“I’ll explain soon,” he growled, walking over to a plum armchair and patting his knee. “Now come here. Let me get a good look at you. I fucking missed you today, chérie.”
My eyes were on Bruno as I made my way to where his brother was sitting. Olivier pulled me onto his lap, his fingers touching my pale skin, tugging on my dress and revealing more to his hungry eyes and lips. He paid no mind to Bruno, kissing me as if we were alone in the room.
“Olivier, please,” I managed. “What’s going on?”
He sighed, pulling back and positioning me on his lap so my pussy was directly on top of his swollen cock. I felt his engorged length under me and shifted on top of him, eager for more.
“Look at her,” Bruno smirked. “She can barely fucking hold it.”
“She’ll have to for a moment longer,” Olivier grinned. “At least until we explain.”
“E-explain what?” I stuttered. “What is going on? Please, I’m scared.”
Olivier rocked me on his lap as Bruno closed the distance between us. I stared between the two of them, my eyes wide and scared. They were opposite on the same spectrum – so similar yet so wildly different. And God help me, I want both.
“Amber, we’re going to need you to listen to us like a good girl now,” Bruno told me. “I know you can keep that pretty little mouth shut and wait for us to tell you a story. Would you like that?”
He stood behind me, his hands tightening in my hair and tugging on the strands. I gasped at the sensation, needing him to do so much more than that but too afraid to ask for it.
“Will you be a good girl for us?” Olivier whispered in my ear while Bruno toyed with my hair. “Will you sit and listen to our story?”
He parted my legs and I hissed when I felt his fingers fighting their way between my inner thighs.
“Say yes,” Bruno muttered against my hair. “Say you’ll listen, and we’ll reward you.”
“I’ll listen,” I whispered. “God, I’ll listen. I promise.”
“Good fucking girl,” they growled in unison.
Chapter Twenty
Bruno
Four Years Ago
I ran up the staircase, taking two at a time until I was finally in front of the double doors. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in short bursts as I braced a hand against the wood.
This was it. My last chance to say goodbye.
I grabbed the door knob, taking a deep breath before pushing through into the room.
It was bright in there, but thick with the smell of death.
My brother stood by the marble shell sink, washing his hands. He looked over his shoulder when I walked in.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.
“I… I wanted to say goodbye,” I managed, my hands shaking. I formed fists at my sides, looking at the pile of pillows on the bed. “Is he… is he here?”
“Not anymore,” Olivier threw out, his tone bitter and cutting through me like a knife. “You missed him by a few minutes.”
“He’s gone?” I felt everything inside me sink. I was too late. I hadn’t made it on time. My only chance to make things right was gone forever.
I walked over to the bed where my father’s peaceful figure was sleeping eternally. His eyes were open, glassy and unmoving as they stared at the ceiling. The look in them hurt too much to spend another second looking at him, and I gently closed his eyelids.
“What did he say?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “What was the last thing he said?”
“You don’t want to know,” Olivier told me with a smirk.
In a flash on anger, I was on him, slamming him against the bookcase. Fat tomes fell from the shelves, landing with a crash on the floor. Olivier glared at me, but I didn’t give a shit. He wasn’t going to take this away from me. His last moment with our father should have been my own.
“Ask then,” he snarled at me. “Ask me exactly what our precious father told me. How he ruined my life. Came back to haunt me with the last one of his secrets.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” I growled in response. “What happened?”
“He wasn’t a good man, Bruno,” Olivier ground out. “Whatever the fuck you want to believe, he wasn’t a good man.”
“Tell me what you’re talking about,” I insisted. “I need to know. I deserve to know.”
“But you don’t want to know,” he finished for me. “It would ruin your life. Just walk the fuck away, Bruno. Let me deal with this just like I have with everything else.”
“No!” I ground out. “I fucking want to know what happened here.”
I glanced between the bed and my brother as something dawned on me. My mouth opened in shock and from Olivier’s look filled with guilt, I knew my thoughts were right, and I knew he could read them right off my face.
I let go of him as if I’d burned my fingertips, my hands shaking as I took a step back.
“What have you done?” I asked him. “Did you hurt him?”
“Let’s just say I helped him along into the afterlife,” he smirked. “He fucking deserved it.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, my heart pounding a million miles a minute.
“Are you fucking insane?” I finally managed. “You killed him. Your father. The king!”
“He deserved it,” Olivier hit back in response. “You don’t know what he did.”
“Then tell me,” I begged, rubbing my temples.
“No,” he replied.
I was on him in seconds again. Once more, he was slammed against the bookcase. But his devilish grin didn’t falter.
“What did he do?” I whispered.
“You’d better sit the fuck down,” Olivier ground out. “It’s a long goddamn story.”
I paced the room, unwilling to take a seat while Olivier occupied the Chesterfield sofa. I was nervous, my head pounding. In my eagerness to find out what happened, I nearly forgot about the dead body in the room. The dead body my brother was responsible for.
“Your mother,” Olivier begun. “Evalina. How old were you when she died?”
“Seven,” I managed. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Do you know how she died?”
“Of course,” I snarled. “She passed away peacefully in her sleep.”
“Is that so?” Olivier repeated.
“I don’t like your fucking tone,” I ground out.
“Just wait,” he raised a hand. “Just wait until you hear the rest. Your mother didn’t die peacefully, Bruno. She was killed.”
“What?” I stared at him in disbelief, shaking my head. “Start at the beginning. You’re confusing the fuck out of me.”
“Two boys born on one night,” Olivier began. “One to the Queen, one to the royal mistress. You know my mother resented the King even though he picked her in his own competition. She resented him because he kept Evalina on as a maid. She resented him because he fucked her more often than the Queen herself.”