Page 36 of His Pretty Little Duet

"Oh." He grins with not a hint of concern in his expression. "The eye? Drazic, of course. I gave him a good shiner, too."

"You know Butch has MRIs once a year." I pause, scanning the youthful face of my youngest brother, beaten and stupidly smiling. Drazic would be at the bottom of the river if this happened outside the ring. Yet, I know my brother probably coaxed him into a bare-knuckle fight. It's how our father trained—a means to make the comps less impactful, less intimidating. Gloves don't hurt when you have had ninety kilograms worth of bare fist thrust into your face. "You keep this up?—"

He scoffs. "Yeah, I know, Clay."

"Don't interrupt me," I state, clasping my hands together in front of me. "Is that what you want for your future? At the moment, you make us all look like fools, but you keep taking hits like that, and you won't be taking the bar; you'll be taking food through a straw."

He releases a quick chuckle, dripping in derision. "I appreciate the concern, but I was beaten up enough as a kid... Still smarter than you. At least now I get hit by choice. Now I can fight back. I win, too."

I frown at that lie. Even though I wasn't home for most of his childhood, I know my brothers. "No one ever dared touch you as a kid, Xan. Bronson and Max wouldn’t allow it."

"Sure, mate. You know everything," he says, standing up. "Fawn doesn't want any clothes, by the way." He laughs once, his amusement striking hot pokers into that Butcher head of mine."She doesn't like being told what to do either... She saidno. Well, actually, she is very polite, so she said,'No thank you.'"

"Like hell she did."

Xander's smile shifts from amused to measuring.Little shit.I'm usually far more neutral, but she's in my care, my responsibility, pregnant and being fucking...Fuck.

Prideful.

She should just say yes. Not even thank you. And she shouldn’t deny my offerings. I don't need her to tell me how to care for her, which, despite how it came about is now my duty. And I'm a busy man; I don't have time to convince her to comply.

Christ, she's getting to me.

Dual-coloured eyes are in my head. Her questions aboutme, not the business—me.Asking about my insomnia. Giving a shit, and then not letting me give a shit in return.

Frustration circles me.

Striding away before my perceptive little brother can analyze my tone further, I head towards the pool. Still before the French glass doors, the sight of a perfectly shaped figure dripping with water comes into view.

I watch as she climbs from the pool. The swell of her arse stretches her knickers. My brows tighten as she stands in full view of everyone, the guards, cleaners, everyone.

Her underwear is clearly too small for her now, her having put on a few kilograms since she's been under my care, but she refuses new clothes. My little people-pleaser is eager to charm everyone with her pleases and thankyous but she doesn't want to charm me?

Veins of heat rush up my arms.

My breathing becomes shallow, my eyes glued to the lower curve of each cheek, the material dipping into the gap between them, stuck to her like another layer of skin. Blood pumps to my cock, lengthening it across my leg to agony.

Past Fawn, Lee grins nonchalantly as though she isn't damn near naked in front of him. This is not acceptable. She knocks his shoulder with her fist in a playful gesture, comfortable in his presence.

The heat in my arms begins to hurt.

Twisting to the lounger, she bends over to grab her clothes, and I inadvertently ball my hands into fists, the heat curling my fingers at the sight of her soft wet thighs, and the curves of her pussy lips visible between them, the tight wet material translucent.

Perfect.

Then Lee tilts his head and peers down, seeing what I'm seeing.

And I don't even think.

I stride through the doors, drawing my Glock from the holster around my belt. Upon him before he can even blink those wandering eyes, I take a fistful of his hair, shadow him, and press the Glock to his lips, demanding entry to his mouth.

His eyes gape with terror.

The metal clinks as I scrape it along his teeth.

"Mine," I hiss.Mine. Mine.A word I didn't know I would use, but now that I have, it takes root inside me. My responsibility. Mine to protect. Mine to care for. To clothe. To look at.Mine.

A trembling little boy stares up at me, and I realise I'm out of my goddamn mind, plagued with fatigue and in need of a fuck, but that changes nothing. I want to remove his eyes, but I fight that dark impulse.

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