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My uncle Jacks is going to have my fucking head and my mom will hang it on her fireplace if they find out. Jasmine hates my guts. I am her fucking bully. Her tormentor. There’s no way I will be able to get her to sleep with me.
Do I want to? For some fucked-up reason, yeah, I do.
I have six months to get this done. A few more months to get off on tormenting her, and then switch on the charm.
The guys go around placing bets. It should be called getting laid, because it is just them betting on who they’d end up sleeping with and getting proof of the act. At the end of the “meeting,” I storm out, hitting up Maxine and taking my anger out on her pussy. Except, it’s not her on my mind. It’s a girl with long black hair and piercing green eyes I envision as I come.
* * *
“I should just get a tattoo of blood on my hands at this point,” Ezra says, wiping her hands clean and then her knife. I chuckle.
My sister is twisted as fuck. I guess that’s what happens when you take on the McKnight family duties. Technically, I was going to take my mom’s job, but they insisted I help my sister as well. I’m not sure why. She’s a cold-blooded killer. She doesn’t need any help.
“Come one.” I throw my arm around her shoulder. “Let’s call the cleanup crew and get the fuck out of here.” She shrugs me off, glaring.
Ezra doesn’t like to be touched. She doesn’t like any form of love, now that I think of it. She flips her blonde hair, strutting out in her army boots.
* * *
Arriving home to a smiling mother and a grinning dad should be weird. Especially since their kids just killed someone, but it’s not. “How’d it go?” Mom asks me, taking out a casserole. Yeah, a fucking casserole like we’re The Brady Bunch.
“Good, but I’m going to need new nails now. Kind of got these white ones stained,” Ezra says, picking at her claws. She couldn’t have gotten normal-shaped nails. You know the square ones? Nope, she got cat claws instead.
“Ugh, I seriously hate when that happens.” Mom sighs, completely serious.
“Angel, what are you wearing?” my dad asks my sister, who’s in black shorts, fishnet stockings, and a crop top.
She looks down at her clothes. “Uh, clothes?”
My dad frowns, wiping his hands. “I don’t fucking like it. Eliza, tell your daughter to wear more clothes.”
My mom sighs. “Vince, I used to wear less,” she singsongs.
“Yeah, but you’re not my daughter.”
“Also, why don’t you tell your angel to wear more clothes?” my mom says, setting down dinner rolls.
It’s not unspoken. Ezra is Dad’s favorite. He loves me but she’s his baby. I’m not mad because I’m a momma's boy. We all sit down, having a very unnatural conversation about how we took out our opponents tonight.
“How’s football?” my dad asks, sipping his wine.
“Good. I think we have a good chance of going all the way this year. Even without Nixon and Everett.”
The conversation continues and I zone out. Thinking over the little bet I’m going to have to concord.
“Hey, can you take this container to Jasmine? She didn’t show up to dinner tonight, but I still want her to eat.”
“Sure, Mom.” I smile, grabbing the container of food and walking across the street.
I walk in without knocking. Putting the food on the table, I whistle as I walk around the house in search of my latest craving. My whistle dies when I see her. Standing outside, a knife to her inner thighs sawing away. I watch as she paints her white skin red. How she doesn’t even flinch. I tilt my head to the side to study her better. Noticing she’s not even looking. She has a faraway look in her eyes as her hands work. Yeah, I want to fuck her, but don’t get that shit twisted. I don’t fucking care about her. I turn on my heel, whistling again as I make my exit. If she dies, then I won’t have to complete my bet. Technicalities and all.
They don’t call me the heartless prince for nothing.
CHAPTER 5
JASMINE
When my mind refocuses, there is blood dripping down my legs. The sting is refreshing. Shaking my head, I walk inside through the back door that connects to the kitchen. I frown at the container of food on the counter. How did this get here? I dump it in the trash because I’m not hungry. In fact, I’m never hungry. I just add that to the many lists of problems I have.
