Page 32 of The Ecstasy of Sin (Brutal Brotherhood #1)

Wren

When I walk back into the kitchen, Dominic is bent at the waist, grabbing things from the fridge.

I brace my free hand against the counter to climb back onto the stool, my prescription bottle clutched in the other hand, only to hiss when a sharp stab of pain flares in my arm.

The discomfort takes me by surprise, and the bottle slips from my fingers. I try to grab it, but it falls when I fumble for it. Sliding right off the counter, it hits the floor with a rattle.

Hunter immediately follows it, his tail wagging. He noses at the bottle until it stops rolling, then picks it up carefully in his mouth and brings it back to me.

“Are you okay?” Dominic asks, glancing over his shoulder as he sets down bread, butter, eggs, and milk.

I reach around to feel the back of my upper arm, my fingers finding a tender spot beneath a small bandage. “What is this?”

“Don’t fuck with it.” His voice is calm, unbothered. “A spider bit you while you were sleeping. I cleaned it up and bandaged it.”

Ew. I grimace. “I hate spiders,” I grumble, gently rubbing around the sore area .

Hunter nudges my leg, reminding me that he just retrieved my meds. “Aren’t you just the most clever dog,” I murmur, crouching to take the bottle from his mouth and scratching behind his ears. “Good boy. Thank you so much.”

Bottle in hand, I return to my seat at the island, setting it down on the counter top. Before I can even ask, Dominic slides a glass of water toward me.

“Should I worry about this being spiked?” I ask, half-teasing. I can’t see why he would do that right now, but I figure it doesn’t hurt to ask.

He leans against the counter, facing me with his palms flat on the marble surface. “No.”

His stare is so intense, I can’t stop myself from looking away.

“Look at me, Wren,” he commands, his tone rough.

I lift my eyes to his.

“That was a one time thing. You’re safe here.”

I nod, and he holds my gaze for another moment, then turns back to the fridge.

I twist the cap from the pill container and shake one large tablet out onto the palm of my hand, then grab the water and swallow it down. I finish the entire glass, since I’m so thirsty after last night’s… adventure.

When I glance back up, Dominic is pulling a stainless steel dog bowl from the fridge. He sets it on the counter and pops off the lid. He grabs a fork and begins breaking up what looks like a casserole. I lean over, peering into the bowl, trying to figure out what it is .

It looks like mostly shredded chicken and some kind of ground red meat, mixed with green and orange vegetables, and what looks like blueberries and chunks of apple.

I’m mesmerized as he opens a drawer and adds two powdered supplements to the bowl, then pours in some hot water and stirs it all together.

Hunter’s tail thumps against my leg, the fluffy length sweeping side to side in anticipation.

Dominic picks up the bowl and walks over to a mat next to the sliding door. He sets it down, calling Hunter over.

Hunter sits and waits patiently at the mat. When Dominic gives him the okay, he stands up and begins eating his home-cooked meal.

“You cook for your dog?” I ask, unable to keep the emotion out of my voice. It’s so unexpected. For a murderous villain, he sure has a loving heart.

He offers me a quick smile, patting Hunter’s head before he returns to the counter to sanitize the surface then wash his hands. When he's done, he starts preparing whatever he’s making for us. “Of course. He deserves the best.”

I’ve always had an easier time trusting animal lovers. Only the worst kind of people harm the innocent and the vulnerable. “I find it really sweet that you’re so good to him.”

“I always loved animals growing up,” he explains as he works, focused on the stove. “They’re not capable of the horrible shit people are. They’re loyal. They don’t lie. The worst they’ll do is kill you and eat you. ”

I understand what he means. That’s one of the reasons I love animals too. “Did you have any pets growing up?” I love that he’s so willingly sharing things about himself with me.

“My mom was a drug addict,” he says flatly. “She couldn’t take care of me, let alone a pet. After she died, when I got put in the foster home, they had a cat. I used to feed her. She’d usually sleep in our room.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say quietly, frowning.

“I’m not. It is what it is.”

He doesn’t sound all that sad when he speaks of his past. He’s dipping bread into something and tossing it in the hot pan, his tone casual.

I want to ask more, but I shift the conversation to a lighter topic. “What happened when you guys turned eighteen? You obviously didn’t go your separate ways.”

He nods, flipping what I now recognize is French toast into the air to cook the other side.

“We had to wait a few years for Torin, but once he was out, we lived on the street for a while. We slept wherever we could, and took whatever jobs we could get. Eventually we scraped enough together to get our own apartment.”

I listen as he opens up to me about his past, focused on him as he cooks and fills a single plate with a stack of French toast.

The scent of cinnamon and vanilla fills the kitchen, and my empty stomach rumbles as it reminds me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening.

I glance at the clock on the microwave; it’s now 2PM .

“We worked hard to get where we are. We took care of each other.” He slides the rest of the perfectly golden toast onto the stack.

He opens the fridge, grabs a protein shake, and places everything on the counter in front of me.

I watch, curious, as he rounds the breakfast bar and takes the stool beside mine. Then, without warning, he reaches over and lifts me like I weigh nothing, settling me onto his lap.

I gasp, and then instantly blush. He doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, ignoring the confused and shy expression on my face.

