Chapter 5: Little Liar: Chapter 5

After my night-time jog around the manor, through the woods and back, I shower with my music blasting from my speaker—even with the paranoia I’ve been feeling all night that my sister is at her friends, I manage to stay calm while I wash my hair, rub soap over me, then rinse it all off.

As I step out and into my room, the music stops, and I spot my phone on the bedside unit, flashing with Olivia’s name. She never calls me, for obvious reasons, so I frown and answer, pressing it to my ear.

“Hey. Hello. Hi. I think I’m drunk,” she says, slurring her words. She lets out a little squeak, and I’m already throwing my clothes on while she’s on speaker. “I tripped. Are you there? Can you tap something and let me know you can hear me?”

I go to my dresser, knock on the wood three times, then pull my motorbike boots on.

“O-Okay,” she says. “We were at Abbi’s, but I left.” She hiccups then laughs. “Why is it even raining? I need, like, a hug or something. Not flowers or chocolates or jewelry—I hate those. A hug… will work just fine.”

Once I’m dressed, I type a message to her while she’s still connected.

“I’ll-I’ll show you.”

She’s silent for a beat then hiccups again, a notification popping up with her location.

“Did you know you’re the best big brother ever? I love you,” she says. “Like, I s-super love you. It’s probably… weird, but I do love you lots.”

I narrow my eyes, frowning. She tells me she loves me all the time, but now I want her to mean it in a different way.

“You’re never allowed near my friends. Anna’s brother had s-sex with Abbi, and now they’re all f-fighting,” she slurs, hiccoughing. “Do you even have sex? God, don’t tell me. It’ll be all I see w-when I look at you.”

I have no idea how to reply to that.

She giggles and a reply comes through.

“Admit it,” she says, laughing like she’s told a funny joke. “I’m the best little sister ever!”

Fuck, she’s never been this drunk.

The line goes dead. I call back, but it rings out.

Fuck.

Ever since she turned eighteen a few months ago, every time she gets wasted, I nearly die from discomfort. She goes to parties with Abigail, gets drunk, and I nearly always end up picking her ass up and bringing her home. Once, she came to a party I was at—she showed up outside my friend’s house and I had to put one of them in their place when they attempted to flirt with her.

Mason. He’s the one who can sign, but he likes to push my buttons sometimes when it comes to Olivia. I don’t think she even knows any of my friends’ names, yet I know everyone who comes within a five-mile radius of her.

Not really. I’m not that extreme.

I don’t bother speaking to my dad as I walk by him on the staircase. He won’t speak to me anyway—doesn’t acknowledge me as I head straight for the garage door. I pick up my helmet, push the button to open the garage doors, and slide onto my bike. It’s night-time, and it’s raining. The location Olivia sent me was outside a neighborhood not far from here.

By the time I reach there, she’s gone, and I try not to think of all the ways someone might have taken her. They’d see a pretty girl, falling around and drunk, and want to take advantage.

What if that fuckwad Parker got to her first?

I get off my bike and hunt around the area, silently praying she isn’t in a bush; that she hasn’t fallen victim to a hit and run.

She’s not here.

I open up my group chat with my friends and type out a message.

It’s a ridiculous question. Their paths never cross—my group is a bunch of punks, and she’s the popular girl far too beautiful for her own good.

Taking a deep breath, I drive around more, ending up outside Abigail’s house. It’s in darkness too, but the room light is on.

I’ve climbed up to that window more times than I can count. It takes me no more than two minutes to get up onto the tree directly across from the window, but I grimace and look away when I see Olivia’s friend kissing some guy while his friend watches on the bed.

Okay, so she isn’t there, but I might need to bleach my fucking eyeballs out after seeing Abigail’s tits. My sister won’t act like that—she’s still innocent, nervous around guys, and she’s technically not allowed to fuck around.

I shiver at the thought of her with someone else.

I’ll kill them.

Where the fuck are you, Olivia?

I try to call her again, but still no luck. After searching the streets for another hour, seeing the sun is already starting to rise, panic turns to full-on anxiety, and I decide I need help.

I head home, fully intent on getting Dad to call the cops and start a hunt for my sister—she’s not even with Abbi anymore, and I have far too many scenarios running through my mind to even worry about the speed I’m going on my bike.

What if she’s hurt?

