Page 49 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

He raises a thumb. “A: I did call. Multiple times, in fact. You never answered. You never fucking answer.” That isn’t true.

I answer seventy-five percent of his calls and all of Casey’s.

He’s choosing to focus on the times I don’t.

He ticks another finger. “B: If I didn’t come over here myself, you would refuse.

And C: I didn’t muscle my way in. You opened the door. ”

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s still open.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth and his hand through his hair—a trait we both get from our father—reining in his rising temper.

I lift a brow, challenging him. Because dammit, pissing him off is almost as good as drugs and alcohol.

It’s wrong, and I wish I could say I didn’t imbibe often.

The truth is, for the last several months, I imbibe every time we’re in the same room, using my resentment toward him as the excuse.

But it’s not the reason. He just happens to wear the younger face of the person I want to lash out at.

“You weren’t at work Friday.”

I’d say the change of topic is whiplash-inducing, but I know it’s not. It’s Graham’s calculating way of snooping.

Okay. Fine. It’s his way of asking if I am okay.

I suppose, given my reaction to him, it’s warranted. If Graham didn’t believe eye contact was a necessity of the world, he’d know why I’m agitated by his presence. One glance a few inches south would reveal the current cause of my irritation and blue balls.

And Poppy is in the shower right now. Drenched and bare, soapy lather sliding down her glistening body. Round, perky tits being caressed by her hands as she washes herself.

It could be my hands, but nooooo…

My damn brother had to make an appearance.

“Jagger!” His bellow snaps me out of my inward sulking.

“What?” My tone matches his, but it loses a bit of momentum when I realize he’s not in front of me anymore.

Regret drops my lashes, tilting my head toward the ceiling. I turn around, walking through my gallery, hoping to God he kept going toward the kitchen instead of where I think he went.

In case no one has noticed, Graham has no fucking concept of boundaries.

Anxiety knots in my chest when I find him in the living room, hovering over the coffee table, with a sheet of paper in his hand. “Care to put that down?” The demand is ground out through clenched teeth, hiding the fact I’m freaking out.

Poppy seeing the song I’d been working on this week didn’t bother me. I think I hoped she’d find it, even if she wouldn’t have a clue what it was about. But Graham?

The pushy asshole who doesn’t know when to let something go?

His eyes meet mine, but I can’t read him. I can never fucking read him. It’s like he mastered the art of RBF before he could tie his shoes. “What’s this?”

“It’s none of your business.” Dammit, I hate the way my voice is already starting to give away my nerves.

He sets the paper down and lifts the guitar propped against the sofa. “This was hers. I thought she broke it that day.”

“She did,” I huff. “I kept the pieces and fixed it.”

“You fixed it? Yourself?” He sits down, placing it over his lap.

“Is that so shocking?”

“No. It’s on brand for you.” The G-chord hums as he presses his fingers against the frets and strums lightly.

Fun fact: you don’t grow up the son, grandson, and great-grandson of a record label owner or former popstar, surrounded by musicians your entire life, without learning to play. Graham is no exception. He just doesn’t care for it.

My fists clench at my sides when he spins the paper around. His fingers dance over the neck as he clumsily strums out the notes written on the paper. I’m not sure what is actually pissing me off; that he’s playing it at all, or that he’s playing it badly.

It’s the last one. Definitely the last one.

The space between us is cleared in two long strides, and I snatch the guitar from him. “It’s bad enough without you murdering it.”

“Then you play it.”

“No.”

He exhales annoyance, his patience running low. “It’s not bad at all, Jagger. It’s the fucking opposite of bad.”

“Why don’t you stick to whatever it is you do in that office all day, and let me handle the music shit, okay? Stick to our roles and all that.”

“You know what? I’m si—”

“Jagger, where’s my dance bag?” Her voice comes down the hallway.

Judging by the slap of bare feet on the polished surface, getting closer.

“And what did you do with my…uh…” Her sentence cuts off when she appears with a thick towel covering her, spotting Graham.

“Shit.” Her cheeks light up like the Fourth of July.

“S-sorry. I didn’t hear any voices and thought whoever it was had gone. ”

“Soundproofing,” I deadpan.

“Oh.” She does an awkward, yet somehow adorable, little wave. “Hi…uh… Hi, Graham.”

“Poppy. Interesting finding you here.”

“Knock it off, Graham.” I go to Poppy, dropping a kiss on her lips. “It’s in my closet, tucked in the back, top corner, so it didn’t get stepped on. There’s a stool in there for you.”

“For me?” Her lashes flutter, and her mouth tilts despite blatantly getting caught. I exhale a breath, not realizing until this moment how worried I was over her reaction.

“For you, Halfpint.” I spin her, swatting her ass. “I’ll be another minute. Then I’ll get dressed so we can go.”

“She stayed here?” Graham asks when I face him.

“Don’t fucking start with me, Graham,” I warn. “I know it will upset Casey. And God knows I love her, but fucking everything upsets Casey. I get why, but of all damn people, you and her…You don’t get to give me shit.”

“She actually stayed here?” he repeats. “Like in your apartment? Your bed?”

“Jesus Christ, are you having a stroke?”

“No. No. It’s just…I planned on warning you away from her today, but…She really stayed here?”

“Yes, Graham, she stayed here. She’s been here since Thursday. Why do you keep asking the same question?”

“Because you don’t let women come over here, Jagger.”

My eyes narrow because how in the fuck? “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Did you think that was limited to Casey? I know everything about you, Jagger. Even about the apartment you kept in Brooklyn where you met with Renee. I’ve always known everything.” He sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. “Or I thought I did until I found out about Kri—”

My hand shoots up. “Don’t say her name. Please, for love of everything…

I’ve had a good four days. That’s about to take a dip being in the same house as Dad.

Don’t say her name and just fuck it all to hell.

It’s like summoning Lucifer. No. He’d be better than her.

Besides, none of that is your fault. That’s all on me. ”

“You protected her. You protected her in ways I didn’t know she needed.” His voice cracks with emotion, not something I’ve seen from my brother often.

“What are big brothers for, right? I mean, it’s definitely not to fall in love with them and defile them.”

His jaw ticks, and I grin. “I’m letting that slide because her…here,” he points down the hallway, “is a big fucking deal. It is a big deal, right, Jagger?”

“I fucking wish it wasn’t, but yeah, Graham, it’s a big deal. I have no goddamn idea where it’s going, but I hope it’s somewhere good.”

“Okay. After you drop her off, come to the house. I really do need your help. Casey won’t let it go unless I promise to do it all myself.

For some sadistic reason, she said no staff or hired help.

” He walks toward the door, pulling it open.

When he’s in the hallway, a smug smile breaks across his face.

“By the way, this,” he holds up two fingers with paper between them, “I’m not letting it go. My office, Monday morning.”

He’s turned the corner before I realize what he had. I take off after him, but the elevator doors are already closing.

And I know I won’t see that paper again until I give in to his demands .