After Trey had spent an hour roaming around in his room, Brittany’s breathing evened enough for him to believe she’d fallen into a deep sleep. She was killing him. His want of her was near desperation. She, on the other hand, saw him as a friend she could always lean on, forgetting he was a man and not a saint. She’d wanted him to help her in the shower, for God’s sake.
His cock gave an accusing jerk. “Yeah I know, bro.” He sighed. “We could have had a nice, warm home.”
And he could’ve had a bullet in his ass. Trey didn’t even want to consider the possibilities if Bryson had walked in on either scenario. Finding Trey helping Brittany in the shower would’ve been just as bad as Bryson finding Trey making love to her. Not that they hadn’t walked in on each other in the middle of fucking a woman—several times. But Bryson walking in on Trey pumping into another woman was quite different than the man walking in on him pumping his own sister.
Brittany moved and he glanced at her. Truth be told, he’d been in here more to look at her than to do anything else. Her hair was spread across his pillow, dark and shiny against the white cotton.
She moaned, her café au lait complexion flushed. She kicked at the covers and Trey realized she hadn’t changed from the clothes she’d been in yesterday. Her movements were making the dress ride up along her legs, revealing smooth calves and pretty knees.
With a growl of frustration, he stomped to the bed and jerked the covers back into place, lust riding him hard. He forced himself to remember all the reasons why he couldn’t make love to her. Worse, someone had hurt her. She hadn’t yet admitted to being assaulted but Trey knew the signs. She was so vulnerable right now.
His longstanding relationship with her gave him an unfair advantage when it came to getting her into his bed. Knowing what he did, their age difference and their lifelong association made an affair between them seem like a gross betrayal.
Besides, Trey didn’t want any woman saddled with him. Every time he answered a call his life was in jeopardy.
No he wouldn’t ask any woman—but especially not Brittany—to bear his name and his children and risk leaving her a widow and their children fatherless. His father’s death had devastated him. They’d been so close. So damn close. His father had been his idol, his hero, and his mother’s prince.
Then some deranged lunatic had shot him pointblank in the head during what should’ve been a “routine” traffic stop. There was nothing routine about being a police officer. Cops put their lives on the line each time they stepped into uniform and trolled the streets.
Brittany deserved better. He looked at her again. She was so beautiful and she had the ability to make him do whatever she wanted. If she kept tempting him and asking him to make love to her, both overtly and covertly, he’d give in.
Trey thought of Karl’s words. Whether he liked the way his cousin had phrased his observations or not, Karl had been correct. Trey had been sniffing behind her for years. Fuck but he deserved to be castrated.
In that moment, Trey wished he possessed some of Karl’s qualities. His cousin was even-tempered and the type of centered and spiritual person who could help her through her ordeal much better than Trey could, with his quick temper, lustful urges and foul mouth.
Grim, he headed to the living room in search of Bryson. He’d heard him leaving his bedroom a while ago and just as Trey suspected, Bryson was on the sofa. After showering and changing out of his uniform, Bryson liked to sleep on the couch during the day. Today though, he wasn’t sleeping. He was sitting up, staring into space, looking like a man who’d just been pole axed, a fresh uniform on, his eyes rimmed with fatigue, stubble covering his jaw. Bryson didn’t need to go back on duty right now. He needed to sleep.
“I’m gonna fix myself something to eat,” Trey announced, the image of Brittany in his bed imprinted in his mind. Even worse, memories of the night she’d been so sweet and yielding, allowing his mouth on her—all over her—were seizing him. He wanted her mouth hot and open, taking his tongue and moving over his cock. He ached to find relief deep inside her.
He was a goddamn beast. He needed to be her friend and help her through her crisis. Instead he was fantasizing about sinking into her hot depths and coming in her like a sex fiend. Trey cleared his throat. “Would you like some bacon, sausage, eggs and grits?”
Bryson moved like a tin man—stiff and mechanical. He looked at Trey and blinked. “Brittany has a lover.”
The story she’d spun had been quite convincing. If Trey hadn’t found her in his closet, he would’ve believed her story and been mad as hell. He could imagine how Bryson felt as her older brother.
“She’s a grown woman,” Trey pointed out. “Very pretty. Beautiful.”
His cautious observations didn’t faze Bryson. It seemed as if it had just dawned on him his little sister had grown up and the revelation subdued him, quelling his usual conniption fits.
