Page 28 of Crown of Steel

Can’t afford any mistakes, though.

But there’s something about my little stepbrother. Something that has me spending far too much time thinking of him. Something that has me behaving like a bull, ready to devour its prey. It seems I can’t stop touching him. There’s something about him that makes me want to dig deeper and pry inside, like I’m studying some exotic animal. I don’t know if it’s got to do with his skittishness that borders on some social anxiety disorder. Or the way he freezes when he catches sight of me, a horrific deadpan stare on his handsome face. Perhaps it’s the way he practically melts into my hands, submitting to my every touch, that scowl burning fierce in his blue eyes.

It makes me wonder what goes on deep inside that delicate mind of his. He’s all sweet, smooth, innocent and shy, with that delicious bite in his words.

My competitor. Because if the family has decided to bring him into the family business, who’s to say they won’t make him CEO one day?

No, I can’t afford any mistakes.

But fuck, do I like him rattled and spitting foul words at me. It’s dangerous, the way my body reacts to his presence. From that very first moment he scurried inside our house, all shy and prickly, with that haunted look in those bright, blue eyes. Something in my chest pang, and I fucking hate it.

Fucking hate the way he toys with my heart and my future. Yeah, he’s got to pay for speeding up my heartrate.

Sitting myself down at my desk, I take a sip from my coffee, then open up my laptop. I start with checking what my calendar looks like for the remainder of the first semester. Wrong choice, because the number of ticked off time slots is kind of depressing.

Despite my morning work-out routine, Gaël insisted that I take two meditation moments per week. He has even already marked them off my timetable, his classes scribbled down with a bright yellow marker. My eyes catch the golden crosses that Louis marked on the calendar. One for last month, and one for next month, the date approaching rapidly.

The Initiations of the brotherhood have officially begun and those first months always take more time. Not every brother has been decently prepared by their dad, and sometimes the unknowing can lead to tensions. Just like in Régis’s case, where Dad can’t guide him through this procedure and has given me free reign instead. Although during their first gathering, this group looked promising. After all, there was only one pupil who didn’t show up for his first initiation.

My little stepbrother, telling the whole world how he doesn’t need a chaperone with his chin tilted and that distant, cool look on his face while his shoulders slump in anxiety.

Mon chaton, do you have any idea what mess you’re walking into?

I mean, he’s clever, the little shithead. But small, fragile, innocent, quirky Régis makes me do all sorts of things I should regret. Like groping his dripping cock in the back of an SUV and making him quiver. Fuck, so alluring. All dainty and feisty, with imaginary claws and all. It brings out my biggest asshole-y side, and trust me, he’s an even bigger asshole than I usually am.

Guzzling down the remainders of my coffee, I stare at the report on my computer screen, suddenly not so inspired anymore. I shouldn’t have taken that coffee after all. I’m feeling agitated, and distracted, mind filling with things I shouldn’t want. Perhaps I need to get my dick wet, or get that misplaced distress milked out of my system.

Dominique once asked me if I like it that people are afraid of me because of the reputation our family has gained.

Yeah, I guess I fucking do.

My little stepbrother being a fascinating creature shouldn’t be an obstacle. Call it unethical, I don’t care, but I could fuck him good and be done with this weird fascination. But Dad wants him in the business? Yeah, there’s a problem.

My little stepbrother is—alluring. Which makes him dangerous. And dangers need to be eliminated.

Grabbing my mug, I head back to the living area, suddenly hoping that my brother is nearly finished. I need him around. But when I make my way toward the kitchen, I see that he’s still in the middle of his play, as breathless chuckles filling the heady space. No one else seems to be around. Since I’m tempted, I check Régis’s door. It’s locked, I know—he always locks it—but I carry a spare key to his room. I’ve used it over the past weeks to make my daily move on the chessboard, and the fact that he has let me, that he has even taken on the challenge, shouldn’t make me feel as victorious as it does. But still… Knocking on his door, I wait for a full two seconds before I use my spare and undo the latch. A few seconds later the door swings open.

The faint scent of eucalyptus invades my nostrils—it's his shower gel, which I got him. For some inexplicable reason I felt the need to choose it, and given the fact that he loves plants, I made the right choice. Still, I’m strangely relieved that he hasn’t thrown it away out of pure spite. No, he’s using it, and fuck me, if it doesn’t smell good on him.

Régis is well organized, his stuff neatly put together on his desk. Pens in a glass, books all nicely stacked together, his laptop folded and waiting to be used. Behind the table on the window sill, he has placed a few small pots with mostly just potting soil.

Giving his view a quick glance, I turn around and eye his bed.

My next destination.

The sheets are drawn, pyjamas waiting on his pillow. The pillows are missing, but I know that he doesn’t use them and leaves them in his closet. I still haven’t figured out on which side he sleeps though, neither appears used, the chess board switching sides far too often. Today it sits on the far end, right by the window. I glance it over with a satisfied huff. I knew he was going to go for my knight. He has tilted it to the side, taken by his bishop. It’s a risk, and a pretty bold one, since I now prevail over the left side of his board. Rather than going for his rook, which I technically can, I decide on moving forward a pawn, letting him decide what strategy to take.

His wardrobe is only half full, but whatever clothes he has are nicely stacked together or hung on coat hangers. They are mostly clothes from his past, the ones he already carried when he came into our lives a little under a year ago.

He still goes back to that shithole in Nîmes, despite Dad’s successful efforts to have the place rented out to another family. Still goes back to visit his old school, though he didn’t meet upwith any friends, assuming that he has any. Still visits his grandparent’s grave. Still visits his dad in prison.

I fucking hate it. Amadou does too, which is why it didn’t take too much convincing for him to spill it out. The place is too big, too dangerous for someone like Régis. Inwardly groaning, I head for the windows and look outside to where thick, dark clouds are gathering. It’s only early evening, but with heavy rainfall on the way, the sky is darkening rapidly, blanketing the glorious woods in all its true, autumn colors.

After a quick check in his shower to assure myself that he still has enough bath gel and towels, I lock the door behind me and return to me and Louis’ bedroom. Outside there’s a bang through the overshadowing sky and the treetops seem to tremble in anticipation.

Behind me, in the living room, Louis and the escort talk in hushed voices as they say their goodbyes, but with my gaze glued to the glass, I blink in surprise, then tug my eyes into a frown. Is that—

It is. Régis is walking outside, following the garden path toward the football field. I check my watch—nearly seven. What the hell’s he doing there at this time? It will be dark soon.

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