Page 131 of Dark, Forbidden, & Taboo

I kept my eyes on Mom as she walked over to where Dad sat, gave him a look more frazzled than her appearance and then took her seat next to him on their fancy leather couch.

Then I heard the confident sound of footsteps—the same ones that haunted my nightmares for most of my youth, followed by the clearing of a throat, and I took a deep breath. Getting to my feet, I brushed the sweat from my palms off on the hem of my skirt and turned my eyes toward my brother.

Holy shit.

Rogan looked nothing like the almost seventeen-year-old boy that I remembered. He seemed taller for some reason, much more defined and muscular, and almost completely covered in tattoos. He still had the same messy, black hair that I used to ruffle whenever I won a fight between us, which made me feel a little better. Still, I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat and walked over to him, wrapping my arms awkwardly around his shoulders and giving him the best hug I could muster against his stiff frame.

With a chuckle, he leaned down and relented, patted my back a couple of times, then pulled my arms away. I took a step back and looked up into his narrow, dark blue eyes. I wanted to see if I could find my brother in the man standing before me, but he seemed to be lost and I found myself hoping for that to be a good thing.

“All grown up,” he remarked with a grin as he took my hands and held them over my head. I rolled my eyes and tried to pull out of his grip, but he only let one go, slid his hand down to my wrist and I watched as his grin turned into a smirk. He spun me around quickly, laughing when I stumbled on my feet and almost fell. Then when he was done with his little game, he let go of my wrist. “Good to see you, kid,” he said, his eyes softening slightly.

I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and nodded. “Same, big brother. It’s been years.”

Rogan chuckled at my lame joke.

I don’t know why I said it; it’s obvious it had been years since I’ve seen him last, but I didn’t know what else to say.

“Charles.”

I look up at him in confusion until I see his eyes trained over my head. I can tell by the way he’s tensed up and the subtle grinding of his jaw, that him and Dad must be locked in a staring war against one another.

“Dad is just fine with me, young man,” he replies testily.

“I prefer Charles,” Rogan spits back at him, and I sigh heavily.

Dad was the one who gave him up to the cops. He told them exactly where to find his son, who by that point, he considered a disgrace to the Winstead name.

“Let’s play nice, children,” I say loudly, clapping my hands together. Rogan turned his eyes down toward me and shook his head as he dropped his duffle bag on Mom’s shiny, white floor then crossed his arms over his chest.

Seems like I’m the only adult left here and I’m barely even there,I think glumly as I reach down and pull his bag off the floor. I didn’t have to look at Mom to know she was close to losing her absolute shit over the unwelcome dust it probably kicked up, but I didn’t want them laying into him already.

“Come on,” I tell him in a quiet tone.

I wasn’t sure where the hell I was gonna lead him, but the less time spent as a family, the better.

Chapter

Three

"So, did you get all of those tattoos in … um …” my voice trailed off as my eyes dropped to the dinner on my plate. Rogan chuckled good-naturedly as he leaned back in his chair.

“Lock up? Yeah. I got bored. Most of them I did myself, but a couple of them I had a few buddies do for me,” he replies with a grin. “Like ‘em?”

I cut my eyes toward Dad. I wasn’t sure how he wanted me to answer, but the truth was—I did. They made him look more grown up than I remembered him, and even slightly dangerous.

The kind of guy that a father warns his daughter about.

The look in Dad’s eyes told me to answer him with a lie, so I took a deep breath, turned my gaze back toward my expectant brother and smiled, “I think they’re pretty cool.”

Rogan’s grin widened slightly as he went back to his meal. Mom had Miss Lucy make a big ol’ pot roast, some baked potatoes, and a homemade loaf of bread. I think Miss Lucy even liked Rogan’s tattoos some because every time she snuck a glance at him, she smiled.

“So, what are your plans now that you’re out?” Mom asked before Dad had a chance to reprimand me over my comment.

Rogan shrugs, “No idea. I figure I can get a job somewhere.”

Dad cleared his throat and we all turned to look at him, but he picked up his newspaper, flipped it open, and began to read the first thing his eyes fell on.

“Where am I staying, anyway?” Rogan asks curiously, turning his eyes toward Mom.

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