By my fifth ladder, I feel no less angry. If anything my body that’s shaking with adrenaline wants bloodshed. Six days. Six days. Six days. Six days. That’s it. Then I’m taking my win and my brother with me.
“Wager?” he asks in trepidation.
I smirk, wanting to see his face when I reveal what I want this time.
Does he even remember what he signed up for? His gamble versus mine? I’ll win. I’ll kill Rusty myself. That’s the only true way to get his disgusting greasy face from my memories. He’s drilled into my mind, stitched onto my temporal lobe, refusing to detach until his life seeps from him. Seeing him breathing, a heart still beating after what he took… it makes me want to slaughter his entire family and drink the blood as he watches idly, crying like the baby he is. Why no other fucks of KJ bugged me is beyond me. Only Rusty. He pisses me right the fuck off.
The murder, our bet, it’s not like KJ wouldn’t get away with it. The illegal things we’ve done are broken laws that everyone is unlikely to get off scot-free. Yet, we do.
My relationship with KJ hasn’t been an easy one. Twins are meant to be inseparable, which we are… kind of. Things got twisted a while ago, and it seems I can’t untangle myself from those kinks.
The sound of the door sliding open has me stopping midsprint. When I peer over there, my brother stands. His arms are folded across his chest, and he’s wearing casual non-gym clothing. He doesn’t work out with me anymore. The last time we did, it didn’t go well. For either of us. Treading lightly as my feet move of their own accord, I’m right in front of him. His face isn’t happy, the scowl he rocks visceral, slicing into me like a blade, burrowing as deep as bone.
“The mistake was thinking we could overcome Rusty. Looks like we were both wrong.”
We’re less volatile separate.
Sad, when you think of how close we once were.
“What do you want?” I grump, pushing away from him, heading for my water bottle. As soon as I pop the cap and start to take a drink, he’s smacking it out of my grasp. The plastic catches on my lip, making a coppery tinge to touch my tongue.
“Bet is off,” he announces like he makes the rules.
Wrong. This has always been my game. You back out, you lose your life. Once, it may have been a joke, but with how much my soul sings for retribution, not even Kenji is safe. That’s not true, my mind rebels. I’d never hurt him. Without him, I’m nothing.
“The fuck it is,” I bark, gripping the front of his shirt. My chest—bare as a baby’s ass—brushes against him. The sweat dripping down me wets his shirt, making it stick to me as our space is near laughable. “It ends with blood, Rischio. You know the rules.” It’s a bitter antagonization, one I hope he feels deep in his bones.
“It’s off,” he bites back, pushing off my chest. “No more bets. No more of this shit.”
A chuckle, low and depraved, leaves me. It’s so self-deprecating that I can’t breathe from its intensity. “Don’t worry, brother. I’ll make sure to get it done. You know the wager. I’m not willing to let you out of it. I’ll win. You’ll be fucking mine.”
His face morphs a moment, flashing something like sadness. “I don’t have it in me. I’ve tried to come up with all the ways to do it. I can’t.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” I mock, hoping bullying him into it will work. But with how he holds himself, I’m almost certain forcing him to do this will ruin us. Mentally taking a step back, I inhale deeply. “Why have you always given in?” I ask him before he can yell at me for being a prick. It’s like he knows it; his lavender eyes soften in a way he saves particularly for me.
If we looked in a mirror, would we even look similar anymore? We’ve both changed, but the damage I’ve caused to him seems to be permanent. It’s a fixture on his face, in his stance, taking us from inseparable to removed.
“You’re my twin. The other half of me. My best friend…” He trails off, emotion clogging his features. “Were. You were all those things.”
“What changed?”
“Dishonesty,” he bites back, his glare scissoring between my ribs.
Kenjington Grim, my own personal autopsy, removing my barely beating heart first, making sure I’d see it before life left me.
“I’ve only ever been honest,” I argue, shaking my head. My chest still heaves from overworking, shaking in exhaustion and this conversation.
