Jeez, that kiss… it burned through me like a wildfire, almost brought me to my knees.

It doesn’t matter how hard I fight this attraction. Like a moth to the dancing flame, I’m always drawn to him.

Even when he’s so worried.

Especially when he’s so worried. God help me, but I’ve grown fond of that brooding expression on his ruggedly handsome face, and the need to take away his pain is all-consuming.

Consuming me, my thoughts, my dreams. He stars in those dreams, night after night, his muscular, inked body covering mine, his cock pushing into me, filling me up. His mouth drinking in my moans and cries, his arms bracketing me, keeping me safe as I come again and again, freefalling.

Believing this moment with him will last.

The bus drops me off on the main street, and I climb down, taking a minute to redo my ponytail and straighten my dress.

I don’t think Matt realized I left earlier than usual, or maybe he did and thought it was because I’d stayed the night and wanted to check in on my mom and siblings.

But the truth is that I want to get to Jasper’s Garage before it closes.

Talk to Ross.

Sure, I’d rather be prying out my own teeth with rusty pliers, but if this is his new brand of bullying—making the people around me suffer just to get to me, well…

Well, he’s succeeding. And this can’t go on. His stupid pranks made my school years unbearable, but he never went this far.

Not sure how to make him stop, though.

Better go in the talk to him before I overthink this, right?

…right. Because planning ahead might sound sensible, but not when you’re walking into an impossible situation armed only with anger and hope.

Then you’re better off not thinking at all.

At least that’s the pep talk I give myself as I walk toward the garage, like a fighter going into the cage. A cage containing a lion, at least that’s what it feels like when the garage comes into view and my steps slow.

My heart booms.

You can do this, Octavia. Nothing to it. Just walk up to the guy and tell him to stop or… Or else what? You’ll spank him?

I stop in front of the garage. It’s like déjà vu. How much time has passed since the day Matt stood between me and Jasper, me and Ross? The day he told them I worked for him?

The day he claimed me, that’s how it’s called in my mind, but I shouldn’t think that way.

I really shouldn’t.

Even if I agreed to having a picnic with him and his kids tomorrow in the garden, outside work hours.

Even though I stayed with him last night, in his bed. And we had sex before that in the bathroom. And in the kitchen.

Very much outside work hours and as far over and beyond professional boundaries as you can possibly get without becoming lost in the desert.

Jesus. Stop thinking about that. About Matt.

But it’s easier said than done, especially since what I’m about to do has everything to do with Matt.

Here goes nothing…

* * *

Striding into Jasper’s Garage like I own the place isn’t something that happens every day. Many heads turn and whispers start as I cross the car bay, searching for Ross.

Whoever said men don’t gossip is clueless. They just gossip using monosyllables and sign language. They’re specialists.

They’re also good at communicating quickly, probably a remnant from their hunter-gatherer days. A whistle, a wag of brows, a whispered word over cars and engine parts, and by the time I reach the other end of the garage, Ross is standing there, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his work pants.

Smirking at me.

“Still looking for a sugar daddy?” he drawls, looking at me from under his lashes. With his dirty blond hair and blue eyes, he looks a lot like Merc sometimes, which annoys me even more. “I knew you’d come crawling back.”

“Screw you, asshole.”

“Not today, baby.”

God, I hate him. “I came to tell you to stop with your stupid-ass games. It isn’t funny, Ross.”

He lifts a pale brow. “Games? I like the idea. Shall we play a game, then?”

“No,” I hiss, all too aware of all the eyes on us, all the mechanics listening in to this godawful exchange. “We won’t. Let’s be straight with each other for once.”

“Straight? You mean, unlike your little faggot brother?”

“Shut up, Ross.” My heart is pounding inside my throat, making speaking difficult. “He’s not, and in any case, it’s none of your business.”

“You sure about that?”

Jesus, what is he talking about now? “I only came here to tell you to stop posting those moronic messages on Matt’s door and mine and Adam’s.”

He’s frowning now, lower lip sticking out—just like Merc does when he’s upset.

Christ.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he mutters. “I never wrote any fucking messages. And I don’t know who the hell Adam is.”

“My neighbor. The one I…” Sort of dated. But not really. “We sometimes have ice cream together.”

“That guy? Adams. Jeff Adams? He was here the other day to get his car fixed.”

I shake my head. “No, you got his name all wrong. But it doesn’t matter. Seriously, you have to stop.”

He takes a step toward me, eyes blazing, looming over me. “Or what, B-Slut? What will you do? Will you and your loser, piece-of-shit family come after me? Huh?”

Instinctively I take a step back, like I’ve always done around him. But hey, his shoulders aren’t even half as broad as Matt’s, and he suddenly looks like an overgrown kid, a kid on stilts, trying to scare me.

