s beautiful, little bird.

  Raven: Tell me something about you that I don’t know.

  River: Like what?

  Raven: Well, do you have any brothers or sisters?

  River: That’s a little personal, don’t you think?

  Raven: Please?

  River: Okay, I have one real brother, and a friend who’s as good as a brother. I had a sister.

  Raven: Had? What happened to her?

  River: I’m not sure.

  Raven: How can you not be sure?

  River: I haven’t
seen her in a very long time.

  Raven: That’s so sad. If you have family, you should talk to them.

  River: I wish I could but I don’t know where she is. What about you?

  Raven: What about me?

  River: Do you talk to your family?

  Raven: I don’t have any family.

  River: Everyone has some sort of family.

  Raven: Not me.

  RAVEN HAS LEFT THE CHATROOM

  16

  FLINT

  I see the precise moment when Missi understands, and all the emotions that pass across her face when she realizes exactly who the people are in the picture. When she turns to face me and Red, I take a step up the stairs but she shakes her head and throws up a hand defensively.

  "Flint? Red?” Her voice is pained. Confused. All I can do is nod. I don't know what else to say.

  "Then…” She looks up towards the upper floor, maybe towards the bedroom she just came from. She blinks slowly, her chest hitching. “Hudson," she whispers and crumples toward the floor.

  I rush up the stairs and take her arm, trying to make sure she doesn't hurt herself, but she shakes me off and backs against the wall. She looks like a wounded animal who’s been cornered. Her eyes dart between me and Red and her breath rasps from her throat in broken gasps. I can see her hands trembling against her knees.

  Since I'm shocked as hell, I can't even comprehend how Missi must be feeling right now. I know she loves — well, loved — Hudson. We haven’t seen each other for so long, though.

  “Missi,” I say softly, "come on down now, girl. I know you've had a shock. Hell, we all have. Come on and let's get you some water. Then we'll talk."

  I hold out my hand and give an encouraging nod and smile, trying to coax her from her shocked state. Then I'm nearly knocked on my ass when she scrambles to her feet and barrels down the stairs past me.

  She grabs her boots, pushes through the front door and disappears into the night air.

  “Where’s she going?" Red asks. "There ain't no bus stops up here."

  Red and I spin around at a loud crash coming from the den at the back of the house. I give him a push on his shoulder.

  "Go take care of Hudson. I'm going after Missi."

  I see her, halfway down the curving drive, pulling on her fuck-me boots. Taking the steps two at a time and loping down still warm asphalt, I catch up to her just as she pulls up the zipper at the back of her calf, the sound making a soft snick in the balmy night air. I can see her hair, bright in the darkness, and hear the quiet sobs she's making.

  I stop far enough away from her that she won't consider me a threat.

  "Mississippi."

  She spins, dashing the back of her hand across her face. “What do you want, Flint?”

  “Can we talk about this?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, not now.”

  "Come on, let me give you a ride home."

  "No. I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

  "It's late, Missi. The nearest bus stop is four miles away and it’s dark the entire way. You'll never get a cab up here this time of night. Let me take you home."

  She glances down the road in both directions and I can see her chewing the inside of her cheek, weighing her options. For a second I think our little hellcat sister is really going to walk four miles in the pitch black to the bus stop. Then she shakes her head once, and with a defeated sounding sigh, heads back up the drive.

  I put my hand on her shoulder gently and steer her towards the SUV. “I'll be right back,” I say, and dash into the house to snag the keys and some sneakers.

  My heart is still thumping as I settle her into the car and start it up, asking her if she's warm enough, turning down the radio so it's just a soft hum in the background. There’s so much I want to say to her.

  “Missi..."

  “I don't want to talk about it,” she snaps.

  I don’t like her like this, lashing out at me. When we were kids we were like peas in a pod, so this feels totally wrong. “Yeah, okay,” I say gently. Maybe if she feels safe with me, she’ll open up. “I just need your address.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She sounds deflated as she recites the details.

  I punch them into the GPS, and then frown as I realize where I’m going to be taking her. Not exactly the safest part of town. Turning the car back down the hill, we ride in silence for a few minutes. The streets are empty and a fog is casting mist through the golden glow of the headlights. It’s warm in the car, the tires humming over the blacktop.

  After a few more turns I frown again, realizing that we're headed towards the docks.

  "Missi, why are you living down here? This is such an unsafe neighborhood."

  “Not used to slumming it like the rest of us these days,” she says. “Not all of us can afford a big house in the sky, Flint. And besides, my landlord doesn't care if I pay in cash. Can’t track cash.”

  “What?”

  Missi stares out of her window, avoiding meeting my eye. “Nothing,” she says quietly.

