KILLIAN

I give up on attending my classes for the day exactly two hours
after I arrive at med school.
And yes, they’re important and I should probably be
present, put up with the general anxious atmosphere of my
colleagues and the ego of professors who think they’re special
just because they’re older and have some experience.
Thing is, I’m distracted as fuck. An emotion I haven’t
experienced…well, ever. I tend to be focused to a fault,
methodical to the point of weeding out any need for impulsive
action.
And yet, my systems, my patterns, and the very marrow of my
life are being disturbed by a certain fucking rabbit.
I run a hand through my hair as I listen to the ringing for the
dozenth time this morning.
When it goes to voicemail, I pull it from my ear and stare at it
while tapping the back once, twice. Three times.
Maybe I should’ve chained her to me, after all, so I could
choke the fuck out of her when she’s being difficult for no reason.
“You’re not coming?” Stella, a colleague with obvious fake red
hair, asks on her way out of the school while carrying her white
coat.
We’re supposed to have a pathology class in the morgue, and
that would usually be the highlight of my week—seeing inside
dead people.
Not today, obviously.
“I have more important things to attend.” I’m still staring at
my phone and seriously contemplating if shaking it will force the
one on the other end to finally pick the fuck up.
“How about later? I can give you the code to my dorm.” A
hand touches mine and that’s enough to make me break my
hyperfocus from the phone.
Stella grins, thinking getting my attention is a good thing.
The only smart one is Glyndon fucking King. She never wanted
my attention. In fact, she tried everything under the sun to
escape it.
She doesn’t know this yet, but there’ll be a day where she’ll
sprint in my direction, not the other way around.
“When did I give you permission to touch me?” I ask in a
closed tone, not bothering to mask my true nature.
Stella, who I probably fucked once—and she’s definitely
forgettable if I did—startles and steps back. “I’m sorry, I just
thought it was okay.”
“You thought wrong.” I step past her and head to the parking
lot.
My feet come to a halt when I find someone leaning against
the front of my car, legs crossed and his fingers toying with a key
so close to the paint.
Not far from him stands a replica.
Landon and Brandon King.
Though their looks are identical—everything else isn’t. Who I
assume is Brandon dresses like a preppy boy with khaki pants and
a polo shirt. His hair is styled, too, and he appears to be right out
of a lacrosse team.
Landon’s hair is messy, out of control, and he’s in jeans and a
denim jacket, not to mention that the look in his eyes is more
dispassionate.
More…empty.
Probably as empty as mine.
Interesting.
“Nice ride,” he says, still letting the key hover a few inches
away as a form of a threat.
“Thanks,” I reply nonchalantly. “It’s special edition.”
“Impressive,” he says with no note of amazement whatsoever.
“I know.”
“Then you should also know that I’ll vandalize it and then your
life if you don’t stay away from my sister.”
So this is about that Instagram picture. I figured it’d ruffle
some people’s feathers, but this is a lot faster than I thought.
“I’d love to help you with that, but what to do?” I show my
good-boy smile. “You saw how much she was into it. I mean, me.”
“That’s not true.” Brandon steps in my direction. “Glyn would
never choose someone like you, so you must’ve coerced her in
some way.”
“Someone like me?” I tilt my head. “You mean a fourth-year
med student at nineteen, heir to an empire, and a leader in one
of the world’s most prestigious colleges? Oh, and your sister’s
boyfriend.”
“You are not,” Brandon says.
“Denial is the first stage.” I smile. “I’m sure you’ll get to the
acceptance stage eventually.”
A slow clap makes me stare at Landon, who’s grinning
maniacally. “Bravo. I’m in fucking tears over your performance.”
His good humor vanishes along with his claps. “But I won’t repeat
myself another time. Let my sister go or I’ll be inclined to take
action against you, your leadership status, and your fucking little
empire. Once I’m finished with you, you’ll look in the mirror and
not recognize yourself. Maybe then you’ll realize that you
shouldn’t have messed with my family.”
Hmm, interesting.
He has loyalty. No, not loyalty. A sense of ownership. He
probably thinks of Glyndon and Brandon as his people—the
property that when touched would reflect badly on his image.
“What if she wants to be with me?” I ask. “What are you going
to do then?”
“Change her mind.”
I grin. “I’m afraid I’m not the forgettable type.”
“And neither am I.”