So I stand my ground, shocked at the sudden loss of fear. “Stop changing the topic.”

“What, about your family?” He sidles up closer, and yeah, I’m not scared, only furious when he goes on, “My Pretty Bastards, Dad calls you. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“Know what? That both you and your dad are douchebags? Already knew it.”

“That we’re family. Oh, you didn’t know? Hadn’t guessed?” He smirks. He’s so close, his stench of sweat and grease is turning my stomach. “Never guessed the truth, even with all the hints I’ve been dropping?”

“Guessed what?” I ask, horrified when my voice breaks.

“That you are my dad’s fucking bastards.”

* * *

Not true.

Can’t be true.

No. No frigging way. He’s lying. Always lying. Always bullying me. He likes that, likes scaring me and shocking me and humiliating me. This was definitely a show for the benefit of the guys in the garage, his buddies, nothing more.

But doubt gnaws at me as I walk home though the quiet streets, casting glances over my shoulders for no good reason.

Except there’s a psycho pranker out there who may or may not be Ross, and I never noticed before how dark it is out here when a lamppost has burned out, casting half the street in shadow.

I shiver and hasten my pace, clutching my light coat to my chest. In my old-fashioned dress and heels, I feel like a heroine in a Hitchcock movie.

Great, Octavia. Scare yourself shitless for no reason, why don’t you.

Besides… everything Ross said still swirls around in my head in a dizzying eddy. He’s been calling me a bastard girl since I can remember.

It wasn’t a simple insult. He meant it. He knew.

It all comes back to this. Ross knew. Jasper knew.

Why were we the only ones kept in the dark? I need to talk to someone about it, I need…

I take out my phone and my finger hovers over Matt’s number. Crazy that he’s the first person I want to tell about this, and not Gigi, or Merc, or…

Mom.

Does Mom know this?

What am I thinking? If anyone knows, it’s her. She kind of had to be there when she conceived us.

Of course she knows, and all this time she’s been pretending that our dad up and left, vanished into the frigging sunset.

If Ross is telling the truth.

Is he? About this, about the messages, about everything.

And if he is… oh God. Suddenly all his lewd comments turn my stomach until it’s all I can not to hurl.

He’s my half-brother? The bully who tormented me all my life? And all this time he knew. Everyone knew but me. Everyone…

I’m hurrying along, anxious to get home even if I don’t want to face Mom and the truth. I’m walking as fast as my heels allow me, looking down at my phone, at Matt’s number.

To call or not to call?

And tell him what—that the rumors were right all this time? That I’m not just a bastard, but the lovechild of the douchebag he works for, and half-sister to the monster who may or may not be making our life hell?

No, I should talk to Mom first, confront her about this. See her reaction, see if she’ll admit it’s true or tell me it was a lie.

Two more steps and a hand slaps over my mouth, cutting off my air. A thick arm wraps around my neck, hauling me backward. I gasp, my lungs seizing, my muscles freezing, my knees locking in shock.

My heels drag on the sidewalk. My phone drops from my nerveless fingers to the ground.

Oh shit.

The words spin in a loop inside my mind as my attacker stops and tightens his arm around my neck like an iron bar, unrelenting, not letting me draw breath.

“You,” he hisses in my ear and I shudder, “will pay for fucking him. And he will pay for what he’s done. You will all fucking pay.” At least that’s what I think he says. His voice is muffled, not very clear. Yet the words that come next hit me like a punch. “You stick with him, bitch, you die. Everyone around him dies.”

I jerk in his hold, trying to free myself. He’s going to kill me and ditch my body in a field somewhere for the crows to find.

God, please… not like this.

“Stay. Away. From him.” Suddenly his arm is gone from my neck. “If you as much as open your mouth to shout when I release you, I’ll shoot you.”

Holy shit, is he packing a gun? Is he bluffing?

It strikes me that the voice is somehow familiar, even muffled and distorted. Was it Ross? Who was it?

I’m shaking so bad I can hardly stay upright as he removes his hand from my mouth. Tears are running down my cheeks. I hadn’t even noticed.

He moves away from me, a light scrunch of a shoe on the concrete, a rustle.

Come on, Octavia. Turn. You have to see who he is.

Before I lose my last shred of courage, I look over my shoulder and spot a tall guy with a ski mask over his face jumping over a fence a few houses down, vanishing in the shadows of trees.

I stumble to where my phone is lying on the sidewalk, the plastic casing cracked. I brush it over my black dress, leaving a dusty streak. My hand is shaking so bad I almost drop it again.

Jesus. Can’t believe what just happened. Taking stock of my body, I know I’m not hurt, but I’m so shaken up I can’t think what to do next.

What does one do in such a case?

Call the police.

And Matt.

Oh God, I have to warn Matt.