I should turn back and go to her friend, pin her down and force her to tell me where Olivia is, but the fact she’s probably being rammed by two cocks has me deciding against that idea.

Reaching the house, I silently swear when I see it’s in darkness again. Mom is at some event, and I was certain my father would be home still, but his car is gone. I rush in, check his office just in case, then head to my room while typing out a text to him.

Our last messages to each other were four months ago, when he asked me to pick Olivia up from practice in her car and then to show him pictures of what was wrong with my bike. I’d crashed it, and he was going to fix it, but I ignored the texts, giving him the cold shoulder until I sorted the bike myself.

Before I click send, I stop a few steps from my door, seeing it’s open.

I closed it on my way out.

I push the door fully open, and my shoulders untense, my heart rate slowing when I see Olivia asleep in my bed. I breathe, lean my back against the door frame, and drop my helmet on the ground.

She’s going to fucking kill me one day.

I delete my message to Dad, toss my phone onto the weight bench, pull off my jacket, and kick my boots off. Then I pinch the bridge of my nose and count to ten, trying to talk myself down from strangling her for making me panic like that.

Her dress is dirty as if she’d fallen, and her mascara is smeared down her cheeks like she’s been crying. I think she’s been crying every day for the last week, but she won’t tell me why. She’s doing that a lot lately, and I don’t think it’s from the nightmares. She’s usually honest with me when it comes to them.

I pull open the bottom drawer of my dresser and grab sleep shorts and a top from her pile. They have snowflakes on them, a Christmas present from one of the house workers who never gets me anything. Not that I care. No one in this house sees me the way they see my sister or my parents.

After making sure my door is locked, even though I know no one is home, I shut the main light off and turn on the lamp beside the bed, giving her pretty face a glow.

Her lips are parted a little, and she doesn’t stir as I slowly run the pad of my thumb along them, smearing the red lipstick I hate. Soft, yet sticky, I watch the color move onto her skin, then rub the stain between my thumb and fingertips.

She looks better with her lip gloss on.

Once I pull her shoes off, I try to figure out where the zip is on her dress to remove it. Her hair gets caught in the material as I slide it off and toss it into my laundry basket.

She isn’t wearing a bra.

Pausing, I stare at her chest.

I see her in her underwear a lot. Fuck, I see her naked a lot—she just doesn’t know it. I have five cameras set up in her room, one in her bathroom, and one in my own room so I can watch her sleep in my bed when I’m not there. I never thought to check the feed to see if she was here while I was out hunting for her. Fucking idiot, Malachi.

The number of times I’ve stroked my cock while watching her through my laptop screen is embarrassing and wrong. Initially, when I set the cameras up, it was just so I could look at her. Obsessively. I always checked to see what she was doing.

But then it all changed because one night, she was in bed, and I was in my own room. We were going to go to sleep. Like always. But she pulled her top off, then her shorts, so she was lying on the duvet in just her panties.

Then her hand slid under the waistband, and my hand copied absently.

It was the first time I ever jacked off while watching her touch herself. I didn’t have any sound, but I could tell from her mouth shape and the way her back arched that she was moaning. Her hand sped up, so did mine, and she grasped at her own breast until we both came.

I’ve lost count of how many times that’s happened now.

She’s perfection.

She’s mine.

Or will be. My claim is there, but no one knows. Our parents have accepted that it was just me being possessive of my sister. I haven’t asked to marry her since, and I usually keep my distance from her when they’re around and aware. They think I want to protect her, to keep her safe.

I mean, I do, but I also want her under me, writhing, screaming while I fuck her into oblivion until her brother’s cum fills her up.

I’d need to wear protection, right? I have no idea if she’s on birth control—but she has no reason to be, unless there’s another use for that stuff I’m not aware of.

If I don’t wear a condom, I might knock her up, and imagine that fucking diabolical mess?

But that could be my way of trapping her—a tether to me forever. Mom and Dad would never split up a mother and father with a newborn kid.

Hmm. Something I definitely need to look into. Technically, it wouldn’t be fair on the child, since I don’t have a fatherly bone in my body and Olivia is far too controlled by our mom.

Olivia shifts on the bed, her legs falling open, and I need to hold my breath and bite my knuckles to halt my lungs as I stare at where her pussy is concealed by her panties. Barely. The material is a strap going up her ass and only just covering where I want to bury my face.