“Suppose she turns up pregnant?” Bryson asked in acidic tones.
He sounded both bitter and disappointed and Trey empathized with his friend. What was or had been was sometimes the hardest to let go.
“All my arguments with Momma that Brittany should go to college, all my hard work, would be down the drain.”
“This isn’t about you,” Trey responded, covering his irritation by going to the kitchen.
Bryson followed behind him just as Trey suspected. He doubted his friend had eaten since they arrived home.
“I doubt Brittany knows you’re the one helping your mother with her tuition.”
Bryson grunted. One of the chairs creaked as he sat and Trey cringed. One of these days, one of them would land on his ass when a chair gave way beneath his weight.
“She’s a straight-A student—” he began.
“Was a straight-A student,” Bryson interrupted with no small amount of annoyance. “Her damn grades are abominable.”
Surprising. Brittany had taken pride in maintaining her 4.0 average. “Have you spoken to her? She’s always wanted to become a forensic pathologist. Help solve murders. Put the bad guys away. Give closure to grieving families.”
“She wanted to become a forensic pathologist.” Heaving a deep sigh, Bryson stood and went to the refrigerator. “She decided against majoring in biology. She wants a bachelor’s degree in social work.”
Trey’s throat tightened. He stared at Bryson as his friend pulled a half-full gallon of milk out of the refrigerator, uncapped it and drank from the container. Questions only she could answer ran amok in Trey’s mind and prevented him from barking out his annoyance at Bryson’s disgusting habit. Somehow hearing she’d changed her college major only helped validate Trey’s suspicions. She might not want to talk but she’d want to help in a face-to-face way that social work provided. She excelled in assuming responsibility for everything and everyone around her.
Trey had the sinking feeling she thought to do good by sacrificing her dream. Cold anger flashed through him and he decided against cooking breakfast. He took down a box of Wheaties, got two bowls and two spoons and set everything out on the table, before grabbing the container of milk from Bryson.
Bryson scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know. Three or four months after she turned sixteen, my little sister changed.”
Trey crunched on his cereal. She’d dropped out of cheerleading, something she’d loved. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. The gaggle of girls she’d always hung out with had faded away. The football players who’d trailed behind her had disappeared. Now he wondered which one of those little bastards had forced himself on her. That’s when whatever happened to her must have occurred. That’s when she’d changed. All he needed was a name and so help him he’d commit murder one. Cold-blooded, pre-meditated murder.
“Bryson.”
Trey searched for words, not wanting to unleash a raging beast, but Bryson looked pathetic, dejected and lost, as if Brittany’s failings were his fault. Setting his bowl of cereal aside, he eyed it with distaste then looked at Bryson. Trying to act and sound casual, he asked, “How many rape scenes have you responded to? The victims’ entire lives are shattered by some sick bastard. Nothing is ever the same for them. Even if they get immediate medical help, many assault victims are scarred for life. Imagine how it is for the ones who keep quiet about what’s happened to them. Some turn to drugs and alcohol. Some commit suicide or try to. Others try to go on but fail at life. Piece by piece, their lives fall apart.”
Trey watched as Bryson absorbed his words and saw when a light seemed to go off. His eyes widened and his mouth worked. “You think she was raped?” he choked out after a heartbeat.
“Yes.” Blind loathing seeped into him but until he knew the full story, his anger was misguided and his haphazard, unfocused thoughts were dangerous. “If she wasn’t raped, then she suffered some type of traumatic attack.”
The barrage of emotions on Bryson’s face played out faster than a quick-moving storm. “Aw, no, man, not my baby sister.”
Not my baby girl, Trey thought, a range of emotions vibrating through him.
“I have to talk to her.”
“No you don’t. If she hasn’t told in all these years, demanding answers from her will worsen matters. She has to trust us enough to want to tell us what happened. And with whom,” he added, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“She’s my damn sister.” Bryson’s anger exploded. “I know her better than you do. Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”
“You’re an overbearing prick. You don’t fucking know her at all. You couldn’t even fucking tell she’s suffering from such a deep emotional wound it’s killing her in slow degrees.”
“Fuck you,” Bryson stormed in heated tones.
With a menacing glower, he left the kitchen. A moment later, the front door slammed, leaving Trey to wish he could use Bryson Donovan as a target on the shooting range.