“No. You tell me you want to bet to kiss people, then steal shit, vandalize, beat up some, and it goes on and on.” He waves his hands before punching the wall in aggravation. “Then you want me to fuck some random kid that neither of us like. But it’s more than that, isn’t it, Salvatore?” Fisting his shirt, he pushes off the wall and rushes me. “You couldn’t just tell me, could you? Couldn’t admit that there’s something more…”
His hand connects with my chest again, but this time his palm is flat, explorative, almost worshiping. “Couldn’t admit you feel it. This weird fucking surge whenever we make bets that risk everything. Ones that make us do things together, but are used as an excuse because it’s wrong.”
Our eyes connect.
Lavender to lavender.
“Why not be honest? I’ve never judged you, not like that, for something that’s between us and only us.”
“KJ,” I start, trying to stop him. This bleeds too close to things we’re not allowed to want. Things I’ve avoided, forced him away from, and even hurt him in hopes he’d stay away.
“Don’t do that. Lie. Make up shit excuses as to what you’re feeling!” His voice raises, his body against mine, heart pounding in an irritated thrum. He grabs my chin, his thumb caressing my lip and piercing. It sends a surge through me, escalating, overpowering, winning. “We are twins, Atlas. I feel it. You. Us. I have since we were kids.”
“It’s wrong,” I admit, my soul aching in a way it shouldn’t be able to feel.
“It’s us, Salvatore.” Savior. Being Italian doesn’t have too many perks. Yeah, great food is nice. The language is beautiful. But it can be dark, muddied by greed. It’s our life. We’re besmirched by it all. Soiled in this past our parents have. This Society that protects us without reasoning.
“Rischio,” I sound out. Risk.
For the longest time, he was my risk. Even now.
My stake. My bet. My wager. Kenjington, my twin brother.
It’s him.
Every single time.
“Fuck, just do it already, Atlas. I can’t take it anymore!” he lets out, raising his arms aggressively. Does he mean kill Rusty? Because he’s right on the nose, and he doesn’t need to ask twice. He pushes me against the wall as he breathes deeply. He’s being pulled apart with guilt from my bet. My intentions were never to let him win. My blade would slice into that fucker; it’d leak his blood, and I’d watch as his life seeped from him. That is my want—I just want KJ to be mine without strings attached.
“This was a mistake,” I hiss as he boxes me in.
Don’t push, Kenjington. Be the moral compass between us.
Chapter Four
Kenji
His bare chest rests beneath my palms, and the dim lighting in this room makes it feel more romantic than it should. We’re brothers—romance isn’t supposed to enter the equation. Ever. His skin brushes against mine. Not in an inappropriate way, but also, not in a way brothers look at each other.
It’s something I’ve fought all year.
The pull.
That’s untruthful. It’s been longer than a year—it only erupted the night I won the bet. The first win I’d followed through and reaped the benefits. Usually, I let them slide. It’s all fun and games until you want your brother to have your markings. Especially when it’s the only way he’s allowed to have them. Bets aren’t supposed to be too serious, even if they’ve ventured this way. The new one though? Killing Rusty… it feels wrong. Not because he isn’t a tool, but rather, for him not doing anything we didn’t push him into. He didn’t ask me to fuck him for my brother, not that he compla
ined.
Jealousy rides my brother. It’s what burns behind his purple eyes, uncovering his truths. I feel it every time he forces a bet that makes me touch others. He knows it, he senses it, and refutes it just the same. Like the night I fucked Rusty on his bed, purposely choosing to use his bedroom to rile him up. He hates losing, but until that night, it didn’t dawn on me he hated sharing me more. It’s obvious, not only in the way he made me orgasm, but in the way he wanted me to know I only did because he allowed it.
Without him, faking it would have been my only option. Rusty didn’t do it for me. No one does.
Watching my brother study me as my eyes roam him effervescently, I groan, unable to contain it any longer. My fingers dig into the inked torso that would match mine if not for tattoos, nipple piercings, and that fucking freckle that I have every intention to lick.