We stare at each other, unblinking in a war of wits. No wonder
Glyndon said her brother is like me. He is, but it’s bothersome
that he’s against me right now.
What’s the easiest way to make him accept me? I doubt any
form of manipulation will work on him.
And he probably won’t lose interest in this since he considers
Glyndon under his protection.
“Just find someone else,” Brandon says in a placating voice.
“I’m sure you have endless choices at your disposal.”
Landon realizes exactly where my focus shifts the moment his
brother speaks. His key drops on the car and I grin.
Bingo.
He didn’t want Brandon here. He thinks he’s weak, probably
too nice for his own good. He probably can’t hold his own either.
Unlike my relationship with Gareth, Landon considers Brandon
under his protection.
And just now, he knows that I’m going after him so he’ll leave
me and Glyndon alone.
“Brandon, right?” I give him the brightest, most fake smile I
can conjure.
He nods, warily.
“Glyndon talks about you all the time, said you’re her favorite
brother.” Not really, but she would’ve definitely gone for that angle
if it were the case. And I’m hitting two birds with one stone.
Brandon will feel special. Landon will be rejected out of the
favorite position. Not that I think he cares much about that, but
it’s a pride thing and we care about pride.
“She also said she wished you’d all get along better,” I
continue in an almost soothing voice, imitating Mom’s tone when
she talks to us. “It breaks her heart when you guys are fighting,
and she wishes she could do more to be the bridge between you
two.”
Brandon’s stance slowly relaxes and the corners of his eyes
soften.
“Get it the fuck together,” Landon bites out. “He’s manipulating
you, Bran.”
“Why would I?” I still speak in the same tone. “I’m not asking
anything from you, am I? I’m just relaying what Glyndon told me.
I felt bad for her when she said that she was trapped between
you two, which is why she prefers dinners at your grandfather’s
house instead of back home.”
That’s something I gathered from her Instagram. She has
more pictures with her grandfather and grandmother than with
her parents. She has more pictures with Bran than with Lan.
She has more pictures with her friends than with her brothers.
It’s funny how people narrate their lives through their social
media subconsciously. It’s why I make my own narrative that no
one can read behind.
Except for fucking Glyndon who put everything together about
the absence of Dad from my Instagram, obviously.
Brandon’s stance loses all the stiffness from earlier and the
haunting sound of the key against the hood makes me pause. Not
for long, though.
I knew Landon came with plans to scratch my car, and as
much as I’m tempted to bash his head on the metal and fill the
scratches with his blood, there are more important things at
stake.
Such as Brandon’s approval.
“Your brother obviously doesn’t understand reason, but I’m
sure you do.” I step forward. “I’m on your and Glyn’s side.”
“Back the fuck off,” Landon says while still vandalizing my car.
The garage will fix that. But only I can keep this leverage in
the current situation.
“How do I know you’re not using her?” Brandon asks a very
logical question.
“If I were using her, I would’ve gotten bored within the first
two days and let her go.”
Which is true.
Fuck.
If I’m not using her, then what am I doing with her exactly?
People only fall into three categories for me.
Worth being used.
Not worth being used.
Neutral.
She’s in none of the above.
But I’m sure she’s in there somewhere, because she holds
enough space to fuck up my day.
“That’s not as reassuring as you were trying to make it sound,”
Bran says with a raised eyebrow.
“I could’ve lied, but I chose not to. Glyn said she likes my
honesty.” Before she fucking ghosted me because of it.
Brandon smiles a little, probably knowing how true that
statement is, and it takes effort to hide my smirk as I stare back
at the other brother.
Destroy my car all you want, but guess who’s winning,
Landon?
Not you.
Yes, Brandon may not come around right away, but he’ll get
there. Unless Glyndon runs her mouth and ruins it.
But even if she does, I’ll start from scratch to earn the nice
brother’s approval.
All the effort I’m making for this fucking rabbit is starting to
piss me off, but still, it’s entertaining.
I’m about to push a little further, just because I can, but a tiny
figure approaches us in moderate steps, completely oblivious to
the tension in the air.
Her blonde hair is gathered in a long ponytail with a fuck ton
of ribbons that match the ones on her black dress, boots, and
bag.
She’s like a fucking Goth Barbie, sans the black hair, and a
creepy 2.0 version of Mom and Aunt Rai.
Oh, and this is about the worst timing to come find me.