  I shake my head, wondering why she’d be thinking about being tracked. I turn and look at the little waif of a woman my feisty little foster sister has turned into, and I feel a wave of protectiveness that I haven’t felt since she was taken to another home. I don’t know if it’s a brotherly thing, or just that I remember how vulnerable she was behind all her sass and anger.

  As we drive deeper into her neighborhood, I become more and more uneasy. Despite the lateness of the night there are plenty of people around, most of them staring at us from dark doorways, melting back into the inky blackness when we don’t stop to purchase the goods they’re offering. And judging from the half-naked trio of girls on the corner, there’s a lot on offer tonight.

  Missi points to a three-story building on the left. “I’m on the second floor,” she says.

  Missi's apartment is located directly above one of the scummiest looking motorcycle dive bars I've ever seen. I wouldn't trust the shady dudes hanging out around the entrance any further than I could spit. Burly men in motorcycle club leathers stand in front, close to their lethal looking bikes that line the sidewalk. There’s a girl with her tits hanging out of her tube top and her leather skirt hiked up over her ass, thong on display as she grinds back and forth on one of the bikes. The guys cheer her on, hooting at her performance. One of them shoves a small bag of white powder down the front of her top. This entire area is seedier than any foster home we grew up in, and that’s saying something. I can't believe Missi lives here.

  I pull close to the curb and cut the truck. I want to tell her that I’m taking her home with me, but how can I? This whole situation is messed up. "I'll walk you inside," I say.

  "No thanks. I got it."

  I eye the guys out front, two of them now pawing at the girl on the bike. “Yeah, I'm still going to walk you up.”

  Missi just shrugs and pushes open her door. "Suit yourself."

  The inside entryway smells like cigarettes and stale urine and something even dirtier that I don't want to think about. Tile peels off the stairs in chunks, making the danger of tripping real. There’s a four-foot cock Sharpied across the landing where the walls are such a filthy gray that I have no idea if that's the actual paint color or just years of built up dirt. The first door on Missi's floor pops open when we pass and a woman who looks about ninety-five sticks her head out and cackles insanely.

  “Woohooo, got yerself a sexy one there, girlie." She pulls open her dirty pink robe and shakes the most pathetic pair of wrinkled tits I've ever seen. "Hey hot stuff, I'll do ever'thing she won't. You come on and visit when you're done with her bony ass and I won’t even charge ya for the first time.” She turns and wiggles her velour-covered bottom at us, smacking her hip with glee.

  “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.

  Missi is already at the end of the hall, working on opening an amazing assortment of locks that run up and down her dirty black door. She turns and faces me when the
last one clicks open. "Don’t mind Maggie. I mean, unless you’re planning on taking her up on the offer. Anyhow, thanks for the ride and everything…" Her hand is searching behind her for the doorknob. She cracks it open and tries to slip inside before I say anything.

  I'm across the hall and shoving my foot into the opened door before she realizes what's happening. She shoves, trying to force my foot back. “We’re done here, Flint. It happened. It’s over. Thanks again. Time for you to go.” She kicks at my knee.

  “No way. We've got to talk.” I pry the door open and step inside. She shoves at me once more before giving up. I’m at least a foot taller than her and probably a hundred pounds heavier.

  “There's nothing to talk about.” She flicks on a lamp and it illuminates the saddest room I've ever seen. There's one small couch pulled out into a bed, a table with a laptop sitting on it, and a small counter at the end of the room holding a microwave and coffee pot. A little doorway to the right leads to the bathroom. Everything is a washed out brown, the color of dried mud, and the place smells like an ashtray and stale liquor. I think the smell is coming from the overhead vent. The room must share a heating system with the bar downstairs. There's nothing personal, save the laptop, in the entire room. Nothing pretty, no pictures, no paintings, no souvenirs from trips. There aren't even curtains, just dingy shades pulled down over a window that's bleeding in green neon from the flashing bar sign downstairs. I feel a faint thump thump from the music below.

  “How do you sleep here?”

  She pulls open the drawer on her tiny table and grabs a pair of headphones. “Good talk, thanks again.”

  “That’s not going to work for me, Missi. I’m not going anywhere right now.”

  I jump when I hear a thundering scream from outside, suddenly punctuated with yells of "motherfucker" and "you cock-sucking whore". I snatch up the shade in time to see a crowd of bodies spill onto the sidewalk and watch as punches are thrown around indiscriminately. The bike- dancing girl from earlier is tugging on the arm of a bald-headed brute, yelling incomprehensible gibberish and trying to pull him away from another man. Then I see the green neon light glint off the blade of a knife in someone’s hand and hear a tearing scream when it finds flesh.