My brother’s body is a masterpiece. Head to toe, he’s everything I’ve wanted. His tatted arms, hips, the script under his right arm. I am already dead. It’s something I’ve always wanted to know the meaning of. He’s not talkative about those things, or really anything to me. But the best part of his beautiful body: the tattoo I’d rightfully won, it resides over his heart like we wagered. In reality, it’s more, painted across his entire chest too, skating over each inch in confidence. Not Kenji, no. Kenjington. My entire name fully crests, covering him. A marker of ownership, a fucking promise.
“Let’s try,” I suggest, knots twisting in my gut. Why did I just ask that? Am I fucking nuts? Who asks their brother to try to date, or be anything other than familial? Me. This stupid fucker. It’s wrong. Not just in the eyes of the law, but the community, world, and everything in between.
Social norms keep us apart, but who has to know?
Me.
Him.
What if I’m reaching? He may think I’m as insane as I’m currently feeling.
“Kenjington,” he whispers faintly, letting out a deep breath. Atlas never calls me by my full name. No one does. It’s formal, almost ridiculous. For him to say it, he’s struggling with whatever he’s feeling. His face stricken with remorse contorts with whatever runs through his mind. He runs a shaky palm through his hair before cupping the back of his thick tattooed neck. My favorite words show when he stays in that position.
“No one has to know,” I add. “Just us. You and me. Like always. It’ll be a bet, one to stick it out. Be ourselves, no matter what people think.” He pulls my hand off his chin, grabbing the back of my neck, bringing our foreheads to one another. His chest bumps mine as he inhales deeply. The loudness of that breath has my heart accelerating.
Shocking us both, I close the distance, bringing his lips to mine. The immediate burst of heady need whirs inside me. My heart and head no longer war with repercussions, it only starts a new battle of how right this feels. We don’t move. Frozen in time. Stuck between this mode of not right, but perfectly functional.
Sane.
Insane.
Brothers.
He hesitates only briefly, then surprises me with his own passion, pulling me against his lips harder, parting them with his tongue. The salty sweat from his mouth tickles my taste buds, stealing a groan. His tongue ring—my favorite—teases the nerve endings in my mouth. It’s enticing and hot, and I’m fucking wasted on the feeling.
I’ve kissed loads of guys, touched even more, but this—this is entirely different. The modicum of emotion I’ve barely felt with them is amplified with Atlas. It’s swimming through me like an Olympic medal is at stake, relaxing me.
He’s wrecking me.
We fight for control. He grips my throat while I grip his. The way his body shivers as my fingers press against the skull on his neck has my dick rejoicing. Mine. Mine. Mine. No matter the severity of how wrong it is, that our parents would probably split us apart, or even jail, the repercussions don’t matter as his mouth is against mine.
Our bodies press against the wall nearest the door, the cold biting into my skin. He’s winning this battle of will. It should scare me, piss me off that he’s trying to win even now, but it feels almost natural to succumb, to let go.
My body seizes as his teeth drag across my bottom lip. The pleasure bites at me as surely as he does, making me groan.
“Fuck,” he hisses, pulling away, our arms still connecting us. “Fuck!” His voice carries throughout the room as he drops his hand. “KJ. We can’t do this.”
Hearing those words, the sadness in his tone, it brings the strength necessary to push for this. I’m not a pushover by any means, but not fighting for this, for us… it’s not something I can let go. Gripping his hips, switching us to where he’s pressed against the wall, his body heaving heavily, I feel powerful.
He grunts as I press into him, making our chests meld together. The spiked barbells in his nipples scratch against me tortuously, reminding me how long I’ve wanted this closeness, the one that felt impossible. But he’s not pushing away again, he’s waiting for my move. Our gazes connect. We need this.
My mouth crashes against his again, and the noise that seems to drag from him has me grinding against his hard erection. With only his gym shorts protecting him and my thin joggers, we’re practically touching. I tease his top lip with a long slide of my tongue, and he opens with defeat.
Our battle stales. It’s not even me conquering, it’s us. He grips my neck, forcing us even closer. We moan as he rocks into me. His hand snakes down my chest, not stopping until it’s to my shirt’s hemline. My gaze connects with his as his silent question fills me with salacious need.
