The Villain

I zigzagged to the door, flung it open, and stepped out of the barn. Hunter grunted, following me. It wasn’t lost on me that the tables had turned. I was the shitshow brother now, and he was the responsible family man.

“She saved my ass,” I said as my brother tracked me down the dirt path back to the main cabin. “Tutoring that asshole’s kids. Digging up dirt on him. She did it for me. All this time, I thought she was just getting back at me for being cruel to her.”

“You cursed,” he noted.

No fucking shit, Sherlock.

And it felt too good to fucking stop, dammit.

Since Tourette’s syndrome was known as “that cursing disorder,” I’d made it a point to never utter a swear word. There was no better way to distance myself from the stigma. But profanity was never my problem. I’d never cursed during my attacks.

At that moment, though, I had an acute case of not giving a fuck.

Not giving a fuck if people found out.

Not giving a fuck if cursing wasn’t proper or well-mannered.

Not noble enough for the heir of Royal Pipelines.

“Persy’s in love with you,” he grumbled, still following me.

“She’s in love with the idea of me.” Many women were. “What it comes down to is this, ceann beag. She is, and always will be, a woman I’d bought like a sack of potatoes. She came with a price tag, like all the women before her. And if you can buy it, you can replace it. I’ll find someone else. And Persephone? She’ll marry again, too.”

Hunter stopped. I soldiered on, past the cabin, toward my car. I needed to get over this little self-pity party, drive back to the office, and start putting things in motion.

Suddenly, I felt something heavy and damp plastered to my back. I turned around. My brother had thrown manure on me.

“What the f—”

“You asswipe!” He crouched down, grabbing another ball of manure in the dark. I’d never fought with my younger brother. And we’d definitely never been physical. There was nothing brotherly about us, other than the title.

He knew it.

I knew it.

Hunter aimed—and caught—my shoulder.

“Stop it,” I growled, narrowing my eyes at him.

He ignored me, kneeling to grab more manure. A childish zing of vengeance sparked inside me. I lowered myself to grab as much manure as I could find.

“She was never in love with your persona, assface.” Hunter swung his arm backward, like a baseball player, and caught me in the chest. I aimed my ball of shit to his face, striking a good portion of his neck and chin.

Now we were both in deep shit. Literally.

“Stalin had a more loveable character, you moron. She was always stupidly—and may I add unreasonably—in love with your ass!”

He threw another ball at me.

I threw one back at him.

“She owed a lot of money,” I yelled back. “I paid her debt. That’s why she married me.”

“I know!” Hunter laughed hysterically, deserting the manure and pouncing on me. He shoved me to the ground, twisting the lapels of my blazer as he pinned me down. “I know, because after the night Persy came to accept your offer in the blizzard, I knocked on her door. I knew I had to make it right. Not for her, or for you, but for my wife. I didn’t want anything to upset Sailor so early in the pregnancy. Persy told me about her debt. I offered to pay it in full and wrote a check right in front of her.”

I blinked at him, confused and disappointed with myself for wanting to hear the rest, blood thundering through my head.

“You wrote a check?” I growled. “Doesn’t your generation Venmo?”

He lowered his head to mine, his eyes burning with rage. “She tore the bitch up in front of my face and told me she was marrying your sorry ass. She wanted to marry you! Stipulations and assholery included. Now my question is this—how did you manage to lose her? How did you let the only girl you’ve ever loved just…go?”

“I don’t—”

“Of course you do!” He smashed my head against the dirt. I twisted, grabbing him by the shirt and rolling him over, switching our positions so I was on top of him now.

“You fool, anyone with a pair of working eyes could see you’re crazy about her. You couldn’t look Persephone in the eye like a six-year-old for as long as you’ve known her. You couldn’t bring yourself to attend her goddamn wedding. You’ve had it bad for her from the moment you saw her. You let her go because of your stupid insecurities. Because you are so convinced you’re Hades, doomed, dark, and unredeemable, you haven’t even bothered to read the myth all the way.”

He reached to wrap his fingers around my throat, pressing, draining the oxygen out of me.

“Persephone!” He clasped harder.

“Loved!” He shook me by the neck.

“Hades!”

“I don’t l-l-l-love her.” I heaved, plummeting into his face with my fists. Stuttering. Losing it.

Hunter smiled through the pain.

“Say it louder,” he whispered.

“I don’t lo-lo-lo dammit! Love her!” I punched him again. This time his jawline.

“Louder.”

“Are you an idiot?” I didn’t know why I asked this question. I was already well aware my brother possessed the intelligence of a turkey. A cum-stuffed one, for that matter. “I don’t love my wife.”

He punched me back, laughing. We rolled on the ground, hitting each other, yanking hair, poking eyes, cursing, and grunting like two cavemen.

Like two brothers.

I kept saying I didn’t love her, and Hunter kept cackling as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

I didn’t know how much time had passed, but when we were done, we both looked and smelled like horse shit.

Panting and sweating, we were covered in mud and manure head-to-toe.

Hunter was the first to stand and stomp back to his car.

“Apologize,” I demanded to his retreating back. He waved me off.

“Siblings don’t apologize. They just start acting nice to each other. Now, you ain’t driving anywhere after polishing off a bottle of vodka. Get your ass in my car. I’m throwing you in the shower and taking you to see your niece.”

I opened my mouth to say something. Even though he couldn’t see me, he still raised his palm in warning.