Page 20 of The Knucklebone Brothers

I took another long swallow of coffee, the bitter liquid doing little to calm the buzzing in my head. I watched them, my mind a cold, calculating machine. Time to poke the bear.

"So, what's on the agenda today, huh?" I asked, my voice dripping with false sweetness. "Gonna teach me how to balance on a ball? Or maybe we're learning to make animal balloons?"

Blythe just kept cooking eggs, not even turning around. Maverick, on the other hand, turned and leaned against the counter, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face.

"Well now," he drawled, his eyes roaming over me. "You're a dirty girl, ain't you? Don't you think you'd like to get cleaned up?"

I glared at him, my grip tightening on the coffee mug. I knew there was a catch. There was always a catch. What the hell did they have up their sleeves?

"I too am a dirty girl and need cleaned up," Maverick announced to the room, his voice dropping into a high-pitched, theatrical falsetto. He struck a pose, one hand on his hip.

Blythe finally turned, a flicker of amusement in his blue eyes. "I already showered while you two lazy bums were sleeping. Go ahead. I'll get her ready."

My irritation spiked. Get her ready? Like I was a damn show pony. I was thinking of my next move, trying to figure out how to get one of them to slip up, to give me something, anything, to work with. They obviously weren't going to tell me shit.

Maverick pushed off the counter and started walking toward the back of the trailer. I heard the bathroom door open, then the sound of the shower turning on, a sudden rush of water. A few seconds later, he walked back out of the bathroom.

He was completely naked.

I only saw his ass as he walked past the bed toward the front of the trailer to grab something, but it was... a nice ass. Muscular and tight. But also, what the actual fuck? Why?

He was just strutting around like it was nothing. He came back a moment later, and this time, he was facing me. And he was fully on display. And of course he had a great dick. It was just hanging there, thick and long, even soft. It was ridiculously perfect, just like the rest of him. Even the tattoo was a nice edition.

I couldn't help it. I had to say something. "So," I started, my voice dry. "You've got a tattoo on your dick. A little sword. Nice detail."

Maverick looked down, a grin spreading across his face. He reached down, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock, his thumb brushing over the ink. "Yeah," he said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly purr. "A little pirate sword. Got it when I was eighteen. Tattoo artist was a guy named 'Stitches.' Guy was a nutjob. Tried to tell me it was a family heirloom, passed down from his grandfather, who was a pirate."

He chuckled, a dark, unhinged sound. "I didn't believe him, so he makes me a deal. If I can keep it hard for an hour while he finishes the shading, it's free. But if it goes soft, I gotta pay double and let him put a clown nose on it."

I stared at him, my mouth slightly open. "You're kidding."

"Nope," he said, his eyes dancing with mischief. "So, I'm sitting there, freezing my ass off, tryin’ to keep it up while this guy is poking me with needles. Finally, the guy's wife walks in, sees what's goin’ on, and starts laughin’ so hard she drops a bottle of ink on the floor. The ink spills everywhere, right on my dick. The guy starts freakin’ out, sayin’ it's ruined, and I'm just standing there, half-hard, half-soft, covered in blue ink."

He leaned in closer, his voice a whisper. "And then, Stitches looks at me, and he says, 'Well, Maverick, you look like a blue-balled pirate now. Fits you perfectly.'"

He let out a loud, barking laugh, shaking his head. "So, yeah. It's a pirate sword. A blue-balled pirate sword. I think it suits me."

He just giggled a little, a high-pitched, unhinged sound, and then disappeared back into the bathroom. I heard the shower curtain slide open and the sound of his body hitting the water.

That was it. I snapped my head to Blythe, who was calmly plating eggs like his brother hadn't just flashed me his entire damn existence.

"I'm getting a little annoyed with your riddles, guys," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on now?"

Blythe finally looked at me, his blue eyes calm and steady. He put the plate of eggs on the table. "Eat first," he said, his voice stern, leaving no room for argument. "Then we'll talk."

He slid the plate toward me. The eggs were scrambled, cooked perfectly with a little bit of cheese melted into them. I was starving. I sat down at the table, the chain clanking against the leg, and picked up the fork. I shoveled the eggs into my mouth, barely tasting them. They were good, but I was too on edge to enjoy them. I just needed the fuel.

When I was done, I pushed the plate away and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Okay," I said. "I ate. Now talk."

Blythe took my empty plate and put it in the sink. "That sounds like a family discussion," he said, his back to me. "So we'll do that together. Now, it's time to get goin’."

He pointed a finger toward the floor by the bed. Tucked there were a pair of worn-out, fuzzy slippers. They looked like they'd been chewed on by a dog and then left out in the rain. “There’s some slippers you can use. They're not great, but the pine needles won't stick in your feet."

I stared at the slippers, then back at him. A family discussion. The words hung in the air, heavy and wrong. Now wasn’t the time for fighting. I slowly stood up, the chain rattling, and slid my feet into the slippers. They were soft and warm, but they smelled faintly of mildew. I picked up my empty coffee mug and held it out to him.

He took it, his fingers brushing against mine, his gaze unreadable. "Let's go," he said.

Just then, Maverick came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his hips, his skin still damp and glistening. He was running a hand through his messy, dark hair.