Page 41 of Distorted Obsession (The Distorted Trilogy #1)

cooper

Watching my brother fuck Eva against the side of the Sigma Alpha Psi house as he made Mason watch has got to be one of the top ten hottest sexual moments that I was not participating in.

My dick was literally so fucking hard that I had to go back to the house and shower.

It’s why I’m currently in a chair in front of all the monitors taking in Eva’s glorious ass jiggle with each of Colt’s strokes.

“How many times are you going to watch the damn video? Your dick is going to chafe if you keep this up,” Colt snickers, plopping down in the seat next to me.

I don’t bother removing my hand, pumping to match his pace. “Blame yourself for this gem,” I retort.

He rolls his eyes but unzips his pants and palms his own dick. I arch a brow, and he shrugs, “When in Rome.”

Snorting, I shake my head and return my gaze to the screen. Colter grips Eva’s hips, pulling out just enough before slamming back in. Eva’s moan goes straight to my cock, making the shaft stiffen. “Fuck! Next time you’re going to bang her like this publicly, send up a Bat Signal so I can join in.”

I grunt, squeezing the base of my dick when a video call comes in. I ignore it— more interested in nutting than anything anyone could possibly need to talk to me about.

Leaning back in my chair, I thrust my hips, ignoring Colter’s groans of pleasure, when the damn phone rings again—this time, cutting off Eva’s cries. Which means it can only be one person. Mom .

The groan that escapes me lacks all the pleasure it had only moments ago. Nothing will deflate a dick more than a call from your mother.

Sighing, I quickly slip my gray sweats back on and glance over to Colt, making sure he’s decent before I answer the call.

“Cooper, ?lāsh mā jwbtīch mn l-luwla?” my mother questions.

I sit straighter when she addresses me in Darija. Every available muscle in my body grows taut as I’m hurtled back to the day we got the call about Farrah.

My palms begin to sweat as my heartbeat pounds in my ears.

Worry rides me like a new stallion being broken in. And I try to push down the rising panic as the call invades my mind.

“Fin nta?”

I pause at the strain in her voice.

“Fin nta, Cooper? Fin nta?”

“Mama, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

The urgency in her pleading question sets my teeth on edge.

I’ll never forget how the words that came next irrevocably changed the Jacobi family, how it would change Colter… Change my parents... Change me.

“ Hādī Fāra?. āji b?jāla! Khtīk! Yā Rabbī, khtīk ”

In the span of one phone call, our world imploded, and I no longer registered the dialect I love so much with gentled calm again.

Speaking Darija isn’t a problem for me over the phone with anyone else.

But after that day, any time she—my mother calls, my nerves stand on edge.

I don’t speak—I’m still too scared of what words will come next.

Is it Dad?

Is something wrong with her?

“Coop,” Colter shouts as he pinches my leg. He can obviously sense the tension rolling off my body in waves. “It’s all good, khoya.”

Blinking, I fight past the lump in my throat, gripping the edge of the table as my vision clears. “S-s-sorry. What did you say, Mom?”

“Are you okay?” Concern laces her words.

Inhaling, I respond, “Yes, Mama. I’m fine.”

Liar!

I can feel Colter’s eyes boring into the side of my head. He knows I’m lying. He won’t call bullshit while she’s on the phone, but I expect it’ll come up in conversation very soon.

“Is everything okay with you?” I ask.

The concern in her icy-blue gaze melts, warmth appearing in its place as she gives us a bright smile. “Yes, of course. I’m just checking on my babies.”

“Ahhh, Ma. We’re not babies,” Colter uncharacteristically complains. A reaction only our parents can get him to do.

She tsks, “I carried, birthed, and nurtured you, so you’ll be my babies forever.”

This time, I join Colt in his admonishment. “Ughhh. Not this again.”

Happier at the knowledge she’s just peeking in, my shoulders relax for the first time during our video chat. The earlier tension, evaporating as I realize the perceived danger was a psychological response. I frown, hearing my mother’s voice in my head, explaining this very point.

Side effects of having the renowned chief psychiatrist, Dr. Jalila Jacobi, as a mother.

“You two will not give me lip on this. I’m calling a Momable,” she announces, and I throw my head back at her version of audible. Colt shakes his head at the terrible football-spoofed word. She’s used it since our pee-wee football days.

