Page 31 of Claim & Don't Tell

They can’t be here.

When they’re around, I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t function without thinking, wishing,dyingfor things I can’t have. Brady is the only one who knows. Has he told the others? I wasterrified when he stormed in on me all those years ago, catching me in the few seconds between a shower and slathering my skin in the descenting lotion.

Finding out my stepbrothers were my scent matches was horrible. Brady discovering the secret I was content to die with was even worse. They never had to know. He never should have walked in on me, but Brady doesn’t color inside the lines. No one can tell him what to do or where to go. He’s like violent strokes of vibrant paint where they don’t belong. All wrong, and yet I don’t hate the way it looks.

Sometimes perfection isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I thank god the waterproof scent-blocking sunscreen lasts just as long as the regular kind. Otherwise, I’d be fucked. Straightening, I head into the kitchen, finding Austin at the stove with a pan of sizzling steak, bell peppers, garlic, and onions. My mouth waters, and it has nothing to do with the food, lips tingling with the memory of his mouth on mine.

Another mistake.

Austin has a few more tattoos than the last time I saw him. Eloquent sweeps of black and gray covering both arms and his left hand. His onyx hair is a little messy and pushed back, but his dimples are on full display as he responds to something Dylan said.

The youngest of the brothers, chaos embodied, flicks a sweep of black hair off his forehead and laughs. Like Austin, he’s covered in tattoos, but his are full color, bright and powerful, just like him. The reverberation of his laughter settles into my chest and my heart aches.

I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed that sound.

And then there’s Brady. A silent, simmering storm cloud. While his two brothers have yet to notice me, Brady clocked me as soon as I walked in. He’s sitting at the island next to Dylan. His fists clench as my gaze traces over the slight stubblepeppering his jawline. Lips, which have nothing but venomous words, tempt me to take a taste, to see how close I can get before the poison takes hold. Heart slamming against my ribcage, I slowly lift my eyes, holding my breath as I brace for the storm. Endless blue, torrential. Consuming.

I’ve never been more desperate to know what he thinks. Does he hate me? Is he struggling to breathe too? Does knowing what I am keep him up at night?

Time seems to slow, and my heart thunders in my ears, blocking out Austin and Dylan’s conversation, silencing the sizzle of food on the stove. Being the soul focus of Brady’s attention is like waiting for the killing blow, and here I am, ready to die.

Without even commanding me, Brady forces me to stay still. His irises darken, and he slowly takes in the swimsuit, the remnants of sand on my thighs and covering my feet. My skin burns, but I have no choice but to let the fire of his gaze consume me. That is, until Dylan pops up from his seat and shouts my name.

I wrench my eyes from Brady and a weight lifts. I take a quick breath seconds before Dylan’s arms envelop me, and then I’m drowning in his scent. God, it feels so good. I want to nestle into it, to curl around him and make him mine.

But I know I can’t.

My chest fractures, but I force my lips into a smile and extract myself from his hold. “Dylan.”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he says with a smirk. “You make me feel like a naughty boy.”

I roll my eyes. “Because youarea naughty boy.”

And that’s the truth. It’s almost like trouble seeks him out.

Austin leaves the stove, setting the spatula aside, and gives me a hug, the perfect amount of strength and care, easier to endure yet harder to leave, because I crave to have his lips onmine again. But he’s made a point to keep his distance, making it clear the kiss was an accident. “Hey, Quinn.”

“Hey, Chef,” I tease, pulling my eyes from the deepening of his dimples and glancing around. Brady doesn’t say hi, and he definitely doesn’t get up to hug me. My heart sinks. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Literally every pipe in our new condo broke,” Austin explains as he turns off the stove. “The contractor must’ve messed something up because we weren’t the only ones with the issue.”

“You got a new condo?” That’s news to me.

Dylan drops his arm around my shoulder, and I stiffen. He doesn’t notice, instead drawing me toward the island and the seat between him and Brady. A lump forms in my throat.

“We moved in last month.” Dylan all but shoves me onto the stool. “Needed a bigger place.”

“Oh?” Their first condo was a large three-bedroom. Why would they need more space? Unless...no. I can’t think about them pursuing an omega.

“We wanted a place for all of our gym equipment.” Dylan settles in his seat and side-eyes me how he used to when we’d sit at this very bar and try not to gag on the burned pancakes Trenton used to make on Saturday mornings.

I bite back a smile and look away as my stomach flutters and swims. One might think that spending years in the same house with Dylan would make it easier to be around him. One would be wrong. If anything, I want to fall headfirst into that familial bond we developed because I know it’s the closest I’ll ever get to a mate bond.

Dylan shifts and his thigh brushes over mine, a searing touch. I suck in a quick breath and ignore the butterflies in my belly.

“Are you hungry?” Austin sets a plate of freshly steamed corn tortillas on the island and spoons the fajita meat and veggies into a serving dish. There are already glasses and a pitcher of ice water on the marble counter.

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