He pulls the steamy plate of food over, drizzling maple syrup on top of the stacked slices, and then grabs the single fork and knife.

He cuts into the fried bread, and once he has the perfect bite-sized piece of syrupy toast on the fork, he lifts it up to my lips. “Open.”

My eyes flick to his. “You’re very bossy,” I murmur, turning just enough to meet his gaze.

He nods, then presses the syrup-soaked toast gently against my lips. I open for him, and he slides the perfect mouthful onto my tongue.

I groan over the explosion of flavour. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a fresh, home-cooked meal, but this may just be the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted.

I savor the bite, chewing thoroughly, then swallowing before I speak. “This is incredible.”

He smiles at me, a glint of pride in his eyes. “I’m glad you like it. ”

I watch as he gathers another bite onto the tines of the fork, then feeds it to me, his eyes focused on my lips. While I eat, he cracks open the protein shake and drinks.

“You’re an amazing cook. Did you make meals like this for your brothers growing up?” I ask, eyeing him closely. He stills for a moment, then swallows and sets the bottle down.

He feeds me another bite, and only answers my question when I’m chewing again.

“Some nights we didn’t eat unless I went downstairs and cooked after our foster parents passed out.”

My heart aches. I know the pain of starvation all too well, especially as a teenager. For me, it came with so much shame and sadness.

When I went days without meals, because my dad couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed, I often blamed myself. If I were better, or smarter, or worthy enough, maybe then he’d remember that I existed, and needed food to survive.

I push away the thought, suppressing the feelings of misery that threaten to distract me from learning about Dominic’s history. “Did they treat you well? Your foster family, I mean.”

He shakes his head without hesitation. Most people wouldn’t be able to speak about their abusive childhood, but Dominic seems so composed as he opens up to me.

“What happened?” My voice is soft, nearly a whisper.

His gaze lifts away from the plate, meeting mine. “Our foster dad was an abusive, alcoholic asshole. Our foster mother… she was a sick, perverted bitch that also liked to hurt us when she wa s high on prescription drugs.” He pauses. “Torin always got the worst of it.”

I picture Torin in my mind, his body like a battlefield of all that he’s survived. Every scar is part of a map of the abuse he suffered at the hands of the people who should have been protecting him. “That’s terrible,” I whisper. “No wonder you guys are so close.”

He nods. “We are. Maybe too close.”

He feeds me another fork full of French toast, the sweet syrup tasting like absolute heaven. “Too close? What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.” He smirks. “Just don’t walk around naked. You’ll probably find them in a pile on the couch most nights. I can’t bring myself to kick them out.”

I offer him a soft smile. Their relationship is beautiful, especially considering the ugliness of their childhood. “You’re a good big brother.”

He doesn’t answer. Just spears another piece of toast and lifts it toward my mouth.

I shake my head, pressing my hand to my belly. “Thank you, but I’m full.”

He shakes his head right back. “A few more bites.”

I sigh, but I open my mouth for him again. I’m patient while he feeds me. Once he’s satisfied that I’ve had enough, he finishes what’s left on the plate.

I try to slide off of his lap to sit back in my own seat, so he can finish his meal in peace, but his grip on me tightens the moment I shift .

I’m learning quickly that Dominic’s love language is physical touch.

I stop trying to move. I think about all he’s shared with me today, while he finishes the French toast and washes it down with the last of his protein shake.

There’s a lot of darkness in Dominic, there’s no denying that. But there are parts of him that are beautiful, too.

He’s enigmatic, and complicated. And while there is still so much I don’t know about him, I find myself helplessly lost in his orbit. He’s magnetic.

The loyalty he has shown his brothers is something you only read about in fairy tales. They trust him, probably with their lives, and that tells me a lot about who he is beneath his intimidating exterior.

Suddenly, the idea of living here with him doesn’t feel so terrifying.

“Do you really want me to live here with you?” I ask him, watching him closely as he pushes the empty plate aside.

“Yes.”

I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “May I please contribute to the bills?”

His dark green eyes narrow, and he slowly shakes his head. “You’re so sweet when you beg, little lamb, but no.”

“I don’t understand why. What do you get out of this?”

“You,” he says simply. The word falls from his mouth like he fully expects me to understand exactly what motivates him. As if I can see the mirror of myself in his eyes, through his lens .

Dominic makes me feel human, I realize suddenly. After such a long time feeling like a worthless soul drifting through the void, he’s anchoring me to something real.

His presence feels like a cosmic mercy. The way he has taken me from the streets and inserted me right into his life like I was always meant to be here, it feels like salvation.

To a heart like mine, stitched together and starving, his love could be a lethal dose of poison and I’d still welcome it without hesitation.

I lift my hand, using my thumb to brush a small spot of syrup from the corner of his lip. “You promise you’ll tell me the minute your feelings change, and you want me to contribute? Or when you want me to move out?”

He laughs, and I scowl at him. He doesn’t bother trying to hide the amusement in his tone. “Will that make you happy? If I make that promise to you?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Alright, then. I promise.” The wicked smirk on his frustratingly handsome face tells me everything I need to know: Dominic has no intention of ever letting me leave.