“Fine, fine, fine,” I mumble. “We’re your babies.”

She snickers, pumping a fist in the air. “Momable for the touchdown.”

“I’m going to hang up if you keep this up, Ma,” Colter gripes, but she doesn’t bat an eye.

“You will do no such thing, Colter Emirhan Jacobi, or I’ll forget to send the Ghriba I just baked,” she threatens, panning the phone to the freshly baked, drool-worthy batches of cookies.

Colt and I shout a chorus of nos, and she cackles. Legit, full belly cackles at our pain.

I clutch my chest. “You wound us, Mother. How could you ever punish us in such a way?”

“Then, I advise you to tread lightly when threatening to hang up on me,” she quips. There’s a moment of silence before she continues. “I’ll pack these up. Two batches are for you two, and this batch,” she states, pointing to another platter of Ghriba, “is for Eva.”

At the mention of her name, my smile slides off my face. Why her? She doesn’t deserve them.

“Don’t you give me that look. Evie’s there, and she’ll get some, or I’ll send yours to her as well,” she commands.

“But, Ma,” I begin, and am abruptly cut off.

Our mother holds up her hand, effectively silencing any rebukes. “I will not entertain any bullshit from either of you. You had better not mistreat Eva on that campus. She’s family, and she also lost?—”

“No,” Colt snarls. “She didn’t lose anything. She’s the cause of our loss.” The vitriol in my brother’s voice is icier than the blue depth of our eyes.

“Colter Emirhan Jacobi! mā thdrch m?āya bhād ?rīqa.”

Colter forgot himself and passed a line, and he knows it.

“You can still be angry, but you will not be disrespectful. Do you understand me?” Her tone is unyielding, leaving no room for Colter to do anything other than nod his head.

My lips part, but no words come out when I see the pain etched into every part of her face. She’s hurting, clinging to the last vestige of her daughter’s light—the one that infuriatingly still clings to Eva’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” Colter says, meaning every word. His anger is not aimed at her or her words. It’s for the destructive butterfly that has sliced us open, leaving us to die under the rays of the sun at Furnace Creek.

She wipes the tears building in her watery eyes. “It’s okay,” she sighs. “I understand the pain and anger.”

Guilt gnaws at me. I hate to see my mom anything but happy.

And hurting Eva—that’s a bridge with all the warning signs not to cross.

Or your hairs standing on edge, telling you not to enter the dark woods on a cold rainy night.

Both would be no-go zones to most, but it’s all green lights ahead for us.

I pause, weigh the collateral cost of this path to revenge. They do say when you seek revenge, dig two holes. I can only pray that at the end of this, we don’t lose our mother.

Shaking my head clear, I refocus my attention to the screen.

My mom grabs a tissue and wipes her nose before she gives us a plasticky smile. “Okay, I need to pack.”

“Where to this time?” I inquire, steering the conversation away from the choppy waters of despair.

Her face lights. “Sumba.”

“Why Indonesia?” Colt questions.

“Girls trip. Time for some relaxation.”

A genuine grin lines my face. “Well deserved, Mom. Have fun.”

“Will do, Sweet-ah-roo.”

“Oh God. It’s time to go. She’s rhyming now, Coop.”

Laughing, she affectionately says, “‘Uhibuk 'akthar min alqalb.”

I love you beyond the heart— a phrase we use to say goodbye, especially after a difficult or hurtful conversation.

“‘Uhibuk 'akthar min alqalb,” Colter and I say.

He ends the call, sighing as we spin to face each other. “We need to move this plan along, Mom is beginning to get suspicious, and we can’t have everything we’ve planned for the last few years go to shit because our mother has a soft spot for our sister’s killer.”

He’s right. Mom would throw more than a fit if she gets even an inkling that we’re out to hurt Eva. She’d undeservingly rally around her, shielding her from all harm. The idea of that burns a hole in my gut.

Standing, I grab my hoodie and stride for the door. We can’t let that happen. I can’t let that happen . This is a blood debt, and Eva will pay in blood. She doesn’t get to wriggle her nose, as cute as it may be, out of this.

“Where are you going?” Colter growls. “We have important shit to do.”

Without looking back, I retort, “To turn things up ten notches.”