We don’t speak as his fingers dip underneath the band, or as his fingers touch the trimmed brown curls, exploring me entirely. When he finally makes contact with my dick, we hiss together. His fingers, rough but sure, cup me with reverence.
“Kenjington,” he barely mutters, his hand holding me like its meant to be there. I throb everywhere—my heart beats in my shaft, and my chest feels like it’ll combust.
“Yeah?” It takes almost all my energy to speak that single syllable, but the tilt of his lips is worth it.
“Fuck.”
We both chuckle at that. As he still clutches me, I’m very aware of our proximity, shocked that we’ve even gotten this far. I was sure walking in here, we’d get into a brawl for my decision to not kill Rusty, but we’re so disconnected from that.
“I-I’ve never felt this way before,” he stutters, gulping air. His cheeks redden; it’s such a pretty color, one he never wears.
“You think this is something I’m used to?” I joke, but it’s true. I’ve never dated, even if it’s something I’ve sought after. No one has lit the candle for me so to speak.
“You’re more romantic than I am in every way,” he explains.
He’s not wrong.
“Then let me sweet-talk you out of those shorts,” I taunt. His eyes flicker to mine, heat covering the worry, drowning, drowning, drowning until it’s gone entirely. He releases me, slipping his hands out of my pants, and I lower. If anyone passed by—regardless of this being our house—we’d be fine. It almost looks like I’m tying his shoes.
He peers down at me, arousal swimming in those lavender hues. “You shouldn’t look so good there.” His teeth graze his plump bottom lip, and it makes me want to replace them with my own. Hooking my fingers under the material of his shorts, I drag them down.
His massive erection bobs up. No way. How is his dick bigger than mine? He chuckles as if hearing my inner thoughts.
“Just got lucky,” he teases. The tip is swollen, leaking for me, and fuck… my eyes travel across his length, seeing several barbells.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, too stunned for more words. He has five piercings on his cock, all going down the underside in a row.
“Jacob’s ladder. Feels so damn good, Rischio,” he explains, tipping my chin so I’m looking at him. “I’ll show you.” The heat seeps from his expression into my body, making me stiffen in anticipation.
I’ll show you. Fuc
k me. Please do. I’m nodding as he smiles mischievously.
Chapter Five
Atlas
I stare down at him as his eyes eat me up. His position on his knees feels like kismet. Since we were kids, regardless of us being born eight minutes apart, he’s always sought me out for advice, looking up to me when we’re the same in almost every way.
“Have you ever sucked dick?” I question as his eyes comically widen at my piercings. He swallows, that thick throat bobbing slowly. I want to lick it, bite it, and devour him whole. But there’s time for that. We have time to explore.
“I’ve had mine sucked,” he muses with a smirk. Fuck. Jealousy slices through me, imagining anyone touching him before me. What we are to each other, what we’re about to do, it can get us killed. Not just in the Society, but in the Grim family. We abide by rules. Being gay is one of the ones we break every day, let alone the clusterfuck we’ve just added. It’s insane they haven’t sought action for our explorations over the years.
“Guess you’re going to learn today, Kenjington,” I mock, pointing my cock at his mouth. He swipes his tongue over the turgid head. It feels fucking phenomenal, and I find my eyes closing to absorb the pleasure. He explores, using my thighs to hold himself upright as he flicks my flesh seductively. Him never sucking someone off seems too far off—I’m ready to blow my load, and he hasn’t even taken me down his throat.
His fingers dig into my muscles, and I groan. He tongues my balls, and the wet hot feeling of him against me is unfuckingreal. Opening my eyes to him, it’s as if he waited for it. As soon as our gazes connect, he takes me in his mouth.
“Shit,” I hiss, my voice deeper than normal. “Sure you haven’t done this before?”
He laughs around my length, then releases one of his palms to grip my balls. He’s pulling and squeezing as he bobs his head. It’s sloppy. Drool dribbles down his chin as he works my shaft. My dick throbs, loving the way he tongues my piercings every time he pops off. His teeth meet my sensitive flesh, digging into me roughly, and I’m fucking shaking. My body tenses with rapture, and it takes everything in me not to explode.
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