My cousin Mia, who’s a year younger than me, holds a
container of food and smiles at me, brightly, and I know not to
take that shit for granted.
I know I’m one of the few people she smiles at.
Her steps come to a halt when she sees what Landon has
done to my car and stares at him with a furrowed brow, then at
the key in his hand, then at the map of horror on the red paint.
Be ready for your ride to be thrown off a ditch, motherfucker.
She puts the strap of the food container over her shoulder,
letting it hang on her side, and signs, “Why did this fucking tool
ruin your car and why is he still breathing?”
I smirk. Good question, cousin.
The answer is something I don’t even want to admit to myself,
though.
I’d probably be blacklisted from Glyn’s life if I hurt her brother
—even if he is a slimy motherfucker. But that doesn’t mean I
won’t make this asshole’s life miserable.
“And now, we have a mute in our ranks.” Landon smiles,
knowing full well that this changes the balance of power from
earlier. “Brilliant.”
“Lan, stop it,” Bran warns.
“Call her a mute again and I’ll skin you alive,” I say with
enough menace to make my vision go red.
Mia is the only person on earth who’s told me, or more like
signed to me, that “It’s okay to be different, Kill. I still love you.”
And I would murder for her. No questions asked.
“What’s wrong with calling a mute a mute?” Landon continues
smiling, having already forgotten about scratching my paint. “I’m
sure she wouldn’t mind.”
“Tell him I don’t mind one bit and I’m also sure he wouldn’t
mind this,” Mia signs to me, then flips him both her middle fingers
while smiling sweetly.
He narrows his eyes, his humor vanishing. Brandon smiles and
turns to me, “Please apologize to her on my brother’s behalf.”
“She can hear you,” I say. “She just doesn’t speak.”
She signs to me and I tell Brandon, “She said not to apologize
on behalf of, and I quote, ‘a motherfucking tool, who’s polluting
the air with his breath,’ because you’re not responsible for his
actions.”
“You’re right.” He offers her his hand. “I’m Brandon.”
She shakes it and looks at me.
“Mia,” I say. “My cousin.”
They smile at each other, already seeming to get along. I
haven’t thought about this before, but it’s another opportunity to
get Brandon on my side regarding his sister.
I owe you one, Mia.
Note to self, buy her more ribbons.
“How do you curse in sign language?” Landon asks, probably
to be a dick, because he can’t handle how everyone in this scene
is now against him.
She flips him off again while smiling.
“Like that,” I supply for her, and Brandon does a failure of a
job in hiding his smile.
“Let’s go eat,” she signs, completely ignoring him. “I made you
pancakes. I tried finding Nikolai, but that dork is MIA. And Maya
was like ‘Bitch, get out before I stab you.’ In fucking capital
letters. That shit becomes mental when her sleeping time is
interrupted, and I’m looking for therapy for her issues. It happens
on Tuesdays if you’re interested in joining. Oh, and Gareth isn’t
answering my texts, and I’m so gonna tell Aunt Reina he’s
ghosting me.”
“So I’m your last choice?” I raise a brow.
She laughs like a little hellion, then hits my shoulder and signs,
“You know you’re my favorite.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Tell Brandon to come along,” she signs. “He’s obviously the
nice twin.”
“She’s inviting you to eat with us.” I motion at Brandon, and
he surprisingly nods and walks toward us.
Good. I can ask him questions about his difficult sister who’s
still not answering me.
I swear to fuck, I’m going to put a tracker on her phone next
time I see her.
“You have seven days to cut ties with Glyndon or we’ll do it my
way,” Landon announces, accentuating his words with one last
scratch to my car before he stalks in the other direction.
“Let me go get him, Kill,” Mia signs. “I’ll bite his head off.”
“What the fuck? You’re not a dog.” I laugh, then say more
seriously, “Stay out of this. I mean it. This is my fight and I don’t
want you in the middle.”
She pouts, but then she releases a sigh and nods.
Brandon rubs the back of his head. “You should probably take
his threat seriously.”
“Nah, he doesn’t scare me.”
“He should. Don’t underestimate him.”
“Oh, I won’t. I also won’t let him put his nose where it doesn’t
fucking belong.” I smile. “Now, who wants some pancakes?”
The little rabbit can ghost me all she wants. She refuses to talk
to me? Fine.
But I’ll make sure she’s the one who comes running, not the
other way around.