My tongue tingles at the thought of tasting her sweetness. I can already imagine her fingers grabbing a fistful of my hair and forcing me to devour her pretty little cunt until she unravels against my mouth.

I come closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, and push her legs more apart, checking she has no bruising on her inner thighs. If I find out someone took advantage of her tonight, I’ll hang them from the tallest building by their fucking nostrils.

Her skin is soft, and as I drag my thumb across her inner thigh, my cock twitches, making me pull back and close my eyes. I’m seconds from cracking.

I can’t do this. Not when she’s unconscious. Imagine she woke up to her brother’s fingers near her pussy?

I’ve zoomed in on camera, screen-grabbed her with her fingers buried deep, and walked in on her in showers and bathtubs, but this… this is the closest I’ve gotten where she’d never know if I touched her.

I shouldn’t.

She’ll never know. Touch your little sister, Malachi.

She wants it, Malachi.

She’ll scream your name, Malachi.

Do it, you fucking pussy.

The voice in my head and temptation win over when I look at her tits, the way they rise and fall as she breathes, in a deep sleep with no idea as I lower my head and let the tip of my tongue glide over her nipple. My dick thickens in my pants, my balls aching as I suck on it lightly. With no experience, I still manage to make her back arch a little, and she moans quietly as I trap it between my teeth and release it.

What the fuck am I doing?

I pull away and stand.

Shit.

I can’t. It’s a total violation. Not that the cameras aren’t, but I’m not physically doing stuff without her consent; I’m only watching her.

A part of me, the sick and twisted part, licks his lips and gloats inwardly from feeling her nipple in my mouth. I could do it again. The damage is already done, right?

One more lick and suck.

No.

Fucking no.

Staring between her legs again, my mouth waters, but I take a few steps back until I’m far away enough to catch my breath, running my hands through my hair and turning away.

I could fuck her.

Is she unconscious enough that she’d never know that I was inside her?

But she’d bleed on my bed from losing her virginity.

She would know. I might get her pregnant. She’d never forgive me.

I want her awake when it happens. I want her to know that we’re each other’s firsts and that she’s mine forever. We’ll leave the Vize family—we’re old enough anyway.

Patience has never been one of my strengths, but I applaud myself as I walk to the shower. I let the cold water calm me, my dick soft again, needing the thoughts to stop. I might hurt her if I do it, and I don’t want to. I’m not like that. I’m not a bad person. I can be good.

I can be good.

I can.

But you’re not good, the voice in my head says. You’re weird and dead inside, so use that as an excuse to steal her from the family robbing you of your happiness.

I leave the bathroom and keep my eyes unfocused as I put Olivia’s sleep clothes on, using a damp cloth to rid her cheeks of smeared makeup, then turn off the lamp and climb into bed beside her. I keep my distance. Usually, I’d be wrapped and tangled in her, but I need to stay as far away as possible. I can’t let those thoughts win.

It doesn’t matter what I decide to do, because in our sleep, we gravitate to one another naturally, and I wake in the morning to her lying on my chest, her legs twisted around mine.

Despite drinking and rolling about in the damn dirt last night, her hair still smells the same as it always does. Some of it is in my face.

Her leg is hiked, her thigh dangerously close to my cock.

Olivia doesn’t talk, but I know she’s awake. She sighs a few times, adjusts herself against me, and lets her fingers explore.

I pretend to stay asleep as her fingers slowly graze across my chest. So gentle, so fucking soft and innocent, yet my mind is picturing her touching my cock the same way, my lips around her nipple again, hearing her whimpering. Of her moaning above me as she bounces. Her tits in my face, her tongue in my mouth, her pussy grinding up and down every inch.

I can’t stop my cock from reacting. It’s hardening, and she definitely fucking knows. Her head moves on my chest, looking down, and she lowers her leg, resting it across my thighs instead.

Is she… staring at my dick?

Is she mortified? Intrigued? Hungry? Will she touch me without me being awake like I did to her?

I can’t see her face to know, and it’s killing me.

It’s all yours, Olivia, I want to tell her, but it might result in her telling our dad and him putting a bullet in my head for being an incestuous dickhead.

But thankfully, just as my control starts to slip and my cock pulses, Olivia pulls away from me, doing her best not to wake me as she sneaks out of my bed like she’s just had a one-night stand. She doesn’t go out the door—one of our parents will see her and get suspicious, so she goes out the balcony doors and vanishes.